#I hate the composition but by the time I realised it was too late

[amazingdeadfish]

Day Eight: Shadow

I worked a little too hard on this one, haha

[ghost-ghost-baby]

Narcissist (alpha!readerxOmega!Bakugo soulmate au)

An: this is heavily inspired by the song narcissist by younger hunger definitely recommend listening to it!

An: BIG TY TO MY BETA FOR EDITING THIS ABSOLUTE MONSTER OF A FIC WE STAN!

Word count: 3.2k (ur welcome)

Summary: Bakugo being a little shit basically- Mina and Denki r sick of him- reader runs out of scent blockers-

Warnings: omegaverse, swearing, Bakugo being a dick, reader just thinks he’s hot, gets a bit spicy but nothing graphic, non traditional dynamics (subby alphas) drug use (weed)

You were in a familiar room, one you’d come to love since you’d started dreaming of it, and you sat on the bed and waited… any moment now.

“Oi, are you here, shithead?” The voice of your omega was dreamier than it was in real life; his harsh words unable to punctuate the tranquility of your dream.

“I always am, Katsuki!” You chirped, grinning as he slowly faded into existence. The black tank top and jeans he wears make him look far too good, and your brain short-circuited for a few seconds.

“I told you not to fucking call me that!” He growled, but you only laughed. Reaching out to grab his hands before he could stop you, you pull him down so you could kiss him. Any anger he had quickly melted away, and Katsuki had pulled one hand away to rest on your shoulder and pushed back. You got the point, you pulled away for air and leaned back on your elbows as you did. Katsuki followed and straddled you without a moment of hesitation. His mouth latched onto your neck and you let out a hum. With one hand gravitating to tangle in his hair, he gave you another push that had you lying flat on your back.

“Hey-”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t ruin this.” Katsuki bit down on your throat and you squeaked, although he licked over the mark seconds later to soothe it, and only pulled away to kiss you when you tried to talk again. You melted, let your hands wander down to his thighs, and had your thumbs rubbing absent-minded circles. Then, Katsuki was unbuttoning the shirt you had on, hands quickly trailing lower to-

“Y/N! Did you hear what Mr. Aizawa said?” Mina’s voice brought you back from the dream you had the night before, and you blinked at her as you blanked.

“No way I'm working with their dumbass!” Katsuki snarled as Kiri forced him into a seat at your table, and you turned your head to Sero with a questioning look. He usually knew what was going on in class.

“We have a group project for a presentation, Mr. Aizawa picked the groups-”

“Oh hell yeah, all my best bro’s working together? Sounds like fun to me!” Denki leaned over to hug you and Mina, and the pieces started to click together. You were working on an art project, with your mate, who hate-

“How could anything be fun with Y/n around, they fucking ruin everything.” Katsuki grumbled to himself, refusing to meet your eyes despite sitting opposite you. Kiri mouthed an apology to you from his seat next to Katsuki. Honestly, you had no idea why he’d decided to act like… such a brat really, but it was just an act, however annoying it was. The two of you were soulmates, he’d come around, eventually.

“Oh hush, Bakugo, Y/n’s a riot and we all know it! You’re the one who goes to sleep at like, 8pm” Denki came to your aid. The electric blonde then pressed a kiss to your cheek that had Katsuki gritting his teeth.

“So, what's the project, guys?” You flipped through your book to a fresh page, resting your chin on your hand as you waited for the others to speak.

“We have to show the versatility of styles and composition under a singular theme!” Kiri was the one that answered you, and the group immediately started throwing around ideas.

“I think we could do horror, a lot of horror artists have different composition styles and still manage to convey the-”

“Tch, that’s the best you could come up with? I’m not surprised, an alpha as shitty as you can’t be capable of any decent ideas.” Katsuki sneered, but you only smiled at him as the group agreed with your idea. Your omega merely grumbled and hunched over in his seat as the group discussed the different artists you could use as examples.

You’d stayed late to double-check something with a professor, and you were still flipping through your notebook as you walked through the unusually empty halls. You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, and before you knew it you ran into someone, the same someone who shoved you against a wall seconds later, but your fear subsided when you realised it was just Katsuki.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, dipshit.” Katsuki wasn’t even sure why he’d pushed you up against the wall, but being this close to you, touching you… it was..nice…

“Tch, god your scent is so weak, you smell like a fucking beta, how’d I get stuck with such a runt, huh? Some sick kind of joke.” Katsuki’s tone didn't match what he was saying. The way he leaned forward to rub his cheek over your scent gland definitely said otherwise, but you stayed quiet, he always found some excuse to scent you, but he’d usually get embarrassed and storm off if you dared to say anything.

“You’re pathetic, you know? Being this submissive for an omega, are you sure you’re not a beta? It’d make more sense.” You bit your lip when Bakugo pressed a kiss to your neck, only hesitating a moment before he started sucking a mark onto your skin. His words bounced right off of you because all you could focus on was how hot he was and how he’d subconsciously put his thigh between your legs and thank fuck you were on scent blockers, or you’d never hear the end of it.

“Really, you aren’t even going to try and defend yourself? You’re even weaker than I thought.” A growl next to your ear made you shiver, and Katsuki pushed away with a snarl when he was satisfied. He cursed at you again and warned you ‘not to tell anyone or he’d kick your ass’ (he wouldn’t) before he walked away, leaving you to walk home with your head completely in the clouds.

“What took you so fucking long, huh idiot?” Katsuki was on you the second you appeared in the dream, pulling you down into a rather ferocious kiss before you could say anything. He bit your lip when you didn’t open your mouth fast enough, swallowing any protests you would have made, and continued to kiss you until you were dizzy. “I’ve been waiting two hours…” He pulled away to kiss under your jaw, and if you didn’t know him so well you’d miss the insecure tone in his voice.

“Sorry, Midoriya wanted-” You stopped when Katsuki growled, biting down so hard you were surprised he didn't draw blood.

“Why the fuck are you saying his name here, huh? Are you tryna piss me off?” He pulled away to sneer at you. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat when he unzipped your hoodie, and any coherent thought you had went out the window when he started to kiss your neck.

Everything was ready. The lounge room was set up, complete with snacks, drinks, and stationery for you and your friends to work on the project. They were meant to be here any second, and you couldn’t help but hover near the door to your apartment. You weren’t used to having people over and it still put you on edge having others in your space. But that thought left your head when a knock sounded on your door. You quickly opened it and were almost knocked over by Denki and Mina engulfing you in a hug.

“Thanks so much for hosting bro!”

“Awww you laid out all these snacks and stuff too! An omega’s gonna be really lucky to have you one day Y/n!” They pushed inside. Denki closed the door as Mina oohed and aahed over the setup, their praise had a slight blush rising to your face as you sheepishly rubbed your neck. Sero was next, quickly hugging you before he joined Denki and Mina, then Katsuki and Kirishima last. The blonde pushed past you without saying hello, but Kiri pulled you into a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe for a second, and was complimenting the setup as you took a seat. You tried to sit next to Mina, but Denki let out a whine and the pair was pulling you down between them before you had time to protest. Denki immediately leaned on you once you were settled. Katsuki couldn’t focus on the project, how could he, when his two dipshit friends were all over his mate. And you weren’t even doing anything to stop them! In fact, you were leaning into their hugs and giggling at every stupid joke they made! It had Katsuki fuming. Kirishima was the only one close enough to smell the angry shift in his scent, and he glanced between his friend and you, slowly putting the pieces together. You really had no idea what was happening, but Denki’s head was on your shoulder, and Mina’s arm around your waist as she asked questions about the project, giggling and pressing a kiss to your cheek whenever you got confused, which happened more than you’d like to admit. The blonde gritted his teeth when Mina’s hand went to your thigh, you were his! Nobody else should ever be touching you like that! You should know better! So when you excused yourself to grab something from your room, of course he made up some excuse about needing the bathroom so he could follow you.

The door to your room closed with a click, and you quickly spun around, expecting to see Mina or Denki, anyone except Katsuki to be honest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He was seeing red at this point. He cornered you and made you stumble back until your waist hit your desk.

“Uh- getting more pens-?” You held out the pack of pens with a confused look on your face that only made Katsuki angrier. How were you so stupid? And so fucking cute when you were- he cut off that thought, he needed to focus on yelling at you. Not the way your brows furrowed and how you nervously bite your lip as you waited for him to say something. Wait- were you blushing? Fuck, maybe he should-

“Katsuki? Are you oka-“

“Shut the fuck up, dipshit.” He snarled. Then, catching you both off guard, he leaned forward and kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed immediately. He’d only kissed you in your dreams, which was nothing compared to this, and you hesitantly placed your hands on his waist. His hands went to your hair to pull you closer, tugging it until you got the message and parted your lips for him. Katsuki let out a hum of approval as he deepened the kiss, why hadn’t he done this sooner? You couldn’t focus on anything other than how much Katsuki tasted like caramel, he didn’t taste like caramel in the dreams. You couldn’t help but whine when he pulled back. Another insistent tug on your hair had you tilting your head back, and Katsuki didn’t waste any time kissing over your neck. You were so lost in the feeling you almost missed the words he growled against your skin.

“You should know better, you’re mine. Other people shouldn’t be fucking touching you like that.”

“Do you think they’re like…. Finally-” Mina made a hand gesture that had Denki cackling, even Kiri cracked a smile.

“I hope so, it’s getting hard to watch all the back and forth.” Sero sighed, dropped his pen, and stretched.

“Yeah, have you seen how mad Bakubro gets though? It’s pretty fun to push his buttons like this!” Denki grinned as he leaned his head on Mina’s shoulder, and she wrapped her arm around his waist.

“I don’t know… Bakugo’s uh… stubborn, to put it nicely.”

“Your scent is weird… are you wearing a different perfume?” Mina leaned her head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as you glanced at Katsuki. After whatever the fuck had happened in your room, he’d gone back to acting like he hated you, so, you’d kept letting Denki and Mina do whatever they wanted. He had his eyes fixated on the work, and you turned back to Mina with a smile.

“Oh, sorry about that! I forgot to refill my scent blockers and my doctor’s not available until next week.”

“Don’t be sorry, bro! It’s nice, like really, really nice!” Denki came up behind you, throwing a quick glance at Katsuki before he leaned forward, crooning and rubbing his cheek over your scent gland, Mina doing the same a moment later. The pen Katsuki was holding snapped, his angry scent pumping out in waves as he glared daggers into the book in front of him, all too aware of you laughing.

You were hyper-aware of how strong your scent was, this was the longest you’d gone without scent blockers since you’d presented, and you’d lit a scented candle to try and cover it up. It hadn’t really worked, maybe you should light some incense-

“Y/n! Sorry we’re early!” Mina’s hand on your shoulder broke you from your thoughts, and you shook your head before you smiled. Denki cut you off before you could apologize about your scent.

“Damn Y/n! It smells like you baked cookies- oh my god did you bake-”

“Don’t be stupid, babe, it’s just their scent.” Mina shoved him inside, shaking her head as she followed and closed the door behind her.

“Oh! Of course!” Denki nodded, and he and Mina linked arms with you. They walked you over to the couch and sat you all down with grins on their faces.

“Uh… guys-?” You didn’t trust that look, it never leads to anything good.

“Well, since the project is like, 99.5% done-” Mina started, hand coming up to play with your hair.

“We thought we deserved a reward!” Denki interrupted, reaching into his bag and producing a blunt. You felt your own grin forming.

“Oh my god- is that from-”

“Shinso! You know he sells the best stuff on campus, I decided to splurge for my bros!” Denki looked incredibly pleased with himself, and you couldn’t help but tackle the blonde in a hug.

“Oh my god Denki, you’re the best!”

The three of you were blazed by the time the others got there. Sero happily bounced over to share the blunt, while Katsuki and Kiri just sighed and sat down with you. Katsuki’s eyes instantly zoned in on where you were lying on Mina and Denki on the couch. He was oddly silent as he tried to keep his cool, the nagging thoughts that had always been there slowly got stronger. He’d always had to be strong, people perceived him as weak just because of his dynamic, so he’d rejected the thought of being with an alpha, hoping for a beta or omega. Or you. You never made a big deal out of your dynamic, and always treated him as an equal. Then the dreams started. He loved you, he really did! But his whole reputation would go down the drain if he was claimed by an alpha, especially one with such a weak scent and mild presence. So…. he pretended to hate you in public because the two of you had your dreams, where nobody could judge him! Even if they did pale in comparison to real life. But lately… he couldn’t stop wondering… were you getting tired of waiting? With the way you were acting… the thought made his stomach turn and his canines come out. Especially since you had run out of blockers. Your scent getting stronger and stronger as the days went by. You were his alpha! You shouldn’t be scenting other people! Especially omegas! And you certainly shouldn’t be laying on them while you were ignoring him! You hadn’t even said hello to him! You were too busy getting high with those assholes like you didn't belong to him! You were his, it wasn’t fair!

Mina was the last out of the apartment. She kissed your cheek and winked at you as the door closed. The exhaustion set in as you leaned against the door.

“What the fuck was that?” Katsuki growled and made you startled when you saw him by the table. You only shrugged as you went to pack up the stuff on the couch.

“Denki got us some weed because the project was done-”

“Not that, dickhead! They were all over you!” He marched over to you, trying to ignore how good you smelled up close.

“And? We’re not-” You responded, and Katsuki was shoving you before he realized, ignoring the way you yelped as you fell on the couch. You sprawled on your back and glaring up at him.

“Katsuki! What the fuck!” Katsuki didn’t reply, eyes traveling over your vulnerable form. Flush rose to his face as he realized how provocative the position was, causing warmth to pool in his tummy. If kissing was so much better in reality, what would it be like to be inside you? Feel you clench around him and pull his hair when he hit your sweet spot? Would your thighs shake the same in real life when he just kept going? The omega didn’t even realize his scent had changed, he just licked his lips and stared at you with hooded eyes, fuck he wanted-

“Are you okay? You zoned out.” Fuck, when had you gotten up? You were so close now, your scent overwhelming. He never wanted you to go on blockers again.

“Fuck, Katsuki! Katsuki! Are you in heat?” It finally dawned on you. Katsuki’s scent had taken on a sweeter tone it didn’t usually have, and with the way he kept zoning out, it was obvious. Plus thoughts of him on top of you that wouldn’t leave your brain alone. Your question snapped him out of his daze, and the omega snarled at you, stepping back and stumbling when a jolt of pain went through him.

“Fuck off, like you could trigger-” His voice cut off as another wave of pain went through him, causing you to reached out to steady him without thinking. The omega was going to let out a growl but it quickly changed to a whine as it escaped his mouth. You pulled your hand back like it had burned, although your mate’s temperature was so high it wasn’t out of the question. You took two steps back and froze when a feral snarl ripped through the room, dark red eyes pinning you in your place.

“He-hey Katsuki…” Your voice stopped his growling, and it took every ounce of self-control you had to stay coherent as he advanced, your rut already trying to cloud your judgment. Your eyes darted around the room, maybe you could make it to the bathroom? Then Katsuki could ride out his heat and you could talk about it? yeah. Katsuki was only a foot away from you now, the grin he had on was somehow more unsettling than the snarl, and you shook your head to get some of your resolve back. Okay, three, two, one-

You made it maybe ten centimeters before Katuski caught you, and pushed you back down on the couch. He wasted no time sitting on your lap and tilting your face up to look into his eyes.

“You’re not getting away from me, Alpha. I know you want this. I should have done this months ago.” Sincerity shone through your omega’s lidded eyes, and you felt your small shred of resolve shrink away even more. Your hands flew to his chest to push him away.

“Ka-Katsuki it’s just- just your heat, you don’t mean-“

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, alpha.” Katsuki was back to growling at you. His hands grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and used his knees to keep them in place. He went back to cupping your face, red eyes boring into yours as he thought of what to say and a growl leaving him whenever you dared to look away. You were so, so obnoxiously pretty, it made it even harder to focus. Katsuki kept getting distracted by little details, like how your eyes shone and you kept biting your lip.

“You’re so fuckin stupid, ya know that? Of course, I fuckin want you, you’re my alpha- I don’t… I don’t care what other people think anymore, I just want you.” Katsuki’s tone was softer than you expected, and you could only gape at him as a blush quickly rose to your face. You knew he didn’t hate you, but hearing him say that lifted a weight off your shoulders you’d been carrying for who knows how long. The moment passed, all the softness went away as Katsuki leaned down to kiss you, and this time you kissed him back without any reservations.

[ereawrites]

Dick Grayson x Reader - Mania

this was requested by: anon

word count: 10.5k / rating explicit

a/n: sex pollen so auto dubcon (?), but both reader and dick are affected so idk

taglist: @daddyissuesmademe @idkmanicantenglish

It's your fault, really. You should never have got involved in the first place, but the temptation was just too great to resist. How could you pass up the opportunity to investigate Poison Ivy's pollen? This was the first decent sample any of you had ever managed to get - even Bruce, though you suspect there have been a few times he's managed to get up close and personal with the pollen - and normally Tim would handle it, but he's away on business with Bruce, and Damian's too young to deal with intensive research, and Jason just can't bring himself to care. So, that left Dick, and you could've left it at that. You should have. Then again, Tim did text you to recommend that you helped Dick: actually, you would never have left your room if it hadn't been for his intervention. It's Tim's fault.

The thing is, everything was fine at first; you've, perhaps, been harbouring the slightest crush on Dick for a while now, and it's always nice to spend time with him. He's fun to be around, even if his classic charm sometimes borders on teasing flirtation, and he's got such an incredible mind. You forget that, at times - he has a bad habit of putting himself down as the 'kind one' of the family, the emotional support or the comic relief, and he forgets to let himself be brilliant, too. He doesn't realise you've noticed that. Or maybe he does, but he doesn't say anything, and you've happily spent the past two hours studying Ivy's pollen together.

"It's definitely pheromonal, but I've never seen a chemical composition like this before-", you say, eyes glued to the computer screen. Dick is leaning over the back of your chair, one hand on your shoulder and one hand on the desk beside you, and you shouldn't feel as tense as you do. "-look, this section doesn't occur naturally in any species we've seen. She's synthesising these pheromones somehow, it's not like she's injecting them, but I just - I don't get how."

He pushes off from the desk, grabs the back of your chair, and spins you to face him with a half-smile. "I hate to break your train of thought, but I think we need a biochem specialist.", he says, and you suddenly notice how tired he looks: his eyes are still vibrant, warm, but exhausted. "We've done as much as we can on this, right? No shame in calling in the big guns."

"Tim?", you reply, knowingly, relishing in the way Dick's smile grows into a full grin. He's still gripping the edges of your chair, effectively caging you in: you are not looking at his arms, and you can be certain of this because you are looking very, very intently at his face.

"Having a genius brother has its perks, I know. I'll call him now. It's late in Tokyo - he won't be in a meeting, he'll probably just be awake in his hotel room, tapping away at his laptop.", Dick says, finally moving away to fetch his phone, and his voice trails off into a mumble that he clearly doesn't mean for you to hear. "God, he worries me. He really does."

It's much too warm in here: you sigh, and shrug off your jacket, slinging it over the back of the computer chair before calling out,"You're such a mother hen sometimes, Dick."

"I care. Sue me.", he replies with a faux scowl. "You don't complain when you're ill and I bring you hot soup."

"You're a good cook, what can I say?"

"Husband material!", he chirps. You feel your stomach leap and your cheeks heat up at his words. He's only teasing, but the truth of it is, it has more effect on you than you would like to admit. Thankfully, he's quickly distracted by the crackle of Tim picking up the phone. "Timmy! How's things?"

Tim's voice is dry, as always, but with a noticeable undercurrent of frustration. "Shit. I hate it here."

"Hey, Tim. Bad day?", you say with sympathy. You feel a little bad for bothering him, now; as hard as everyone in the family works, Tim definitely pushes himself the hardest.

"I'm the youngest person here by at least twenty years, and my stomach can't handle sushi. Plus, Bruce gets separation anxiety from the rest of you. The one upside is that I've been able to practice my Japanese.", Tim replies. You feel bad for him, of course, but the image of him having to comfort a homesick Bruce has you suppressing a snicker.

Dick shoots an amused smile at you - he's too beautiful when he smiles, it isn't fair - that starkly contrasts the comforting tone he uses to respond to Tim. "Don't worry, darling brother - I've got something exciting for you! Check your emails - wait, only the most recent one, though, I sent you a link to a Red Hood fanpage-"

You interject with an accusatory wave of your finger. "Why the fuck didn't you send me that? Red Hood is sexy." If Jason were here, he would probably threaten to shoot you, but as it is, Dick's amusement only grows. His smile is so infectious, like it spirals out into the air and right into your chest, and you can't help but smile back at him. You don't know if it's the warmth of the room or simply from Dick himself, but you feel as though you're going to need to step outside for some fresh air soon.

"Because of your raging crush on Nightwing, probably." Tim cuts in, and you could fucking kill him. Dick gives you a pleased wink. "I'm looking at a pheromonal compound, right? Ivy's special formula?"

You muster as much venom into your voice as you can, without pissing Tim off so much that he leaves you to deal with this on your own. "Fuck you, Tim - and yeah. It's a newer version, though - I think she's evolving, if that makes sense? Her physiology is definitely changing." Tim gives a thoughtful hum in response to your words: you imagine it's in agreement.

Dick continues your train of thought. "We think she's working with someone else, or she's been experimenting on herself, maybe. Do you have any ideas about how she's making the new chemicals?"

"I'll need a few hours. Send me all the data over. You're right about it evolving, though - it's definitely airborne. Shit, this is actually really interesting - the molecules are more compact, smaller, so she doesn't need to rely on physical touch through her plants anymore-"

The rest of Tim's words are lost to a wave of horror. Airborne, he said - you'd doubt it if it wasn't for the similar shock that's written over Dick's face - and you have not been treating this sample as airborne. Ivy has always relied on physical, tangible contact to use her chemicals: you couldn't have known, there was no way you could've known, neither of you are experts on this kind of thing - you've fucked up.

"Airborne? How... airborne are we talking? Like, don't-sniff-the-test-tube?", Dick asks, cautiously, maintaining eye contact with you all the while. *Please, God, let it be don't-sniff-the-test-tube and nothing more than that. Please.*

"Shit, you haven't been wearing respirators - have you?". Tim sounds positively horrified. It does nothing to allay your fears, the worries that you've both been infected with Ivy's pollen; in fact, he all but confirms it. Everything is beginning to fall into place now. The tension around Dick - more so than usual, at least -, how warm you're feeling, the mental sluggishness that had you calling Tim in the first place.

You're angry at yourself, for your own stupidity - not Tim, but you're panicked, you're so unbelievably freaked out, and so you can't help but snap at the phone. "How were we meant to know, man? Ivy's never even hinted at having something of this level before!"

"You're working with chemicals, unknown chemicals, I hate-"

Dick cuts in before this can turn into a full-on confrontation. You've got no idea how he's managing to keep a level head. Perhaps the pheromones are already taking a more severe effect, or maybe it's a placebo effect, and you pray that it is, but you can already feel your heart beginning to pound against the confines of your chest. "It's just pheromones, right? We know it's not toxic, at least - Ivy's victims only take a few days to come around, at most. They're just kinda fucked up for a few days."

You admire Dick so, so much. He's right, he's always right, he always manages to keep you calm and make you feel safe: you'll just have to stay with him, and you'll be okay. If you stay here, he can comfort you, and maybe the impacts of the pollen won't even be that bad. And, if they are, well, there's no one else in the manor tonight, and Dick's so handsome and kind and strong, and maybe he'll - fuck.

Tim snickers. "Fucked, indeed. Only when Ivy's in a good mood, though. You guys better get ready for a tough night. I've heard it can get really bad, especially if you're deprived of - oh, fuck, I can't talk about this, this is too funny but it's so weird, oh my god-", and he dissolves into a fit of awkward, stunted laughter. Dick fixes you with an apologetic look, but you swear his golden cheeks are tinged with red.

"How long until it kicks in?", he asks. It's a stupid, stupid question, because you feel like you're close to dying already. You know what he means, though: when will it get bad? You've seen Ivy's victims before. They're entirely without dignity, practically begging to be touched, sobbing from the pain of it all - and you've only heard rumours about the depraved things they let Ivy do to them. What they ask her to do to them.

The huff of Tim's breath crackles through the phone. "Uh - I don't know, maybe an hour? A little less, since Bruce never opens the windows in there. Just seal the sample up, drink plenty of water, and try not to freak out. It'll pass. You won't die."

///

You thought you could do it - stay in your room, deal with this alone, avoid any potential awkwardness with Dick -but you can't. It's barely been an hour. Sixty-seven minutes since you left the cave, to be exact. Sixty-seven minutes since Dick grabbed you by the waist to halt your speedy departure, touch light but insistent, and said if you need anything, come to me. His eyes were dark when he said it. Deep, dark blue, an ocean that you could get lost swimming in; but pupils already dilating, breath already speeding up. He meant it as nothing more than a kindness. Still, though, that hasn't been enough to stop you from coming onto your fingers with the image of those eyes burned onto the backs of your eyelids.

Ivy's pollen is designed to induce lust, yes, but only for the first person you see after you're infected with it. This means two things: firstly, that you need Dick more than anything right now. Your head is pounding, your lungs feel like they're on fire - the sensation between your legs isn't aching, it's agony, and you've spent fifty-two of the past sixty-seven minutes trying, and failing, to fool your body into believing that your fingers are his. The first thing you know, is that you need him, because you saw him right after you were infected. The second thing you know - there was no one else in that room. You were the only person Dick could have seen.

So, stupidly, you seek him out. You go back down to the cave, without even taking the time to wash your hands, because that's what your body is telling you to do, and you're acting more and more on instinct. Potential awkwardness be damned. He'll fix this.

Dick's facing away from you, reclined in the computer chair: his posture seems almost relaxed, just almost, legs sprawled out and left elbow visibly sticking out from around the back of the chair, like he's got one hand close to his head. You'd assume he was still looking at the computer, if you weren't so hyperaware of everything right now, but you are, and you notice more. From what you can see of his body - it's low-blue-lit from the computer screen, enough that you can make out the muscle of his legs through his sweatpants if you squint, but it's not enough, you need to see more - he seems tense. Too tense. Normally, you'd sneak closer, but your head is practically spinning now and Dick will help you. He'll make this better. Your voice is hoarse and dry when you manage to call his name.

He immediately jolts in his seat, spinning to face you, and now that he's backlit by the computer, you can barely see more than the outline of his body. God, he looks so lean, so tall - "Are you okay?", he asks, and he sounds almost as bad as you feel. You swallow thickly before responding - and, through the fog in your head, you realise that your jacket is clutched in his left hand.

You, miraculously, manage a weak smile. "I just - I thought maybe it would, you know, be better to... be together, during this. In case - if one of us needs help, or something. I don't know.". You sound stupid. Dumb. You feel it, too, and you can't even bring yourself to care. The mere sight of him is helping: it doesn't remove the pain, or any of the physical sensations, really, but at least the panic of not being near him is being soothed.

"That's - yeah, okay. How are you feeling?", Dick replies. His voice is barely more than a whisper, but you hear it as clear as if he were right up against you. Chest pressed to your back, lips on the curve of your jaw, that voice going right through you and into the pits of your stomach.

It's wrong, to think of him like this, when all he's doing is trying to check that you're alright. He knows you aren't, but he's trying.

The best thing you can think to do is make a weak attempt at a joke. "I've got a newfound fear of Ivy." Dick even huffs out a laugh, but it's just as half-hearted as your words. "I didn't think it was going to be this bad at first, Jesus - but it keeps getting worse, and, it just-"

"-it hurts. I know.". Dick nods. As you take a step closer to him, you realise that your eyes have finally adjusted to the relative darkness of the cave, and you realise that you can see his cock straining against his sweatpants. He's hard. What's more, there's a distinct wet patch leaking through the material.

When you entered the cave, you couldn't see one of his hands; the chair wasn't moving enough for him to be stroking himself, and you're not sure whether you're glad he wasn't, but now that you think of it, there was definite movement. Like he was palming himself through his sweatpants, maybe. And the hand that was close to his head, it's clutching your jacket, he was holding your jacket close to his face while he-

"Dick - were you...?"

He sighs, halfway between embarrassed and resigned, and sinks back down into the computer chair. He keeps your jacket clenched in a white-knuckle grip. "I had to take the edge off somehow, right? I'm sorry, I didn't think you would be coming back down here, I never meant to make you uncomfortable or anything-"

"I'm not uncomfortable.", you blurt out before you know what you're saying. Dick's expression visibly shifts - you don't have the mental clarity to figure out into what, exactly - but you can feel your own eyes widen as you process  the implications of what you just said. "Oh, fuck - I didn't mean it like that, I - sorry."

Dick just shakes his head. He must mean for you not to worry. You stand in silence for a while, not exactly awkward but certainly thick with tension, before he pats a hand onto the desk beside him. "God, this is worse than I thought. Do you wanna come sit down?"

Do you? Although being closer to Dick sounds like the only thing you want in the world right now - god, you can't help but think about how good he would look, if you were close enough to really study him, now that you're beyond giving a fuck about etiquette - you're also acutely aware of how difficult it'll be to control yourself. Undeniably, you want him. You've wanted him for months, really - but the pollen has taken that desire and multiplied it tenfold, made it so that it's all-consuming and painful. In your room, nothing more than imagining him, it was bad enough. Now, now that you can see his fucking cock, now that the image of him rubbing himself with a blissed-out look on his face, it's almost impossible to control.

You move to sit next to him. You can't help yourself. Once you start moving, you feel like it's all in slow-motion: Dick's watching you, dark eyes trained so closely on your form, and you're wearing nothing more than a tight-fitting pair of leggings and a thin t-shirt. After what feels like an age - too long to be apart from him - you reach the desk, and upon clumsily perching yourself on it, you see Dick looking as though he's about to pass out.

"Fuck, did I - did I do something wrong? I'm sorry-", you say hastily, but he instantly shakes his head and trains his eyes on yours. The blue is nearly gone. It's all blown-out pupils now, so much that his eyes are nearly black.

He licks his lips as if to wet them. "-no, no, but - when you were in your room - when you were alone - did you do anything to take the edge off? Did you touch yourself?"

You could say no, if you wanted to. You could lie. He would know, but he wouldn't press it, and you could save yourself the shame. For all that Dick must be struggling just as much as you are, he's exceedingly kind, so much that no amount of fucked-up drugs could change that: he's still your Dick, underneath all of this.

"Yeah.", you admit after a heartbeat, and your stomach lurches when you see his cock twitch through the sweatpants. Still, you're embarrassed, and you feel the need to explain yourself just a little. "It felt like my skin was on fire unless I did. It still feels like that, though - like it just wasn't enough, I guess."

"I can smell it on you.", Dick says lowly. Oh, God. That's hot. That's so, unbelievably hot - especially when you see his cock twitch again - but absolutely mortifying. You're torn between wanting to jump on him, right here and now, and retreating back to your room. You compromise by burying your face in your hands, and letting out a pathetic whine to signal how fucked-up you are right now. Maybe you can calm down, now that you don't feel on the verge of a panic attack from being away from him, if you take a few deep breaths.

Naturally, Dick hardly gives you the chance. You feel his hand come to rest on your knee out of nowhere; it's a gentle touch, but you can feel him trembling, and the touch sends a bolt of electricity through you that's strong enough to make you jolt. "I want to help you. The whole point of these pheromones is to make it so that you need touch - it only hurts because we're not getting that. So, I can-", he says raspily, punctuating the pause with a reassuring squeeze to your lower thigh, "-touch you, just... platonically, if that's what you want. What you need."

His voice drops down an octave with the last sentence - you whine again, involuntarily, but you just about manage to turn the sound into words.

"Dick, you don't have to - we can just push through this, I know it'll be uncomfortable for you - I mean, I know it's not like we haven't hugged and stuff before, but this is different, I don't want you to feel forced because you feel bad for me."

Dick must lean forward, closer to you, because his palm slides further up your thigh. The pain that prickles insistently under your skin is beginning to turn into fiery heat: not unpleasant, but desperate, hot, and you're starting to feel like you're not going to be able to stop if he asks you to touch him. "I don't feel bad for you.", he insists, reaching up with his free hand to peel your hands away from your eyes. He curls his fingers around yours as he continues. "I just want to make you feel better - both of us feel better. See, it's already helping, right? Just relax. This is bad enough as it is."

His thumb starts to trace circles on the inside of your thigh. It's nowhere near high enough to be considered sexual, but the movement has your legs almost trembling. You wonder if he can feel the tension of your muscles. "It's... it doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you.". And, technically, you're not lying: it doesn't hurt, in fact it feels fucking incredible. You spent fifty-two minutes trying to replicate this sensation. He's only touching your thigh, it has no business feeling this good, but each little beat of his thumb has waves of pleasure crashing through you. God, how good would it feel to fuck him like this? You're shaking, and you know it, and it only makes him tug you by the hand to stand up.

Even the loss of his touch on your thigh feels devastating, but Dick's next words are more comfort than you could have imagined possible. "Here. Come sit, if you want.", he says - whispering again, voice so low and so deep, but it's just the effects of the pollen, you tell yourself - and gestures to his thigh. "You can lean back into me, don't worry, it'll be better for your back."

This has to feel as good for him as it does for you. Logically, it has to. You've both breathed in the same pollen, his skin has the same sheen of sweat that you can feel on your own skin, you're both trembling in every part of your body, and he's still rock hard. You can feel yourself leaking, god, enough that it might have dampened your leggings and left a wet spot on the desk. What would Dick do, if he saw that? He's clearly turned on, but maybe he still has the good sense to avoid fucking: maybe his view of you as 'just platonic' is so deeply ingrained, he would never touch you down there to feel how wet he's made you. Or, maybe he wants you like you want him.

"Are - are you sure?", you stammer. You can't stop looking at his lap. His cock, painfully obvious (and he mustn't care, because he blatantly drew your attention to it), and the corded muscle of his thighs, spread out straight to form you a perch.

"Mhmm...", he hums from somewhere deep in his chest, and suddenly you're grateful that he's still holding your hand, because the sound almost makes your knees buckle. He tugs gently. "Only if you want to be close to me, though."

He says that like an afterthought - like he knows exactly what you want, and like he's hungry for your touch and doesn't want to consider the idea that you don't want to give him it. You can't bring yourself to look at him before you move to sit in his lap, because you know he'll see the desire, and for now, you're still pretending that you don't want to push him down in that chair and ride him for hours. He'd like that, you think. He'd like it if you pulled his hair while you did it.

Dick lets go of your hand so he can take your waist in both hands, guiding you down onto his lap and gripping harder when your ass inadvertently brushes over his cock. You don't mean to do it, of course, and you jump like you've been shocked: you shuffle further down his thigh to avoid another mishap, but the movement causes your pussy to just barely drag against the hard muscle - you hardly manage to control your moan, forced to sink your teeth into your lip. Thankfully, Dick doesn't seem to notice, and he helps you lean back so his chest is pressed to your back, before lifting his arms to rest on the armrests. From here, he begins to rub soothing lines up and down your arms, and he tips his cheek down to rest against your shoulder with a relieved sigh.

"Fuck, that... yeah, that feels better.", you practically gasp. Feeling him pressed up against the entire length of your body, as torturous as it is, is the most relief you've gained all evening; his legs are shaking just enough that you can feel it in your core, though, and you're forced to tilt your head back to rest on his shoulder. You'll lose your fucking mind if you don't start to relax, he's right.

With your neck exposed, though, you can feel Dick's hot breath tickling your skin when he speaks. "Good, right? It feels good?". For the first time, you really hear the tension in his voice. So much so that you can't pass it off as your own projections, or a trick of his tone - he's just as desperate as you are, holy shit, he sounds halfway to begging, he sounds like he's dying to know that his touch is making you feel good. Your hips twitch of their own accord.

"Yeah... Dick?", you whisper after a few moments. He nods in response against your shoulder, a slow, dragging movement that feels like honey dripping through your veins from the point of contact. "Are you really warm, too, or like - is that just me? I - I feel like I'm burning up... Do you mind if I..." - you trail off, instead opting to tug cautiously at the hem of your shirt.

He sucks in a deep, rapid breath that you feel press against your back. For a moment, you worry that you've gone too far - it feels so good, but it's too weird, too strange for him even now - but then he slowly curls his fingers around the hem, replacing your own hands, and starts to pull upwards at a torturous pace. His knuckles drag over your lower abdomen for just a second and your hips twitch again, and he definitely felt it this time but he says nothing, and his breathing is warm and fast against the skin of your neck; with the shirt discarded, you're left in nothing more than a thin bra. Although the room feels warm, furnace-hot, you're all too aware of the blatant hardness of your nipples, and you tell yourself it's okay, he won't notice, because you're facing away and he won't - his palm drags against your breast on the way back down and it feels so good, too good, and you can't help but whimper, "Fuck, yes-"

Three things happen in quick succession. Dick freezes, you realise what you've done and move to jump up and run for the hills, and then Dick grabs your hips and pulls you back into him, right over his cock, this time. The friction makes both of you let out a breathy sigh, but where you clap a hand over your mouth, Dick follows it up with a hoarse proposition. "I can touch you properly, if you want. It'll make all this go away, I promise - do you want me to?", he rasps, pressing one, quick kiss to the skin where your neck meets your shoulder. "Do you want me to touch you?"

His grasp on your hips is tight, wanting, but gentle enough that you know he wouldn't stop you if you tried to leave again. When you make no move to do so - you're frozen, you can't believe he's just offered to do what your body is screaming for - Dick pulls at your hips, slowly, dragging your ass over his cock and then pushing you back down. He repeats the motion a few times, rolling his own hips up into you a little more with each motion, and soon your muscles start to work so you can grind down onto him. Dick rewards you with a quiet moan - oh, you want him to do that again, you're going to make him do that again, louder and louder - and then, with a touch so light you could cry, he traces one hand over your hipbones and down to your pussy.

One finger traces your slit through your leggings, and you hear yourself moan, but you're hardly aware of making the noise - just this simple touch feels almost as good as the orgasm you had earlier, even just this feather-light pressure through two layers of fabric, and every nerve ending in your body sets alight at once. This is what you needed, more than anything, for Dick to touch you and drag you down onto his cock, and you're so overwhelmed that every muscle in your body goes lax, leaving you to collapse into his chest.

Dick rubs gently at your pussy a few more times, like he's exploring you, and then suddenly he taps right where your clit is. You cry out, and he sighs against your neck. "God, I can feel how wet you are already. You should have told me, I would've done something sooner, you know that - fuck, you're so wet, let me - let me finger you, huh? Please?"

"Yeah - please, Dick.", you whine, and when you say his name, he moans and shoves his cock up against you again. He mumbles something into your skin that you don't quite make out, and then his hand is fumbling with your waistband, clumsily slipping into your underwear and then he's there, his fingers are brushing right against your clit, you sob out a broken cry - you're so wet that his fingers brush right through your folds, gliding like silk, and by the time he reaches your hole, two fingers easily sink in right to the knuckle.

Your pussy instantly clenches down, hard, and you feel more full than you thought could be possible. Dick moans into the skin of your neck and gives you a moment to calm down, to soothe the desperate jolting of your hips, before he starts to pump his fingers; slowly, at first, but soon picking up into a faster and more urgent pace. With each movement, he scissors his fingers a little, spreading you wider every time, and he starts to mouth at your neck with hot, wet kisses. "Do you like that, yeah? Am I making you feel good? Is this what you need?"

You fling an arm behind you to grasp at his hair, and when you tug after a particularly delicious curl of his fingers, he bites down hard onto your shoulder. "Fuck, yes, yes - please don't stop, please, Dick, don't stop-"

"I'm not going to stop, don't worry, I've got you - I'm here, I'm not gonna stop, you sound too pretty for me to stop, fuck - I knew you would sound pretty, keep making those noises for me."

Your body feels like it's going through the most intense orgasm of your life, especially now that he's given up on pumping his fingers in favour of curling them in rapid beats against your g-spot, but you know that you're not even coming yet: you're close, though, judging by the way the room is spinning around you, and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach - "I think I'm close, Dick, - oh, oh, oh my god, I don't - it's never felt like this before, I don't - fuck-"

"I know, I know, baby-", he croons, and the pet name has you tugging at his hair again, the other hand white-knuckled on the armrest, "-it's okay, it's gonna feel different - it's gonna feel better, I promise, it's going to be so good, I'm going to get you there, baby, come on."

"Fuck - fucking - Jesus, Dick, keep going, just like that-!", you all but shout, and Dick continues the massaging movement right up on your g-spot: the positioning of his hand means the heel of his palm is dragging over your clit, and your hips are frantically grinding up into his hand - god, you're gonna come, the world feels like it's crashing down around you, you feel the contractions start a few seconds before it actually hits you and it's going to be earth-shattering, you know it, every muscle in your body tenses up and through it all you hear Dick whispering, come on, that's it, I've got you, come on, come on, and then you're coming-

Distantly, you can feel his fingers continue their movements inside of you, unrelenting - and the other hand keeps a firm grip on your hips, grounding you onto his lap - but other than that, all you know is the white-flash across your vision and the pleasure slamming into each nerve in your body, one by one and then all at once: this is better than anything you've ever felt, better than every orgasm put together, and it feels feels for a moment like you're actually going to black out from the sheer intensity of the pleasure.

Then, suddenly, you're back in reality. Dick is heaving for breath against your shoulder, but it's nothing compared to the way your own lungs are screaming for air - god, you think you were screaming, given the scratching sensation in your throat - and his fingers are back to a slow, steady pumping, in and out of your swollen pussy. It hurts, a little, but this one orgasm has done nothing to sate your desperate hunger: in fact, it's only made it worse, only increased your desire for him, and you swear his cock is impossibly harder against your ass now.

"You - you're dripping onto my hand, baby, oh my god...", Dick pants, and there's a heartbeat where neither of you move - then, you feel his breath hitch, and suddenly his other hand is shoving unceremoniously under your waistband and going straight for your clit. He picks up the pace with the two fingers still inside you, matching each curl with a flick over your clit, and the motions are all so frenzied, those of a man possessed with some ravenous desire, like his one purpose is to have you writhing in his lap, and you give a wordless cry - too overcome with blinding pleasure to actually make a sound - that allows you to hear his ragged words. "Please, give me another one, one more - I want to make you squirt this time, it's going to be so good, I promise, just give me one more, pretty girl-"

This time, it's not just one wave of pleasure, spreading from your core and emanating outwards; no, it's wave after wave after wave, violently crashing over you and completely overcoming every part of your body, unrelenting and constant - this one lasts at least twice as long as the last, but you're hardly in the right state of mind to keep track of time, and every wave of pleasure that rushes through you is tenfold stronger than the last. You hear yourself shriek his name in the most pathetic, broken tone, and Dick cages you in against his body as best as he can as he keeps both hands working at your pussy, and you realise you're sobbing when he finally, finally stops.

When his fingers slip out of your pussy and exit your leggings, they're dripping wet. Dick audibly gasps, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks, moaning around the digits, and through hazy eyes you can see the most fucked-out look on his face just at the taste of your cum. He licks his fingers clean - you feel your pussy clench down again at the sight - before opening his eyes, fixing you with an intense stare, and panting, "You taste so fucking good - baby, I'm not going to be able to stop, I'm sorry, I need this, I need to fuck you - please."

He's asking permission, you realise. Neither of you are in control of what you're doing anymore, and he's still asking, as best as he can, if he's allowed to fuck you. There's a terrified look in his eyes, behind the frenzy and the lust - you clumsily crash your lips against his. He tastes of your juices, but it's one of the hottest things you've ever experienced, and he moans openly into your mouth, eagerly meeting your tongue with his own. You're exhausted, but kissing him renews your energy tenfold. You're suddenly overcome with the urge to feel his cock - inside you, yes, but you want to see it first, you want to make him cry out and moan and gasp for you - so you manoeuvre in his lap, keeping your mouth against his, to straddle his narrow hips and face him.

"Ah - ah, god, that feels amazing.", Dick moans, broken up between sloppy kisses, saliva starting to drip down both of your chins - but it's hot, so hot - as you frantically reach down to palm at him. The instant you finally touch his cock, you're gone: there's no stopping now that you can feel how achingly hard he is, now that you feel how he twitches under your hand each time you kiss him, and it takes much longer than you would like to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants, pull them down, and wrap your hand around the exposed length of him. He hisses as his whole body jerks.

Instantly, you set a frenzied pace of stroking him, relishing in each ragged moan that you rip from his throat; he's leaking into your palm, you realise, dripping over your fingers as you pull him back by the hair and attach your lips to his neck. When you suck a bruise into the softest part of his skin - the salty-sweat-tangy hollow beneath his Adam's apple - he shouts out your name, loud, followed by, "-fuck, fu- let me fuck you, baby, please, I - I'm close, you have to stop-"

"Come on my hand, Dickie.", you plead, and you're granted a thick spurt of precum when you lick a stripe up the column of his throat: he tastes so good, his skin so hot under your mouth, you can't stop, and you croon right into his ear, "It's - it's gonna last for hours, still, you're still gonna be hard - I'm still so needy for you, Dickie, look - come on my hand, let me see it, please. You can fuck me after, just come for me where I can watch it, oh - oh, please." His moans start to pick up in volume and frequency, coming from a place deeper in his throat. He's close, you know.

You've started to grind onto his thigh somewhere along the way. It feels amazing, it feels even better because you know he's twitching and aching for you just inches away - once you finally drag yourself out of the crook of his neck, you see that you've left a damp streak on his sweatpants in the wake of your hips, and the steady stream of precum leaking from his cock has soaked the material higher up. "Come on, Dickie, come on, let me see you come, I wanna see it, I - I'll, fuck, I'll lick it clean after, Jesus-", you blurt out, too far gone to be horrified at the ease with which the words spill from your lips.

"Oh, baby, shit-” he cries, and then his voice dissolves into a broken jumble of incoherent mumbles and whines. His cock twitches hard in your palm, once, twice, three times against the rapid pace you maintain on him, and then Dick bucks his hips up into your hand, back arched, perfectly still and tense; he comes hard, almost whimpering, head thrown back and eyes tightly shut, looking so, so perfect as you stroke him through it and grind feverishly onto his thigh. It's the image of his cock that has the breath snatched from your chest, though. Several thick ropes of cum spurt from him as you work him through it, some hitting the skin of your abdomen and some dripping down the length, and it just keeps going, no sign of stopping until Dick completely collapses, after almost a minute of moaning and coming - your hand is drenched with him.

The sight of his cum dripping from your palm makes something in your stomach clench hard, painfully, and suddenly you need to taste him, you have to, it hurts so much and it'll go away as soon as you get your mouth on him. You scramble off the chair, almost falling to your knees in front of him - he rushes to steady you, even with weak and shaky arms - but you don't care about how graceful you look right now. As soon as you manage to nestle yourself between thighs, you lick flat up the underside of his cock. The taste of it makes your eyes roll back in your head. Dick spits, "Holy shit!", and it trails off into a deep gasp as you wrap your lips around him and sink down as far as you can go. You'd take your time, usually, but everything in your body is screaming for you to taste him, let him fill you, and you're in no position for argument.

With each dip of your head - punctuated with a moan from the man above you, each one becoming closer to a growl, animalistic, and you think the pollen is beginning to send your bodies into total overdrive now - you take him as deeply as you can. You're nearly gagging, but that's what you need. His hands tangle into your hair; at first, you can tell he's trying to be as gentle as he can, but that's soon overcome with a tight, guiding grip that pushes you further down onto his cock with each bob of your mouth. The burning heat under your skin is killing you now, too much to ignore, so you manage to shuffle out of your leggings and underwear and kick them away: Dick groans roughly, maybe because he can smell you more clearly now-

"Come here, pretty girl-", Dick says, sliding his hands from your hair to lift you up by the jaw. You mean to whine, perhaps beg him to let you back down, because he feels so good in your mouth - then you see the look on his face. He looks totally gone. Nothing like the Dick you know, warm and gentle and relaxed: his eyes are completely clouded over, lips parted and slick with saliva, brow furrowed with something between pain and carnal desire. You imagine you look much the same, with spit dripping from your chin, the heat you can feel burning your cheeks, and the wetness you feel running down the insides of your thighs. He meets your eyes, and there's a moment of stillness. One thumb slips from your cheek to trace over your lower lip.

Then, both of you move at once - you surge forward to kiss him again, those perfect, pink lips - you fumble with the hem of his shirt, ripping it up and over his head while barely leaving his mouth for a second - Dick's hands slide down your body to your waist. He pulls you into him as he leans forward, half-supporting your weight, and suddenly your back is against the floor and he's on top of you, kissing you hard and bruising, the chair long since kicked away and forgotten about. Every inch of freshly exposed skin feels like molten silk under your touch: you slide greedy hands over his torso as he licks into your mouth, feeling the network of ridged scars and each ridge of muscle. Thankfully, Dick grants you a few precious, savoured moments to feel his skin, while he alternates between rolling his hips against your bare pussy and kicking off his sweatpants.

It's all ungraceful and clumsy - wet kisses stolen between your movements, each of you moaning against the other's lips - and it takes much, much too long for both of you to finally shed yourself of all your clothes. Dick's hands grab greedily at your breasts as he ruts his hips against you a few times, and you can feel how your wetness spreads over his cock. Then, his hands fly down to find your knees, and he drags them to fit around his waist, pulling up until your hips are fully tilted, the stretch of your muscles verging on uncomfortable. "Oh, fuck, that's it, baby. Keep your legs there for me, won't you? Come on, wrap your legs around me - I want to get as deep as I can, it's gonna feel amazing, I promise.", Dick says, bordering on a growl now that his voice is so deep and strained, and you do as he says immediately. You need him inside of you, now; you hook your ankles behind his back, kiss him, and desperately grind your hips into his.

And then, with one deep roll of his hips, he's inside of you. One quick thrust and he's buried to the hilt, and, God, he fits inside you so perfectly: your body all but melts at the feeling of finally being filled, and you keen as you instinctively use your ankles to press his hips further into you. Dick's just large enough to stretch you out, even with how wet and ready you are, without becoming painful, and the pollen means it only takes you a short moment to adjust to his size before your body is pleading to be fucked. He's shaking and panting with restraint above you whimper, "Ho-holy fuck, Dickie, please... please move, oh my god."

"I know, baby, I know.", he says, breathlessly, voice tight with pleasure but still sympathetic. Even with him motionless inside you, it already feels so good, better than anyone you've ever fucked, and you can hardly stop yourself from grabbing him by the shoulders, pushing him down, and riding him. "It just feels so good, you feel so good - I don't want to rush it, I want to make it last. Jesus, my body feels like it's on fire while I'm touching you, I - oh, fuck, I want to take it slow, make you feel so good you cry-"

"-We have all night to be slow, Dick, you can do whatever you want to me, just fuck me-"

Dick's hips roll into yours and a drawled curse falls from his parted lips. He pulls out, almost completely, enough that you panic and squeeze him tighter with your thighs, but then he pushes back into you, slowly, letting you savour the way each nerve ending inside your pussy is set ablaze; he repeats the motion, faster, his curses morphing into sweet mumbles of your name each time he bottoms out. You can hardly breathe - it feels so good, and each thrust of his hips is met with a pollen-driven roll of your own, so it's half-grinding, half-fucking - the slight curve of his cock has him dragging deliciously against your g-spot every time. His movements are picking up in intensity now, and you can tell the pollen is taking him over completely. The same is happening to you: fuck it, you don't want to think about the pollen anymore, you just want him.

"Ah, yes! Yes, right there-right- keep going-", you cry out after a particularly hard slam of his hips. Dick is propped up on one elbow, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and the other hand slips down to grab at your ass and pull you up into him. He's deep enough that it hurts, but it's the best pain you've ever experienced. "Fuck, faster, please!"

He obeys, mercifully, and you think you can see sweat starting to bead on his temples. "Is this what you need, pretty girl? Come on, tell me what you want - tell me I'm making you feel good, because you're making me feel so fucking good, I swear, better than I ever even imagined - fuck, you're so wet, are you going to come again? Please, please let me make you come on my cock."

The combination of his cock inside you, and his pelvis bumping against your clit, and the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body: it's all too much to bear, your body is going into total overdrive, and it's so embarrassing that he's got you like this. You never normally beg, you never normally come so fast, but this is different and addictive and incredible - you cry out an affirmation to his words, and suddenly his hand is gripping your chin. He's fully collapsed onto you now, and his movements are more frantic rutting than anything else.

"Look at me-", he pleads, using his hand to guide your face so you're staring right into those glassy eyes. "-look at me while you come, and it'll make me come."

You can feel your muscles beginning to tense up as your orgasm starts to grow. Already, your world is spinning, and you feel halfway to blacking out from the sheer intensity, so you tangle your hands into his hair as a way to ground yourself. "Please come inside me!", you whine - the idea of being filled with his cum, letting it drip out while he fucks another load into you, it's fucking mind-blowing and you can't imagine anything better than feeling him shoot into you while you come on his cock.

Dick's jaw clenches tightly. "Are - are you sure, baby? Is that what you want?"

The next thrust hits you perfectly, and you can't help but pull him tighter into you, so his head drops to the crook of your neck. "I need it, Dickie, you know - you know that - you need me too, right? Fuck, fuck - it's gonna feel so good, I'm so close-". He spends a few moments sucking a bruise into the most tender skin of your neck before moving to press his forehead to yours. Each rough movement of his hips has you jostling against the floor; your nipples are dragging against his chest every time, making you keen, and your swollen clit is being hit so perfectly by his hips, and he's making the most perfect and breathy noises against you - he looks so fucked-out, so gone, so completely absorbed in the feeling of his cock inside you, and your vision is starting to blur at the edges as the spark in your stomach finally bursts into flames-

"That's it, baby, come for me just like that.", Dick gasps, just as your orgasm rips through you. You've got no choice but to clutch at him desperately and ride out each devastating wave as a scream tears itself from your lungs: it feels like your body is tearing itself apart with each ripple of pleasure emanating from your core. Like your body is folding in on itself like a black hole does, when everything becomes too much to bear. You actually feel like you've died, you must have, this is too good and too much and too overwhelming - you hang on to Dick through it all, and your pussy clenches down so hard he can barely move inside you, and he chokes out your name before his own orgasm hits him.

You've come down just enough to process the way he looks and sounds as he comes. Your eyes are still hazy - you kept them on him, you must have - but you nearly come again at the mere sight of him. He's too far gone to even make sounds, and instead he stutters out broken breaths through wet lips, cheeks flushed and eyebrows furrowed hard, and his eyes stay fixed on you the whole time. Even as the rest of his body spasms and rocks into you uncontrollably, even as the hand on your chin slips down to your neck and squeezes, he keeps staring at you with all the lust in the world. The best part of it all, though, is how you feel his cum spilling out into you; even more than he shot onto your hand, somehow, and you realise you're crying from how relieved your body is. Fully, fully, crying, and Dick kisses away your tears as he collapses against you.

Despite how both of you are wincing at the overstimulation, neither of you ever stop moving through it all, and you keep grinding gingerly, carefully but sloppily, against each other even while you gasp for breath against each others' lips. It can't be more than ten seconds from when you come down, before you can't control the urge to whisper, "Give me another one, Dick, please. Keep fucking me." It hurts - it hurts because he's not fucking you, he's not moving enough - you need more.

Dick keeps rolling his hips against yours in shallow movements for a few seconds. His mouth is occupied with sucking more bruises into your neck, up your throat and across your jaw: he's mumbling something incoherent, slurring his words. Each fresh bruise has you gasping his name. You're going to be covered in marks after this - not just your neck, his grip on your ass and hips has been tight enough to leave bruises there, too - and you're entirely certain you've left scratch marks down his back. You nearly come again just at the thought of that; Dick, walking around for days with your marks left on him. Scratch marks under his dress shirts when he's on business, or under the tight material of his Nightwing suit, or blatantly visible through the obscenely sheer shirts he wears out clubbing. He's going to be marked as yours.

"You look so pretty like this, holy shit-", he says, pulling his head from your neck to admire his work. "You're so gorgeous - you always are, you always fucking are - but you look even better when you're mine, fuck-"

“-make me yours, then, please-"

You gasp in shock and disappointment as Dick suddenly pulls out, and his own face crumples at the loss of touch, but his palms are firm and insistent on your waist - he kisses you once, firmly, before he's manoeuvring your body like putty in his hands. You're flipped onto your stomach with another whisper of how pretty you are, and then Dick runs calloused palms down the soaked flesh of your thighs, up over your ass, over the curve of your spine and all the way up to gently, gently, press your cheek flat against the floor. He follows his hand with hot tongue, and when he reaches your ear, he murmurs, "You taste so good, pretty girl. Stay there for me. It's okay, let go. I've got you."

Uncontrollably, your ass jerks up and backwards against where his cock is pressing into you. He chuckles. He fucking laughs with his lips pressed to your cheek - maybe having came inside you has cleared his head enough that he can think straight enough to find your desperation funny - and one of his hands slides back down your body, spreading your pussy open for him to look at. You sense his body tense as he gazes at you. "...My cum is dripping out of you, oh my god."

Fuck it back into me, you think, but you're too far gone to string together a coherent sentence anymore. Your body can do the talking. You keep your cheek pressed to the floor, maybe because your muscles are too exhausted to lift your head, or maybe because it was so fucking hot how Dick pressed your head down, but you manage to meet his eyes. You plead with him as well as you can.

Dick's piercing blue eyes roll right back into his skull when he pushes into you again. From this angle, he feels even deeper than before: with one of his hands running lines up your spine, and his lips wet against the backs of your shoulders, and the steady, strong pace he sets fucking you, you're brought to the verge of tears again within minutes. You can hardly move your body to work with him in this position: he uses the weight of his body to press you into the floor, and each thrust of his hips has you moaning loud against the floor.

He brings a string of kisses and nips up your nape, so he can kiss your cheek again. It's sweet, a gentle gesture, only amplifying the pleasure that each deep snap of his hips brings. "I - I'm not hurting you, am I? I know it must be sensitive, baby, I understand if it's too much, I know - you can tell me if it's too much-"

"-no, please-", you whimper, terrified he's going to stop, "-it's so good, please, Dickie, you're exactly what I need-", and then your voice cuts out into a broken sob as one of his hand snakes between your body and the floor to find your clit. The rough pad of his finger brushes over it a few times, eliciting whimpers from you, before he settles for simply resting his finger on your clit. With each thrust, your hips are jostled against his finger just enough to send sparks of electricity shooting through your veins - every time, it feels like flames licking through each limb, and he's fucking into you so perfectly, claiming you with teeth at your neck, rasping your name against your skin - there's wetness against your cheek, like you're drooling, and you're almost certain you can feel the wetness of your pussy dripping onto his hand.

You're so swollen with desire, you can feel how tightly you're clenching down onto his cock. The mind-blowing pressure Dick's applying to your clit is only making it stronger. "You feel so good, baby. So, so, fucking good - holy shit, you're taking me so well." Then, there's a savage thrust of his hips, one that has both of you crying out in surprise and pleasure: he freezes buried to the hilt inside you. "You're going to make me come again soon, sweetie."

That means more of his cum inside you, more of his delicious moans and groans as he comes, and you say, "God, please-"

"-not yet, I want to make you come for me again. You feel so tight and hot when you do - I need it again, I want nothing more than that, please - you think you can give me another one, huh? One more for me?"

"I - I - yeah.", you stammer. You can, you know you can - your body is practically vibrating from how hard you're trembling on the edge of another orgasm - but you don't know when it's going to stop, you don't know it ever will - maybe this will go on all night, maybe he'll fuck you for hours on end and make you cry and let you lick your mess of his cock. But maybe it won't. Maybe your body will give out, or the pollen will leave his system: this will end and nothing will ever compare. You don't want to come again if it means the end of this pleasure. "...Promise you'll keep going after, Dickie."

Dick starts rubbing rapid circles on your clit with his ring and index finger, and kisses your hairline to soothe you as you sob again. "I'm only going to stop if you ask me to, baby, I promise. You feel too good to stop, I swear - I never thought you would be so fucking perfect, but now I know, I can't stop - I'm right here, I've got you, I'm going to make you come so many times you forget your name if that's what you want."

God, you're going to come again, holy shit-

He hardly gives you the chance to come back around before he's crooning, "-one more, one more for me, right on my cock like that-"

You can't even breathe. Your lungs are on fire, your vision is completely blacked out even once the second orgasm ends, your muscles and bones have turned into mush and you can't feel anything other than the sensation of flying. You're weightless, Dick is the only thing grounding you - he coaxes you down from the aftershocks with soft kisses to your cheek, and his hand tracing circles onto your aching hip, and the muscles of his abdomen are flexing with restraint against your back. "I'm gonna come, baby-", he hisses, and you manage the barest nod and then he sinks his teeth right into your shoulder as he starts pounding into you like a whore, fuck, it's sending you spiralling out of control again-

"Fuck, yes, take my cum like that, that's it, keep coming for me, holy shit-"

You're both boneless and drenched in sweat by the end of it. You're collapsed against the floor, Dick's collapsed against you, and he's still hard inside of you. You can feel his cum - it must have spilled out onto the insides of your thighs, judging by the wetness you feel there. His cock twitches inside of you with every ragged breath he takes. You're so exhausted; this is destroying your body, it's ripping you apart from the inside out, and you're terrified that if you come again it'll split you into pieces. And you want that. You twist your body, wincing against the waves of pleasure that crash over you at even the slightest movement of his cock inside you, and kiss him.

[jemej3m]

Aaron takes the mental health course part of pre med (is that a thing?) and starts recognizing Andrew grounding himself, having an episode, etc

bruhhhhh 

bruuhhh

*

Aaron winced as his son sprinted for the door, yelling the whole way. The twins knew that their uncle was coming to visit and were absolutely ecstatic about it. A well-known fact amongst the old Foxes and their children was that Andrew was very, very good with kids. 

Well, Aaron conceded. Andrew wasn’t good with them. He just didn’t even have to try: they loved him right off the bat. And barring the slight furrow in his brows whenever one of Aaron’s twins or Kevin’s spawn whined ‘please!’, he didn’t seem to mind being around them, either. 

His son was jumping for the doorhandle excitedly, so Aaron put his hand atop of his head and stilled him before swinging the door open. 

Andrew was much the same. They were aging the same way, albeit the slight muscular composition difference. Andrew’s teeth were a little more yellow, though he’d given up smoking a few years ago, and Aaron had reading glasses tucked into the collar of his shirt. Other than that, they were just as similar as they always had been. 

“Hey,” Aaron said, but his son was already yelling and jumping and tugging on Andrew’s hand. Andrew’s lips nearly twitched into a smile. Nearly. 

Once his bags were deposited and shoes tucked into a corner, Katelyn handed him a mug of cocoa and they all sat on the couch as the kids regaled their uncle with stories of preschool and their neighbour’s new dog and how Dad had found them in the bathroom with craft scissors, which was why Aaron’s son had such a short haircut now. 

Katelyn got them settled for bed soon after: Andrew had arrived relatively late in the evening, just in time for ‘adult dinner’. 

“How was the flight?” Aaron asked, taking a dish of potatoes out of the oven. 

Andrew hummed into his glass of wine. “Miserable.” 

Aaron had known for quite a while Andrew’s deliberating fear of heights, ever since the Foxes had taken a reunion trip to Hawaii a few years ago. When his wife hustled back into the kitchen, Andrew nodded at her and she smiled back. Aaron felt something odd in his chest. Andrew had been very tolerant of Katelyn lately. He assumed it was the kids’ doing. 

They ate dinner quietly. Katelyn chattered about the kids, and their medical placements. Andrew asked about their specialties. 

Aaron stared at the plate. Katelyn nudged his shoulder. 

“Right.” He glanced up. “I’m not sure. What I want to choose, that is. It’s between surgery or psychiatry.” 

Andrew hummed. “Psychiatry.” 

Aaron shrugged. He’d done a lot of mental health work throughout his postgraduate degree. It just seemed to make sense that he’d go into that field. It takes one to know one, and all that. “What do you think?”

Andrew just arched an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“Well, yes,” Aaron said, tone a little frigid. Drake’s trial had been a public debacle, but it was Dr Richmond Proust that Aaron couldn’t get out of his head. It was during their fourth year when the news had come on about a psychiatrist at Easthaven being exposed for forceful sexual conduct with patients. Andrew hadn’t spoken to anyone but Neil for a week, and then disappeared for another two when Waterhouse asked him to stand witness to Proust’s trial. 

“Psychiatry is glorified drug dealing,” Andrew decided, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. He paused, then shrugged. “Could probably do with a bit of Minyard fuckery, though.”

Aaron was finally able to read Andrew’s subtext though: that was the biggest compliment he’d ever get. Unable to bite down a smile, he said “I thought so, too.” 

His brother simply hummed. 

The rest of dinner passed quietly. Andrew had three of Katelyn’s triple fudge brownies and sent a photo of them to Kevin, just to piss him off. The evening slowed down with a nightcap in front of the news, Katelyn heading to bed early. She’d agreed to take the kids to their daycare in Aaron’s stead so that he could have breakfast with his brother alone.

Aaron was just about to turn in for the night when Andrew’s phone rang. Andrew squinted at the unknown number, mouth turned down: he could remember everyone’s phone numbers, and this was clearly one he didn’t recognise.  

He rose the phone to his ear. The slight frown disappeared and transformed into a blank stare, something far deadlier. Aaron hadn’t seen him wear it since college. 

“When,” Andrew snapped, gripping the phone so hard Aaron thought it would break. The voice continued. “And you only thought to call me now? I’m his next-of-kin.” Aaron froze. 

Eventually, Andrew hung up, holding the phone midair as his eyes glossed over. 

“Andrew?” 

“Neil got in a head-on collision,” he mumbled. 

“Dead?”

“Unstable.” 

“I’ll book you a flight.”

Andrew wasn’t moving. When Aaron saw a flush rise in his cheeks, he realised Andrew wasn’t breathing, either. Shit. Shit. His brother was having a fucking meltdown. Goddammit, next time Aaron saw Neil he was going to strangle him. 

He got off the couch and crouched down in front of Andrew, careful not to touch him. “Andrew.”

Andrew didn’t move. 

“Hey, Andrew.” Aaron stood up a little more so that they were eye level. “Andrew, you need to breathe. Okay? If you’re going to go make sure Neil’s okay, I need you to breathe.” 

Andrew finally looked at him. He was angry. Terrified. Aaron couldn’t really tell: his gaze was like looking into a void, pupils blown wide. 

Calming someone down was a lot simpler when Aaron didn’t know them. This was like walking a tightrope of barbed wire over an alligator-infested pit. 

“Can I have your phone? I’m going to book you a flight. Okay? Nod if you can hear me.”

Andrew nodded but didn’t relinquish the phone. Aaron grit his teeth. 

“Andrew. It’s going to be okay. He’s unstable, but he’ll make it. He’s always made it. He’s impossible to kill, right?” 

“I hate him,” Andrew mumbled. 

“I know. Can I use your phone?” 

Andrew dropped the phone into Aaron’s hand and dropped his head into his hands, utterly still. His breathing went all ragged and choppy. 

There was a springy voice on the other end of the line. “Hello, this is the service desk for Terminal 1 domestic, how can I -?”

“I need a flight for Denver as soon as you can,” Aaron snapped. “It’s an emergency. When’s the next available one? I’m willing to pay whatever’s necessary.” 

“Oh,” the woman sputtered. “Um, there’s a red-eye leaving in an hour, but there’s only first-class left - ”

“That’s fine. Please book it for Andrew Minyard. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

“Sir, I really can’t - wait, Andrew Minyard? Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” 

“Alright,” she allowed. “Okay. If you can make it to this desk in 25 minutes, I’ll have a seat for you, Mr Minyard.”

Aaron hung up. “Andrew, we need to go.” 

Andrew’s breathing sped up, fingers digging into his hair and pulling hard enough to rip it out. Aaron’s chest began to ache, watching as the sleeves of his shirt fell down to reveal the black armbands, still everpresent after all these years. 

“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “Are you with me, Andrew?”

Andrew glanced up slightly, glaring at Aaron’s collarbone. 

“All you need to do is breathe. Neil is okay. He’s going to be okay. You’ll see him soon, alright?” 

Aaron tapped his hand gently on his knee, palm down for four counts, then holding his fist closed for eight counts, then palm up for four counts. Andrew slowly began to breathe in time with his hand, chest heaving as he inhaled through his teeth. 

It took a while, but Aaron watched him slowly come back to his senses. His hands slipped over his eyes once his breathing was steady, kneading at his temples. 

“I’ll drive you to the airport,” Aaron said. 

“Okay,” Andrew rasped. 

*

“Babe,” Katelyn whispered. “Your phone is going off.”  

Aaron blinked his eyes open, glaring at the ceiling. Why’d he been up so late? 

Oh. Right. 

He blindly reached out for his phone. 

Most of it was the Foxes going mad, but there in the midst of chaos, was Andrew’s number. 

he’s going to be ok. thank you.

Aaron sighed, oddly relieved. He didn’t like Neil Josten one bit, but it would’ve been a slight hiccup if he’d died. 

good, he said, texting blindly without his glasses. don’t mention it.

trust me, his brother texted back. I won’t.

*

nawww twinyards!

[mmvalentine]

The Pianist pt 7 | Jurdan

Modern AU. Part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 8

Jude did not lose her job at Java Island.

The boss was certainly not happy, but once she produced the agent's card he was suddenly very taken with the idea that a celebrity might have their origin story as a waitress at his cafe. So he let her stay.

She finished her shift, floating from table to table and not any of Cardan's crew or anyone else could bring her down from this high. Jude sang as she made coffee, sang as she wiped tables, and when she got home she sang when the excitement was too much for her to be able to sleep.

Early the next morning, as soon as was polite, Jude called the agent. He picked up after two rings.

"This is Bryern" he said in a clipped voice.

"Hi," Jude said, breathlessly. She tried again. "My name is Jude. You left me a business card yesterday and said I should call."

"Jude?"

At that moment, Jude remembered he she had never given him her name.

"Ain't No Sunshine," she prompted. "Juilliard, practice room B."

"Ah yes! How could I forget? You know I saw a lot of students that day, and Juilliard is lucky to have you."

"I'm, ah, actually not a student," Jude corrected, wondering if it was the wrong thing to say.

"Even better!" Bryern said. "I won't have to share any of the credit for discovering you! Listen. I'm glad you called. I've got a meeting with a bunch of producers this afternoon, but my talent cancelled on me and now I'm going in empty handed. Can you make it down to LA by 4pm?"

That sounded impossible.

"Sure," Jude said weakly.

How could she say no? For this, she would make the impossible happen.

"Great! I'll text you the address. This is your number?"

"Yeah, this is me."

"Alright. See you soon, kiddo."

Bryern hung up the phone and Jude stared at nothing.

It was certainly possible to get a flight if she left right this second. But after paying rent two days ago, and a week away from her next pay cheque, Jude had all of fifty dollars to her name. That left only one option. She hated it, but it was the only one.

She whipped around her room and put a change of clothes, a handful of toiletries, and the little makeup she owned into a bag. She collected her wallet, charger and passport. Then she tugged her shoes on, walked up the stairs, and knocked on Cardan's door.

It took a few goes to get Cardan out of bed, and she was expecting that. She knocked loudly, insistently, and would just have to apologise later. After a couple of minutes, he arrived, clearly straight out of bed.

Cardan's eyes flickered when he saw who was at his door.

"Hey," he said muzzily. His gaze rolled languidly down her body, and his tongue licked at his bottom lip. "I was just dreaming about you."

"Cardan," Jude said.

"Jude," he returned.

"I know this is so shit. But I need to ask you a favour."

Cardan yawned. Jude needed him to help her, but the lazy pace he was moving at made her want to slap him awake.

"Well you've got good timing," he said, "because I'm pretty sure I owe you. Or at least, I owe dream-you."

Out with it. He clearly wasn't fully functioning yet, and there was no time for beating around the bush.

"I need to fly to LA," she told him. "Would you lend me the money?"

That got his attention. Cardan raised his eyebrow, and stood a little straighter.

"Any particular reason for the sudden departure?" he asked.

"I called Bryern this morning. That agent, from yesterday. And he said if I could make it over to LA by 4pm today, he would introduce me to a bunch of producers. And I... I have to go, Cardan, this wil never, ever happen to me again I just know it, I..."

Cardan had walked away. Jude paused, uncertain if he was coming back or if this was her dismissal.

Then he returned, and handed her a matte black credit card.

"Here," he said. "This should get you there and make sure you're fed and sheltered etc, etc."

"What's this?"

"My credit card, what does it look like?"

"Don't you have... uh, cash?"

Cardan stared at her. "Do people still carry cash? Jude, it's fine, take it. There's a $100, 000 limit, don't spend it all in one place." He winked at her.

"I'll pay you back," Jude promised. "And I won't spend any more than I have to."

Cardan just waved her away.

"You can pay me back when you're famous and I need to borrow money from you. Now off you go, you have a plane to catch."

Jude exhaled a breath she didn't know she had been keeping in.

"Thank you," she breathed, and then went to the airport.

////////

Jude was gone for three weeks, all up.

Twenty-two days, to be exact, and Cardan knew this because that was the number of days he had not slept.

When Jude had showed up at his door all those weeks ago, he had thought he might have still been dreaming.

After that morning in the practice room, Jude had gone back to work at the café, and then immediately went to a shift at the diner. He didn't get a chance to talk to her, and then when she got home it was late and he knew that she liked to sleep early. So he contented himself with listening to her sing while she pottered around, and figured he'd try catch her the next day.

Of course, after Jude had come on the piano and he had left school with with a boner that chafed on the zipper of his jeans, she had been on his mind all day. When he realised he wasn't going to see her, he stood in the shower and replayed the sounds of her pleasure and the taste of her pussy until he found his release.

Only to walk out, hear her voice floating up through the vent and find himself hard all over again.

No wonder then, when he finally fell asleep it was Jude he dreamed about. And in his dream, it was him on the piano and Jude on her knees.

And then he had woken up to find Jude in real life right on his door step. It took an enormous amount of self control to lean the door, feign nonchalance and to not drag her back to bed with him.

At first, Cardan had been more than happy to help Jude off to LA. She had an amazing talent and if all that was in her way was a few hundred dollars, that was an easy fix.

But then he went off to school, came home and worked on his composition, and when he stopped playing the silence rang out like a death toll.

It sunk in then that he had been relying on Jude to help him fall asleep ever since he had heard her that day, and had no idea what to do without her. Had stripped the carpet and kept the vent open just to bring the sound up.

Cardan tried, he really did.

He tossed and turned for three nights, before he reached for the Grey Goose in his top cupboard. It helped a little, but the sleep was patchy and the dreams were bad.

Over the next couple of weeks, Cardan started to unravel, and was so ashamed that all it had taken was for Jude to leave the downstairs apartment. He sat at the piano to compose, but no inspiration came. He tried to practice, but his fingers rebelled against him. And this time, there were none of Valerian's antics, or Locke's parties, or Nicasia's kisses to distract him.

Cardan did think once about calling Jude, just to hear her voice. Even if she was just talking. Then he realised he didn't actually have her number; they had always just found each other in person.

Probably for the best, he thought. How pathetic was he that he couldn't cope without her?

Cardan went out that night, and even thought that he might take someone home. Sometimes sex helped him fall asleep.

But as many people as he met, none of them were Jude, and that particular crime was so unforgivable that he despised them all.

Fucking hell, how did he used to do this?!

Cardan went home, drunk but somehow still not sleepy, and lay down on the floor by the vent. No voices came through it, but he stayed there anyway, and poured vodka down his throat until he passed out.

****

Don't worry Cardan, she's coming back in the next chapter x

JURDAN MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @asteria-of-mars @swankii-art-teacher @loosingdreams @feysand-loml @cityofbookish @story-scribbler @thebonecarver @realbookloverproblems

[shortiedreams]

Nobles in the night

Requested by @jwxei

Pairing: Bakugo x (fem) Reader 

Synopsis: You’re a princess set out to kill the king of your nation. Will you succeed?

Word count: 1,821

CW: Attempted murder

A/N: Played ‘Phantom of the Opera’ soundtracks whilst writing this. Dying right now ✌️

_

“The hour of the ball has transpired.” a hushed voice came from behind the entrance.

With the help of his usual dynamic tone, Bakugo immediately recognises the familiar voice of his fidus Achates, Kirishima Eijiro. 

“Very well.” he sighs, and Kirishima could almost hear a frown through his raspy voice. 

None of this was going the way Bakugo wanted it to, yet he couldn’t back out anymore; it was simply too late.

“I’ll be taking my leave then, your majesty.” Kirishima reports.

“Please do.”

Bakugo examines his profile in the gilded mirror. He glowers at his own reflection, how outlandish he looked in his formal attire. Even short of the mantle cloak he was supposed to wear tonight, everything about what he’s dressed himself was far too extravagant for his liking.

He poses again with several new angles as if his judgements will change in one swift movement, but of course, it still feels improper.

He drops his eyes in defeat, succumbing to the unadorned fact that he was going to have to get used to the policies of being king.

He has no idea why everyone worshipped the throne. All he ever wanted was to live a secluded life with his family and friends. 

In actuality, that was what he had before the Mediterranean War a year prior to the present, wiping out the entirety of his family, ergo his newfound entitlement: the king. Kirishima was the only part of his childhood that remained, the only part of his childhood he still had physical contact with. It wasn’t surprising to say that he was very attached to the man, granting him the chancellor’s position. 

Which is why with Kirishima and his family’s former support, it was impossible for him to deny the tradition of the annual ball no matter how much he opposes it. He hates the notion of prattling aristocrats shattering his peace and quietness. Even more so of his invitation to you, the Princess of Agathinos, under the monarchy’s recommendation. This would be the first time a guest with royal blood would visit the palace ever since his family’s death. 

As always, Bakugo initially wanted to decline, but Kirishima advised him that he should accept it since it was ‘time’ for him to start courting. He thought Kirishima was being a nuisance, then again he also didn’t want to be looked down on by the aristocrats. He already knows there are rumours of him, calling him all sorts of names like ‘boorish to women’ or ‘ a  critter of another nation’. 

Bakugo was a smart man, so it didn’t take him much to realise that if he really terminated these accustomed traditions, the public would cause unnecessary commotions. Therefore, for the sake of his future peace and his reputation, the ball is set to commence tonight.

Bakugo snaps out of his sombre daze as he reaches the doors to his chamberlains. He fixes himself, coughs a little, before the doors open and he’s now striding out into the hallway. 

Two handmaids are waiting outside his chambers on cue, guiding him to the ballroom. Bakugo glances around the normally dimmed hall, spotting the marshals line-up in armour and the walls decorated with large candles and Renaissance artifacts. He could hear the distant melodies of the orchestra, currently playing some melodramatic composition. Amidst the lively energy of the hall, Bakugo thought that these attributes only made the area more inhumane.

Bakugo soon enters the top of the stairway, where he adjusts himself as he sits on his throne. He doesn’t even get a few seconds to himself and the guests are already flooding into the ballroom, producing a discord between the music and the chatters. 

“Just great.” he grumbles to himself, resting his chin atop a fisted hand.

_

“For the stead of my parents and the kingdom.” you remind yourself.

You too were sitting in front of your vanity mirror, questioning yourself of your affairs. 

You stare into the mirror long and hard. The dress you were currently wearing is the embodiment of an icy blue oasis. The crystal embroidery embellished on the outermost tulle of the skirt was your definition of a wintery wonderland. The rest of your body was touched up with matching accessories too: diamond earrings, silk gloves and silver hair ornaments. Everything about your outfit shone under the moonlight, but you didn’t, you merely blended in with the dark. Especially with the expression you were holding, no one was going to see you as a ‘princess’.

The reason for your morose mien was your parents, who weren’t attending the ball alongside you as they were busied with engagements arranged overseas.

The only thing they left behind for you was the invitation card, and a letter explicitly telling you to the murder the king. 

At the time you read the letter, you were shocked at how your parents could possibly craft up an assassination plot with such detail. You weren’t oblivious to your parents being megalomaniacs; it was why they were away most of the time, focus directed towards any other royalty overseas rather than their own daughter back at home. 

Another reason why they never really bothered with you was because you were a daughter. Although you were an only child, you understood that society’s misogynistic ways definitely influenced their lack of attention towards you.

It's not like you and your family had a bad relationship but you weren’t exactly close either, therefore you didn’t have enough memories to form any opinions on them. Well that is up until now, when the confidential letter telling you the kill the king ceaselessly echoes through your mind. 

Brazen of you, but you wanted to get some of your family’s attention for once. In a sense, you inherited their selfishness. 

You temporarily shake off your thoughts, and with the minimal amount of dignity left in you, tread along to where your chauffeur was, waiting to escort you to the plaza - the location of the castle. 

Inside the privacy of your cart, the thoughts of how the assassination will go runs through your mind as you fiddle nervously on the holster underneath your dress.

You just hope you’ll manage to come out in one piece.

_

The moment you make your ‘grand’ entrance at the ball, strangers are already gushing at you as a peculiar redhead announces your status. 

You realise that this was probably your first official appearance in public as your parents never let you out, contradicting their own actions. 

You waste no time to ask around for the location of the lavatories. Luckily, the same redhead fills you in on the information you need, and you manage to make a quick escape to the toilets. 

You shut the doors behind you, puffing in pure relief. You were never good with crowds since you haven’t even been outside after all, so the comfort of this cloistered space warms you a little. 

Anyway, you’re here to collect yourself before you even dare to think about killing anyone.  

It takes you a while to calm your breathing as the plan continues to play through your mind for what feels like an eternity. Killing really is all that disturbing.

When you finally muster up enough courage, you step out of the lavatory with undeveloped confidence. Flushing, you look down at your feet as you attempt to make your way back into the ballroom, not even noticing the man standing straight ahead. You stumble into him ungraciously, earning you a merited knock on the head.

“Ouch.” you wince in pain. 

Your eyes drift up to meet with a prepossessing blonde who gazes down at you with an amused guise. He was dressed in haute couture, a form-fitting navy suit pinned with the golden emblem of the Bakugo’s: a griffin.

Without a second glance, you instantly note that he’s the king. 

“Careful, Princess of Agathinos.” he alerts, his voice suiting as the most soothing cord of notes you’ve heard pour out of a mouth in a while.  

How did he recognise you?

“You dropped something, princess.” Stupefied, you watch in awe as he bends down to pick up your possession. 

Moments later, you finally knock yourself out to check what’s fallen off your outfit. In vain, you find all your accessories precisely in their designated locations.

Wait.

“A dagger?” he taunts, raising a brow in your way, “Mind explaining why you need this in a clearly guarded place?”

“My King, I-”

“Don’t have anything to defend yourself with?” Your eyes widen at his accurate observation.

Unnerved, you flee from his light grasp and begin pacing in the opposite direction witlessly.

“Running away from me in my premises. How fatuous.” he chuckles to himself, inspecting the dagger that played in his hands.

_

You dash tirelessly past the postern and into what appears to be a garden. You don’t give a second thought as you bolt through a vineyard, the chiffon fabric tufting together under the remiss handling of your silk gloves. 

Reaching the mouth of an inviting forest, you feel a pair of arms repelling you from going any further. Your eyes widen once more, not being able to tell if you were gratified or terrified, or a genuine mixture of both. 

“I wouldn’t go there if I were you.” the flattery music blows into your ear.

Absent from warnings, two strong arms spin your waist around to engage you with a  handsome physique under the moonlight. You shudder at the enchanting sight of the king. 

If he’s run all the way here for you unaccompanied, it is only alright for you to assume that he doesn’t care about the incident back there.

He seems to be more interested in you, like you are with him.

“Please don’t run, princess. I’m not the beast that everyone deems me to be.”

You show no apparent reaction to his comment, still fazed.

“Don’t be afraid.” he adds, sounding ever so sincere. 

“Oh, I won’t.” you promise. It was the only thing you could say after being completely infatuated by him.

“If you’re saying that on account of me releasing you, then you’re wrong, princess.”

“I mean it, your majesty.” you clarify challengingly.

He hums, palpably entertained, “Will you allow me to try something?”

Was the king seriously asking you for permission even after he knew you were a threat?

Oh lord.

“S-sure.” you stutter, making a downright fool out of yourself.

“Well then, forgive me for my bold deed.”

Before you could even say anything, you feel the sensation of his soft lips pressing against yours, juxtaposing to his unyielding image beneath the moonlight. It sent butterflies fluttering down your back impetuously.

Slowly pulling away for air, a silence hovers above the both of you, utterly enraptured by each other.

“Bewitching.” he comments as he leans in for another kiss. This time you lid your eyes, prepared to devote yourself to your king, Bakugo Katsuki.

[hereisleo]

stardust in our veins/

w/ s.mg x reader

g/ college!au, fluff, budding romance

w.count/ 2814

a.n/ in which upcoming astrophysicist and model song mingi is in a dilemma over the soon to be love of his life. a part of ‘back to school’ writing event with @kpopscape

t.w/ swearing

“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”

Well, fuck. Mingi thinks his luck is the worst. The one time he needed the universe to make sense of course it wouldn’t. Then again turning to his astrophysics texts for guidance in the matter of love is the wrong place to start. Love doesn’t make sense like the universe, much of it still undiscovered and will continue to remain so. There’s only so much humans can learn and that by no means is little. He’s simply too finite to understand all the ways the universe has to offer. The perks of being mortal in his opinion.

His phone lights up, a notification appears on his screen. Don’t be late, Min! Right, he has to model for his friend tonight. He sends a quick confirmation text, a little cute onomatopoeia of ‘ang!’ Out of place with his stoic exterior yet that’s how he is, best of both worlds. Mathematics and astrophysics. Fashion industry and music. He could make it anywhere he wants to be. Mingi is confident in himself, he knows he has most of the skills set required to pursue all of his dream occupations. So he straightens the loose pages of a printed pdf file and tuck them into its folder. He could buy the textbooks but why would he do that? He likes to eat the rich so to speak. All his earnings go to tuition and he would live smartly to make it through another year.

The chair squeaks in the quiet library and he winces, slightly apologetic at the flinches from students studying in the library. He doesn’t dwell much in it, he slings his back over his shoulder and pushes his chair in, lifting it a touch to prevent the grating noise. He nods at the librarian and mouths his, ‘bye.’ And it’s just him and his little kidney beans, AirPods, pumping music into his ears. He makes his way around the ground, weaving through passing students going to different classes, the stares he receives are not foreign. He’s used to it. He’s always a head and some more taller than the average or maybe it’s his clothes or his colourful hair or the way he carries himself is out of place within the Department of Astrophysics. Mingi looks like someone from the Department of Arts. A fashion or music student. Some would say he’s here because of an athletic scholarship. He is simply exercising his freedom to wear whatever he wants.

Sik-K’s “Habibi” starts playing and he mumbles his curses, a love and hate relationship he has with his playlist. He just managed to distract himself from thinking about love and here he is, back to wallow in his one-sided pining. Pitiful. You’re pathetic, Song Mingi. His strides languidly back to his shared apartment, not too far off from campus, he could take the car but he likes to walk when the weather is nice. He wonders when did he begin liking you. The first time he sees you is in the Arts building when you were fitting his feline-like friend into a stage costume. He thinks he fell for how your brow knits together in concentration as your fingers deftly repaired loose embellishment of pearls on the velvet suit jacket. He vividly recalls how inky the fabric was, similar to the sky that night, Mars was visible from the big window at the fashion studio. He would catch glimpses of you here and there and because of that, his visits to the Arts building increased. His friends caught on immediately and they wouldn’t live it down.

Before he knows it, he’s already punching the security codes on his door. A happy greeting of his name falls short with an amused laugh. Even his best friend could tell, he’s wallowing in his feelings. Mingi whines, kicking his shoes off before unceremoniously taking all the space on the couch. Good thing his playlist has come to its end, he takes out the little kidney beans from his ears and let it rest on the coffee table.

“Love doesn’t make sense, Yunho,” he groans, burying his face against the giant brown bear plushie. A hand pats his head, “Love doesn’t make sense and so does the universe yet you love them the same.” Mingi thinks Yunho has been skimming through his astrophysics texts but highly unlikely, Yunho doesn’t enjoy reading. He sighs and nuzzles deeper into the belly of the soft toy. Hell, he much rather snuggle with you but alas you’re a distant star out of his reach. He could only see you behind the lenses of his telescope. He will make do with the bear and his friends for now. He likes being alone, he likes his space but he hates the feeling of loneliness that comes out to play every once in a while. More often now since he has you to pin over. His friends could only do so much for him.

Fuck you, Kim Hongjoong. Mingi keeps his head low and skirts around the photographer. You. He isn’t not aware you’ll be shooting him today, figuratively and literally. Yeosang has a shit eating grin on his face when Mingi sits on the chair to get his makeup done. “Not a word, Yeosang,” he mumbles and the grin widens. His friend only wipes his face clean before starting off with a quick skincare. He’s used to this, the gentle toner in white and blue packaging and the light cream patted into his skin. His friend went the length to purchase them specifically for him. He keeps his eyes trained on the mirror, tracking your movements all over the studio, talking to Hongjoong, toying with the navy and silver camera strap. He remembers buying the strap for Jongho when the old one was too worn out for use. It reminds him of the starry sky and it’s now in your hold. He bites his lip, it shouldn’t feel intimate yet here he is almost astral projecting because it feels as if you are holding part of his universe. Stop it, Mingi!

His pseudo makeup artist taps his abused lip with a warning tut, a red stain is smudged lightly before a clear gloss is patted over them so it doesn’t dry out his lips. Yeosang always scolds him for having chapped lips and this time Mingi sports dark smokey eyes, he could see hints of burgundy mixed into the brown shadows. Yeosang gives him a wink before sending him off to change. Hongjoong is a genius for designing outfits and he’s honoured to be one of the models walking in it. He wishes nothing but the best for the clothing line launch to be successful but he would be lying if he doesn’t want to wipe the smirk off the designer’s face right now.

Your fingers graze the skin of his back, his shoulders tensed and he presses his lips together to prevent any noise from escaping his mouth. Fuck this shoot. You’re just pinning his jeans because it’s slightly too big. Mingi wants to run home into the comfort of his bed and screams. Your radiating body heat is so warm and perhaps this is as close as he would ever to touch you, the human embodiment of the universe. He shouldn’t be this hypersensitive yet here he is flustered beyond his imagination. His lungs feel like they are collapsing. You are the 3-degree temperature difference in intergalactic space he learned about. His body couldn’t manage to reach equilibrium. Being around you makes his blood cells want to burst, the lack of atmospheric pressure puts a dizzy spell on him. Mingi thinks you’re an amazing being like the supercharged subatomic particles travelling almost just as fast as the speed of light. There’s only 0.1% difference. Magnificent.

Hongjoong and Yeosang smirk at his struggles. They are no strangers to his ‘internally screaming’ countenance. Mingi would have book it if they let him suffer any longer. He takes one look into the mirror, the long leather coat adds some invisible height to him, he appears taller than he already is and the chunky ribbed turtleneck accentuate his long neck. He glances over to the few more pieces hanging on the rack. Hongjoong kills it with the A/W capsule collection. He couldn’t wait to get into the patchwork trench coat and the purple overshirt that catches his attention since the prototype era. The universe has expanded further into infinity since then.

A gentle call of his name and the barely there touch on his back jolts him out of his reverie, eyes boring into yours almost bewitched. Your hand is right over where his birthmark is hidden under the layers of fabrics. “Mingi?” Your voice. Damnit, it’s so soft to his ears and the way his name rolls off your tongue raises the hairs on his arms. He dazedly hums in response, “Yes, stars?” The composition of a human being is as old as the universe itself, there are stardust running in the veins of mortals. He sees the brightest stars in your eyes. He doesn’t realise what he just called you, the term of endearment he refers you as in his head slips out to be immortalised. Sound waves travel into space and beyond, he can’t take back what he said. Your cheek is hot under his fingertips, in moments of bravery or stupidity, Mingi manages to string together a sentence, “Let’s take some pictures shall we?”

Bless Hongjoong for hooking up the music. He would run away if Taemin’s “Criminal” didn’t start playing. Don’t explode now. One more step to the front of the red backdrop. What foolish action did he do? How did he have the courage to talk to you and more over actually feel your skin under his fingers? He wants to scream and curl up on the floor. I did not just do that! Yeosang gives him a thumbs up for the corner of the studio. Thank heavens for his friends. He lets the electronic beats fill him and he loses himself in the act. His friends once told him, he’s a good actor. Now is the time for him to maximise the skill. A teasing drag of his bottom lip between his teeth, the smouldering gaze as he pierces through the camera lens straight at you just as the lyrics spews, ‘Destroy me more.’ Two can play this game and Mingi finds it relieving to find he’s not the one who is affected. It doesn’t quite make sense to you how he likes you and it doesn’t quite make sense to him how you like him. He’s not built for chasing love but now he knows you do have an interest in him, he takes the liberty to pursue it. He wouldn’t pour his love onto you yet. He has class and he’s not going to do anything that might spook you. Yes, he acts like an idiot sometimes but he’s not an idiot. He wants to make sure if you really have taken a liking of him or if he’s merely a passing interest. He doesn’t like getting hurt.

One wardrobe change and then two, the playlist continuous on, the hours blurred together. Mingi is in his last outfit, lying on the brown leather couch covered with colourful rugs and you’re hovering over him with the DSLR. He gives you, no, he means the camera, his best smirk and provocative lift of his eyebrow. From the corner of his eyes, Yeosang and Hongjoong are curling into each other to stifle bubbling laughter while monitoring all the shots appearing on the computer. The addictive riff of “Teeth” by 5 Seconds of Summer has him unbuttoning the purple overshirt. His friends are slapping each other and he hears you take sharp intake of breath. He is enjoying this way too much and he might as well. If he’s going to explode now is the time. Before the night ends, before the sky lightens, he would explode like a supernova, powerful and bright enough for its light to glow for more than a week. It’s rather selfish of him to make himself linger in your mind in a rather unorthodox fashion but he couldn’t help it, the opportunity is there for the taking. At some point the two nuclei would collide to create a new element, Mingi hopes it’s his and yours.

The following day Mingi wakes up to a series of texts in the group chat. The sheer amount of caps lock yelling are not anything new so he didn’t check it yet. He raises his arms and lets his muscles sing with the stretch. His feet kiss the cool floor and he makes his way out to do his day off routine. “Morning, Yunho,” he greets, his voice still rough from sleep, it sounds deeper even to his own ears. He hears his roommate rustling about in the living room and feet padding hurriedly to his direction, “Afternoon already, Min! And you can’t say that nonchalantly after what you did last night! You didn’t tell me this!” What did he do last night? Ah, right! He was modelling for Hongjoong, saw you and flirted with you indirectly through the camera lens. Yunho shoves his phone in front of him.

An A-cut photograph from the shoot is attached in the chat by Hongjoong. He was in the half open purple overshirt and sunglasses hanging between his teeth, glaring straight at whoever is looking at the picture. Consecutive texts from his friend group are under it, nothing but praises and Yunho is always first to compliment him. My best friend right there! Following the trail of text bubbles, he finds a short video. He presses the play button and immediately blushes, hiding his face in his hands with an exasperated sound. Last night model Mingi was brave enough to reach for the camera. In fact, he reached past it and cradled your cheek in his palm. “It was for the shoot!” Yunho pockets his phone. “Mingi. You eye fucked the camera through and through. In fact, it’s not the camera, it’s your ‘stars’.” The mirth in Yunho’s voice is enough to draw another whine from him. He couldn’t find fault in his best friend’s statement.

He has to go back in again today and how is he supposed to face you? I should call in sick. Yet with that thought he still works the coffee machine, his body moving rotely and his friend sidles next to him to help him with lunch. He could still sense the excitement radiating from the puppy-like man. An avocado toast later, Mingi is sent out with a cheery, “Have fun!” The little kidney beans are back in his ears, a mellow summer song soothes his pounding heart. The moon peeks between buildings as if to tell him it’s rooting for him. In such an aspect, he thanked the pile of regolith and dead volcanoes hanging in space.

His takes longer strides to the campus ground, arriving earlier than expected, his body understands the excited energy simmering under his skin. To see you standing in front of the Arts building entrance sparks something in him. Don’t do or say anything weird, Mingi. He breaks into a jog, calling your name properly this time. It’s an exaggeration but this is what he thinks being struck by a space debris must feel like. The shy wave of your hand and the sunlight blanketing your skin are enough to set his heart racing. “You look different today.” He supposed he does look different to you. Your encounters with him are always within the confinement of Hongjoong’s studio. You never see him in his casual state, so the messy, half wet hair from the shower earlier, the all sweats get-up he is in and the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose are foreign to you. Hell, you never see him cooing at a soft toy or notice how slow he eats. “Have you eaten yet?” That’s good, Min, that’s a safe question. You nod with a smile, pocketing away your phone, “Just enough to get through the meeting.” Mingi wants to curl up on the floor, what is he going to do with your undivided attention on him?

“Shall we grab something together afterwards?” He curls his hands into fist within the pockets of his sweatpants. What the hell did he just ask you? He needs that space debris to smite him out of existence right now. The endearing shy smile on curving your cheeks upwards has him biting his tongue. Mingi thinks a space debris really has vaporised him, your answer leaving him a stuttering blushing mess. “It’s a date then.”

“The universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.”

[chestnut-b]

Himawari - Chapter 5

A request to kindly reblog if you like the art or the story! (Still not appearing in tags, unfortunately ;_; Thank you so much!

Chapter 5 of a Demon Slayer AU.

“Please don’t go hoisting your parental duties on me just yet, sensei. Do you really want to entrust Naruto’s growth to a guy who reads Icha Icha Paradise?”

Or worse, writes it. Iruka could only laugh. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed this freely before.

He’d have to find a way to live forever now.

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

All Kakashi had to do was follow the yelling. Naruto’s, specifically. 

Swiftly, he navigated the dark tunnels, stopping only to orient himself at the numerous forks along the way. When Naruto’s voice faded, his ears picked up the sound of waves and rushing water. That too, lasted a few short seconds before dissipating into soft echoes, but Kakashi knew he was close. The stench of death was growing stronger with each step.

He arrived just in time to see Iruka, standing seemingly still in a shallow pool of water at the base of a huge cavern, Naruto clinging to his side. Their backs bore signs of having been dragged a distance, Iruka’s more than Naruto’s. Kakashi couldn’t see if they’d sustained any injuries, but knowing the teacher, he must have taken the brunt of it on their way down here.

He gazed at Iruka’s form. That defensive stance… a breath technique?

His curiosity piqued, Kakashi resisted the urge to act, instead choosing to mask his presence. There was barely enough light being emitted from the pool for him to get a view of their grim surroundings. The corpses of beasts, predator and prey alike, littered every nook and cranny, some hung from the stalactite-covered ceiling as skeletal, brittle husks.

Soon, an ominous rattling reached his ears, followed by what could only be described as a grotesque symphony of hisses, groans and moving parts. 

“Mare..chi…what a feast...ha..haha...it’s been a while since I’ve had a human meal..”a wretched voice echoed, already drunk with hunger.

Well, that confirmed it, Kakashi cursed inwardly. He’d left the cave obediently at Iruka’s request, and now they were facing a demon that was already salivating at the thought of rare blood. The slayer hadn’t spoken, nor had he moved an inch despite Naruto’s presence beside him. His hands were poised to draw his blade from its sheath at a moment’s notice. 

The pool at his feet started to ripple in slow, rhythmic pulses. 

There it was again. Kakashi felt a familiar, gentle wave pass over him. His presence had been felt, but Iruka made no appeal for assistance.

Let’s see what you’re made of, Iruka-sensei. 

A single piece of rock fell from the ceiling, creating a secondary wave of ripples in the water. Kakashi spied a snaking form in the reflection, and in the next instant, the foe descended upon the pair.

Legs, too many legs. Kakashi cringed inwardly. 

He hated centipedes. 

A demon large enough to hunt monsters for prey, with a long, segmented body twice as thick as a human adult. The demon’s face and neck were nowhere to be seen, though he had a good idea of where it was hidden.

There was a flash of metal, followed by a terrible shriek of pain. The demon fell and thrashed violently in the water. With a shining blue blade, Iruka had managed to fend off the first strike, slicing off a row of legs in the process. 

But there wasn’t enough strength behind Iruka’s blow to have dealt significant damage to the main body, Kakashi observed. If the path of his blade had strayed, there would have been trouble. It had been a concentrated effort, judging from the deep, controlled exhale that followed.

The teacher had taken the chance to jump back with Naruto, increasing the distance between them and their foe. The boy let out a taunt, but was quickly silenced with an extended arm and a hushed admonishment. 

Just as the demon found its bearings, Iruka reached into the sleeve of his haori and in the next instant, three kunai had found their marks deep in the crevices of the centipede’s body, this time producing a sputter of indignant rage as tiny streams of blood seeped into the pool.

With a shrill shriek, the mouth of the creature pried open, and out emerged a humanesque head and torso, its skin pale and wet. Veins of purple had started to snake up its neck.

Naruto failed to rein in his cry of disgust. 

“You bastard...wisteria?!” The thing screamed bloody murder. 

Iruka kept silent, walking towards the demon while staring it down with an unrelenting glare. This seemed to enrage it even more, for it backed up, coiling like a snake preparing to strike. In its delirium, it opted for a head-on attack, lunging straight for the approaching slayer with blinding speed. 

“Iruka-nii!” 

The slayer’s strike had only opened a wide gash in its torso as it whipped past. Iruka hadn’t expected the change in trajectory. Naruto had already started running his way, and the demon adjusted its course for retaliatory strike. 

“Get down!” Iruka screamed. 

The boy took to the ground, arms over his head. Iruka shielded him with his own body, bracing for a direct hit.

However, nothing came but a wet crash and an inhuman screech. Iruka lifted his head in time to see one of the severed segments drop onto the ground beside him. 

“Iruka-sensei, I don’t think this is what you meant when you said we’d be in time for dinner.” 

Kakashi turned his head for a moment to beam moronically at the teacher. Iruka sighed in response, but favoured him with an exasperated smile in return anyway. Kakashi found himself thinking; while a glare was always an interesting look on Iruka, nothing quite looked as natural on him as a smile.

The teacher had taken a few bumps on the way down, a cut on his head bled worse than it actually was, but other than that, Kakashi saw no reason for alarm, 

A sharp interruption broke his train of thought.

“Shut up. You’re late!” Naruto berated him.

Kakashi rolled his eyes, as he was prone to doing when around the boy. 

He wasn’t late; it was in fact, a strategically delayed entry. 

Nevertheless, the Hashira approached the writhing demon, gleaming black blade in hand.

“Hey, where’s your master? I’ll make it a painless death if you tell me.” 

There was no coherent or useful answer to be gleaned in the screams that followed. 

”That’s a pity. Well, be seeing you then.” 

Contrary to his threat, Kakashi took the demon’s head clean off with one silent, clean strike. Soon after, the body started its slow disintegration into black ash. 

“May you find peace...and light on the other side.” 

He knew full well it wasn’t meant for him, but something in that gentle voice made Kakashi’s heart stir in a way it hadn’t for a long time. For a moment, his father’s visage surfaced in his mind. 

He turned back to the pair, only to see Iruka looking into the eyes of the fallen demon. On his exhausted face was a genuinely forlorn expression. The demon stared silently, but a single tear joined the rest of the pool at their feet, creating a final ripple before the last of the body disappeared for good.

“Iruka-nii!” Naruto cried, bearing the now slumped Iruka on his shoulder. He’d lost consciousness. 

Kakashi flicked the blood off his sword before returning it to its sheath, doing the same for Iruka’s. He passed the sheathed blade to Naruto before picking the teacher up into his arms. Truthfully, he would have wanted to see the reaction on his face had he been awake, but instead Kakashi was met with another somber realisation; Iruka was a half a head shorter than Kakashi at most, but his weight scarcely reflected it. He didn’t have time to ponder for long before a subdued voice spoke out.

“Is he going to be ok?” It was one of those times when Naruto sounded the most like the 7 year old child he was. 

“He’ll be fine. Sensei’s stronger than he looks.”

His gaze lingered on Iruka’s worn face just a bit longer. 

When my time comes, will you pray for me too, sensei?

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

 Sound was always the first thing to come to him when he woke up. He remembered the chirping of birds or summer cicadas, his mother’s humming as she laid out breakfast, or his father’s stern but warm voice as he trained at dawn.

In this place was the gentle crackle of a fire, the rush of trees and grass swaying in the wind, and the rhythmic pitter-patter of a light rain hitting stone. On his right could only be Naruto’s soft snoring. The weight of fabric over his shoulders felt like a warm embrace. He wanted desperately to lose himself in the sheer comfort of the composition, but Iruka knew he was not lying in his room or in his bed. 

Cautiously, he opened his eyes to see a soft orange glow in the stone ceiling above him. 

“Good evening, sensei.” 

And there was Kakashi. 

Iruka cringed as he struggled to sit himself upright, every part of him ached. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he could feel every bump and bruise all over again. He turned to his right to see Naruto, sleeping like a log, wrapped in Iruka’s haori. Seeing that, he looked down at his own lap to see what could only be Kakashi’s haori. It was a deep maroon that at times shone a silk-like black under the right light. It was beautiful, and, looking at it up close like he was now, easy to get lost in its richness. He removed his arms from under the coat, and was surprised to see the cuts and scrapes that his hands had suffered had been cleaned and carefully bandaged. The red braided cord he used to tie his hair was neatly rolled and left in his palm. 

“I had to look into your bag to see if there was anything we could use, sorry sensei.”

The Hashira had saved their lives, and now he was apologising? Iruka wondered if all the pillars were as odd as this one. Iruka shook his head before taking in his surroundings. They were still in the same cave, and judging from the height of the moon outside, it was just after midnight.

The wind brought a slight chill, but the worst of it was fended off by the warmth of the fire and the haori that had been draped over him. His hair, now spilling over his shoulders, protected his neck from the worst of the cold. He turned to Kakashi, dressed in only the standard blacks, gently lit by the moonlight as he sat closer to the mouth of the cave. 

He looks cold. 

“How are you feeling?”

Like crap, if he was going to be truthful. But it must have been miles better than being a drained shell of a meal for a demon. 

“I’ll survive.” 

Iruka struggled to his feet. Taking the haori along with him, he offered it back to Kakashi, who merely smiled and shook his head. 

“You should get back to sleep. You need it.”

“Right. So we’re sharing then.”

“What?”

Iruka draped the haori back onto Kakashi’s shoulders. But instead of returning to where he’d been lying, he plopped himself bodily next to Kakashi, pressing their shoulders together before wrapping the other half of the haori around himself. Kakashi let out a warm, amused chuckle that vibrated through his battered body. He dug his face into his knees. The heat he felt rising to his cheeks wasn’t from the warmth of the fire. 

“That’s what you get for being stubborn about it.”

“Oh sensei, If we’re going to be children here, how about a bed-time story?”

There was a rustle of paper, and Iruka lifted his head to see a very child-unfriendly woodblock-printed illustration shoved right in his face.

“What the hell is this?!” He hissed indignantly, swatting the book away from his face. Kakashi’s hand retreated with it before any damage could have been dealt.

“Jiraiya-sensei’s latest work. Icha-Icha Paradise: Romance in the Floating World! He left the manuscript in his-, I mean, my room, as a way of keeping me occupied while I play babysitter.” 

Iruka swore he had never heard the man sound this happy. He looked so satisfied thumbing through the book with the brightest orange washi-paper cover he’d ever seen that Iruka couldn’t help but think himself an idiot. Because, even just for a moment, he’d thought Kakashi looked quite dignified, sitting there in the moonlight. 

Iruka had never been so wrong. 

Beside him sat the strongest of the Hashira, legendary user of multiple breath-styles; Hatake Kakashi, and he was reading porn in a cave. Iruka was dumbstruck.

Maybe this is all a dream, or maybe I did get eaten by the demon and I’m in hell where I belong.

But Naruto was here too, so that couldn’t be it. He groaned, rubbing his forehead. That had been carefully bandaged too. 

“I suppose this is why you didn’t try to get us back tonight.” He’d shown Kakashi the map, he knew where the entry points were.

Kakashi nodded solemnly. “I hate getting wet even under normal circumstances. If Jiraiya found out I destroyed his manuscript, well, I’m not sure if there will be any of me left for the demons, sensei.” He didn’t know if the shiver Kakashi produced was real or mere parody.

“Plus, it’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” 

Iruka couldn’t deny that part. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept rough like this, but he felt the same sentiment. He’d remember this night, and not just for the scenery and soundscape.

Jiraiya-sama. It wasn’t the first time he had met the man, but he’d taken the task of observing Naruto even less seriously than Kakashi had at first, spending most of his time in the town taverns or in his room. He’d requested a good supply of paper and ink blocks upon his arrival. So this is what they were for. Iruka sighed, what a waste of good writing materials. As if they weren’t troublesome enough to obtain too. 

The books though; he’d seen them as he browsed the town’s bookshops. They stood out in the most indiscreet fashion possible, Iruka’s eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to them. Kotetsu had been bugging him to buy one on his trips there, but once he saw the title, he decided there were definitely better uses for his limited savings. He never expected the author and the esteemed retired Hashira to be one in the same Jiraiya. 

The sounds of water that surrounded them made Iruka realise how thirsty he was. He placed a hand on his throat in an attempt to soothe it. Another article was soon in his line of sight, a bamboo water canteen. 

“Sorry I couldn’t get it to you sooner.” He’d sounded genuinely apologetic, and it wasn’t just about the water either. Iruka shook his head. He’d have apologised too, for being this weak, but Kakashi had witnessed it for himself plenty by now. Nevertheless, he took the water gratefully. Gingerly, he reached into his pocket, taking out a small sachet. He emptied its contents into his mouth before taking a large swig of water. 

From the day he was born, it never failed to taste absolutely awful.

Kakashi chuckled. The reaction on his face must have been too obvious.

“Mustn’t be easy being a Senju huh, Umino Iruka-kun.”

Iruka blinked at him before bursting out laughing. He was grateful Kakashi had waited for him to swallow before bringing that one out. 

How many years had it been since he’d heard those two names in the same sentence. 

“You must have been a great student, Kakashi-san.”

“Quite the contrary, Minato-sensei was just about ready to kill me himself. Too many questions can be a problem, apparently.”

If there was a time Iruka could relate to Naruto’s late Father, it was right at this moment. 

“When did you realise?” Iruka sighed, he’d laughed so hard, he had to wipe the tears out of the corners of his eyes. 

Kakashi turned his head, his one eye, grey as stone, gazed at him warmly.

“Maa, my suspicions were just about confirmed today, actually.” 

“Please, do enlighten me.” 

Kakashi made a pleased sound, nodding his head. 

“Firstly, Sarutobi doesn’t take just anyone as a student. No offence, sensei, but physically speaking, you’re not the strongest combatant. So there had to be other reasons for him to keep you around, especially knowing what happened between you and Naruto that day.”

Iruka nodded slowly. He’d barely made it through every Hashira training session that Kakashi had been instructed to conduct when he was posted at the school. Iruka, like everyone else there, dreaded those days the most,

“Secondly, Your earrings. Sea-glass from the Uzumaki coast, and a bit too expensive for a commoner’s family. It’s not just where the Uzumaki came from, the Senju had long been there before moving further east. Not the strongest evidence, I admit, but there it is.” 

Unconsciously, Iruka’s hand had moved to touch the earring on his left ear. The only things he had left of his Mother.

“Thirdly, that troublesome condition of yours. The stuff you take for it, smells just like what they get delivered to the main estate. Not envious of that one at all, sensei.”

Iruka chuckled, and swore to himself he’d sneak it into Kakashi’s tea one day. It would be a difficult task, with his hound-like sense of smell, but he’d find a way. 

“Anything else?”

“Hmmm. A man you share your family name with, Umino Ikaku, famously spiriting away Kohari, a Daughter of Senju, even one from a minor branch family, caused a bit of a stir at the time, even though I was a kid when I heard about it. Father found it pretty amusing, like a Shinobi love-story come to life. Maybe that’s where I got it from.” He mused, waving the book in his hand.

That he had the audacity to even mention the two stories in the same breath. It was enough to make Iruka burst a blood vessel, but he settled for a hard shove in Kakashi’s direction. If he was lucky, that book would find itself tinder for the fire by sunrise. 

“Also.” Kakashi continued, glancing at the red cord bunched in Iruka’s fist. It had been gifted to him by his Father when he’d hit his first bullseye with a kunai.

“You may not know this, but with your hair down, you’re a splitting image of Oyakata-sama.”

Iruka sighed. He’d never stepped foot on the Senju Estate, never set eyes on the great Senju-Hashirama. Sometimes, his Mother would mention it as she combed through his hair, how much they looked alike. But Iruka had no point of reference, and so had never thought much about it. 

But in hindsight, Sarutobi had always been soft on him. The Hashira designation wasn’t that old, and Sarutobi had been one of the first named Hashira, after the great founder himself. Great warriors, all, each carrying part of his name into battle with their sworn enemies.

Iruka started when he felt a gloved hand grab his. Kakashi lifted it up and pulled the sleeve back, looking at his arm as if he expected something to materialise if he stared hard enough.

“I’d ask you for your password, but we both know nothing will come of it. Right, sensei?”

Checkmate. 

He’d never been through the final selection, and was thus, a rankless pretender.

Iruka took back his arm and hugged his knees. Despite the fire and Kakashi’s warmth beside him, he felt the chill of guilt spread through his body.

“The Senju lead the Slayers, send good men and women to die for their mistakes, and yet…...we can’t join them.” 

“Well, but here you are on the ground. Fighting alongside everyone else. I think that’s pretty admirable, wouldn’t you say?”

Iruka glanced at the sleeping boy, He’d done well today. Despite the chaos of his first demon encounter, he kept himself calm, as calm as Naruto could be, anyway. Children of experienced slayers might not have stood as steadily as he did. His reaction to the wisteria gave Iruka so much hope too, even if the boy didn’t realise it himself. 

He’d be a fine warrior one day, if he chose to walk the path. 

“Naruto’s going to get stronger and stronger. Eventually, I’ll just be a burden on him.” Iruka whispered, how many times had he regretted his weakness, his cursed inheritance. 

“On the contrary, sensei. You showed him there’s someone out there who’s willing to lay down their life for him.” Kakashi’s voice was as warm as the fire. “He kept watch over you until he fell asleep, you know. He’s not going to forget what you did for him. What you continue to do for him, every day.” 

Iruka burrowed his head deeper. He was so tired, there were no more tears to let fall.

“Kakashi-san, if I’m not around……”

“Please don’t go hoisting your parental duties on me just yet, sensei. Do you really want to entrust Naruto’s growth to a guy who reads Icha Icha Paradise?” 

Or worse, writes it. Iruka could only laugh. He couldn’t remember when he’d laughed this freely before. He’d have to find a way to live forever now. He lifted his head to look Kakashi in the eye. 

“You know, the Senju are famously short lived.” 

“And wielders of black blades and demon marks are said to be short-lived too. Slayers fall in battle every day, sensei. You could say that we are the lucky ones.” He said, tapping his eye-patch. 

For the second time that night, Iruka felt tremendously stupid. 

“So, if you want to keep me accountable, try to outlive me, won’t you, Umino Iruka-sensei? For both our sakes.” An arm had landed around Iruka’s shoulders. 

Warm. Kakashi had stripped him bare, but he’d never felt this way, not since his parents left. But he had no strength left to cry, and so his response was reduced to a single nod.

“Even if I hadn’t been there, I know you would have protected him no matter what, Iruka.” His voice was already slipping away.  

Kakashi was a weird Hashira. 

Those were his last thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness. 

For the first time in years, Iruka dreamt of his parents, still alive, and it was a happy, warm dream. 

 Author’s Notes:

A nice meaty chapter which much to chew on! A chapter which was a joy to write from start to finish. I’d love to hear what you think about it (and the reveals at the end!) 

Terminology:

Marechi: Humans with Rare Blood, drives demons mad with hunger.

Password and Rank: Confirmed slayers have their rank engraved on their arms, it's supposed to appear using a password.

Oyakata-sama: Another term for 'leader'.

[straykats]

this isn’t out of sympathy, not anymore

pairing: kim seungmin x reader

wordcount: 3.4k

warnings: none

a/n: requested! originally an enemies to lovers request, but idk if this ending count as exactly “lovers” yet? this is so long overdue i’m so sorry. and the title sucks too rip :(

On a Sunday morning, one would normally enjoy the pleasures of sleeping in; of the sounds of birds outside and morning traffic below. They would wake up late, have what could be considered a brunch, and sit down with a book and a cup of coffee

But that wasn’t how things were for you.

The clattering of pots and pans could be heard, followed by the familiar ticking of the stove.

“Damn it.” With a groan, you roll to the other side and try to block out the sound with a pillow, your mind chasing for a dream long lost. You soon come to the acceptance that it was futile to try and fall back asleep. 

This was not the ideal start to the week.

It had been just over a week since Seungmin moved into the flat with you, and it had proven to be an odd sort of hell, fueled by the mutual dislike for one another. 

“What are you doing? It’s barely 9am.” You poke your head out of the doorway, squinting at the sun reflecting off the white walls of the apartment. 

Seungmin turns at the sound of your voice - something about him strikes you as odd - and glares. “Making breakfast, obviously.”

Any worry immediately leaves your system. “Jeesh, I was just asking!” He ticked you off - you didn’t even know why. It had always been like that since you first met him in school. “No need to glare.”

“Idiot, you were the one glaring at me first.” He rolls his eyes and turns back around. 

Oh, he had mistaken your sensitivity to the light as disgust. He wasn’t too wrong, but it hadn’t been your intention. “Yeah, well you can blame the sun. Can’t you do that-” You jut your chin out in his general direction. “-later?”

“Some of us have a lot of work to do, y/n. We don’t all get to sleep in.”

You deadpan. “Seungmin, you do this every morning.”

He throws his hands up, and you spare a thought for how funny it’d be if the spatula flew from his hand. “I’m a morning person. Sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The two of you barely speak another word to each other for the rest of the day. Maybe it was because Seungmin was locked in his room the entire time, but you weren’t too sure that anything would be different if he hadn’t been locked in his room. 

When you had put up the advertisement looking for a flatmate (for rent was not cheap), there had been only a few people who had been interested. It was weeks into the academic year, and most people were already settled. Of the four who had contacted you, you had chosen Seungmin, who unfortunately but surprisingly seemed the most tolerable. In hindsight, you thought, it might have been because you felt more comfortable with him. Yeah, you guys didn’t get along, but you knew him, and the people around him. It was a safe choice.

Come dinner time, and you had still not seen Seungmin. Thinking about it… had he even had lunch?

You were aware that he had some major music assignment coming up, worth almost half his grade. He had even bothered to ask you about his composition, to listen to a rough audio file and see how it was, and you had tried to be civil and rational in your answers. Nothing too rude (it wasn’t a bad composition; being rude to Seungmin just came as a habit) but nothing too nice. You’d like to think that your feedback had been objective. 

Dinner was nothing fancy - it rarely ever was. You had before you a bowl of rice and eggs, your laptop playing your favourite show. As if he had sensed your earlier thoughts about him, Seungmin comes out of his room. You glance at him - his hair is tousled, brows furrowed and glasses askew.

“So, were you sleeping or working all day?” 

When he gives you the weakest glare in the history of glares, you realise what it was that had struck you as strange that morning. His complexion was paler than usual, and you noticed the redness high on his cheeks now. 

Stupidly, you dismiss it. Seungmin was old enough to take care of himself. Right?

Nope.

You jump when something shatters against the kitchen floor.

“What are you- Seungmin, what the hell?!”

On the floor, patterned shards of what had once been a cup were splayed out. The boy in question stood with a hand against the counter and another against his head. 

“Sorry, dizzy spell,” he murmurs. You could barely hear him, for he spoke so quietly. 

“Just- Just go lay down or something. I’ll clean up.”

The shattering had made you hyper-aware of Seungmin - the way he carried himself now, the way his eyes were barely open, his brows furrowed and hands shaking slightly. It was like the sound had cleared your head or slapped you in the face, telling you to wake up and pay attention!!!

“Oh, so you aren’t a complete-” He cuts off abruptly with a groan, holding his head. 

“Well at least I’m not stupid enough to force myself to work until i’m… like that.” You eye him with raised brows, but your spirits weren’t really onboard with teasing him. Watching him as he leaves, you start to worry about how unwell he actually was - surely a night’s rest would help, right? 

It takes you only a few minutes to clean up the shards - thankfully, the cup had broken into decently sized pieces. There were only a few small ones laying around, but they were quickly collected with a dustpan. 

In a stroke of sympathy, you go to Seungmin’s room. He was normally very on-top of his health, and as much as you hated to admit it, it scared you to see him like this. 

But when you get to his door, you hesitate. You couldn’t really go barging in, could you? Not that you were planning to be barbaric about it, or come in demanding answers or anything. Instead, you put your ear to the door. If he was still up, typing or scribbling away, you’d bust in and force him to rest.

Not that you cared too much. As his flatmate, it was probably your job to take him to the doctors - or the hospital - if something were to happen. You’d be the one dealing with the trouble and all, and it was easier to prevent it, right? 

The evening progresses into night, a sombre silence filling the flat. It must have been around midnight when you heard Seungmin’s door open. You froze in your bed, pausing the music playing through your earphones. He must be going to eat, you realise. He hadn’t eaten dinner and had instead gone straight to bed. 

Silently, you leave your bed and watch from your doorway as he peers into the fridge. The yellow light from the fridge was the only thing that lit up the kitchen.

“You need to rest, not mess up both your sleep schedule and your meal times.”

“Has anyone ever told you that sick people need to eat too?” He reaches into the fridge and pulls out two eggs. It isn’t until he takes out a pan that you move in. 

“You like them scrambled, right?” Taking the eggs from his hand, you crack the eggs into the pan. “Go make your ramyun.”

“Why… are you cooking my eggs for me? And how do you know I like my eggs scrambled?”

“Scrambled for ramyun, sunny side up for rice.” You shoot him a grin. “You’re a simple being, Kim Seungmin.”

You stayed in the kitchen while Seungmin ate. You busied yourself with washing the pan, and then getting yourself a glass of water. These tasks were completed rather quickly, and you were left to lean awkwardly against the counter while Seungmin finished his meal. Would it be strange to go to your room and get your phone? Probably.

Seungmin speaks up, breaking the awkward tension. “You can go back to sleep, you know. I’ll be fine.” 

“I wasn’t sleeping before.” 

“You should have been.”

“I could say the same back to you.” 

Seungmin looks at you over his noodles but doesn’t reply.

“Well, go to sleep when you’re done eating. Don’t stay up late. I will call Hyunjin and make him tie you to the bed if I need to.”

You turn and make your way to your room, trying not to laugh at Seungmin choking on his noodles. 

“You don’t even have his number!”

-

The phrase “disappointed but not surprised” seemed very applicable to the scene you saw at two in the morning. It snapped you right out of your half-asleep state.

“This idiot-”

Seungmin was slumped over in his chair, his head resting on his arm. One of his earphones dangling off the side of the table, the other end plugged into his laptop. The bowl of ramyun sat to the side, chopsticks carefully balanced on top.

Making your way closer, you shake him awake gently. It was almost shocking how warm his arm was, even through his clothes - you were a little cold, for it was the middle of the night. 

“Seungmin. Seungmin, wake up.” Upon hearing a disgruntled sound come from him, you prod him again. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Why are you sleeping out here, and why did you start doing work again?!”

“Thought I could-” he clears his throat, eyes half open as he sits up. “Thought I could do some work while I ate… Must have fallen asleep.”

“No shit, genius.” You grab his laptop in one hand, being sure not to shut the lid incase you delete any of his work. Using your other, you shake his shoulder again. “Come on, you’re already unwell. Stop forcing your body.”

You walk a few steps towards his room before turning back. Seungmin was still in the chair, hunched back and arms dangling between his legs. His eyes were closed, head nodding as he tried to keep it up. 

With a defeated sigh, you put his laptop on his desk before coming back out for him. “Come on, up you get…”

You grab onto his arm and almost sigh at the warmth it radiates. Another hand was on his back to help guide him to his room.

It hits you as you pull the cover back on his bed that… well, you’d never been inside his room. Sure, you’ve stood at the door to bicker, but never had you gone inside. You hadn’t really ever had much physical contact with him either.

You make your escape with a mumble about getting medicine. He’s in his bed when you come back, laying straight and facing the ceiling like Snow White.

“Here, take these,” you say gently, bending down to help him up with one hand. You feel a bit bad, to have made him lay down only to get back up. Handing him the painkillers, you watch as he washes them down with a gulp of water. “Gosh, one minute we’re arguing and the next, I’m your mother…”

Handing you back the glass without a word, he slides back down under the covers. Having placed the glass down on his bedside table, you stay there for a while and look at the pictures he had hung on the wall. You recognised some people - Hyunjin, for one, and another boy with fox-like eyes that you had seen once or twice. You recognised some of the seniors in school too - the ones who had been in a band with Seungmin. 

At the sound of rustling, you look over to see that Seungmin had turned onto his side and was looking at you.

“Amazed that I have friends?”

“I- no, I never thought that you were a friendless loner. I just… I mean, I guess it’s my fault,” you admit sheepishly. “I just never really considered your social circle to seem so… wholesome?”

He laughs lightly, keeping his eyes on you. He looked tired, and his hair fell across his forehead. Cute, you thought, and then quickly snap your head around to look at the photos again. 

Cute? Well, you had never considered him ugly before. He wasn’t - he was fairly good looking, and it used to annoy you when the kids at school wouldn’t stop talking about the honey-vocaled Seungmin… But he did have a good voice, you has to admit. And he was fairly smart and very passionate about music. But he was annoying. Yes, he was annoying. Too annoying. He wakes up too early, you could never deal with that.

It doesn’t take long for him to speak up again.

“You know, I read a story once.” 

You hesitate, having only just settled your mind. Was this an invitation to engage in conversation? To stay? Or just an attempt at breaking the awkward silence? Instead of replying, you take a seat on the floor, leaning against the bedside table. Seungmin takes the silence as a sign to continue. 

“There was a prince, and he was sick, and the servant girl never left his side even though he had been a cruel prince. She tended to him night after night, prepared his bath, changed his sweat-drenched sheets.” you crinkle your nose at that, and Seungmin laughs. “But when he was better, everything went back to normal.”

“Did he ever thank her?”

Seungmin shook his head. “He was a prince, afterall. No need for him to thank a servant for doing what they were supposed to do.” He sees you tense. “Don’t worry, y/n, I’m no prince, and you’re no servant.”

“Then you better do your own dishes tomorrow morning,” you joke.

“Ah, no sympathy for the sick?” He pouts weakly. His eyes are closed and his voice is softer. You become conscious of your movements. Subtle, nothing too quick or too loud.

The room is dimly lit. The cool moonlight came from the window, and on the opposite end came the kitchen light, slipping past the door left ajar.

Seungmin speaks up after a while of silence. “You know you can go, right? I don’t need your presence to bore me to sleep.”

You can’t help but let out a smile at his words - an effort to be himself, you realise, but there seemed no real annoyance behind the words. 

“Well, you might not need the boredom, but you need to sleep.”

“Touche.”

It takes a while, and you find yourself nodding in and out of sleep. When your head suddenly hits the edge of his mattress, you decide it was finally time to reutnr to your own room.

Your legs are numb, jumping with pins and needles, but you hobble out of Seungmin’s bedroom with only one look back at him, who was sleeping soundly.

-

It was strange to find yourself the first one awake. The flat seemed oddly empty, and you kind of missed the smell of fried eggs and cooked rice. You open the curtains in the main living area, letting sunlight flood into the flat. 

It was Monday. A new morning, a new week, a new beginning.

You look around the flat - things really have changed since Seungmin moved in. Signs of his occupance were everywhere - a guitar pick laying on the coffee table, a hoodie on the couch. His bowl of ramyun, unwashed and left in the sink.

Ah, right. Last night. 

Butterflies seemed trapped inside your body as you walked towards Seungmin’s room. Why were you nervous? Surem you don’t normally go to his room to wake him up, but he was sick, right? It was just…  a friendly gesture, right?

Friendly. The word struck an odd chord within you. 

Knocking tentatively on his door with one hand, you lean in close.

“Seungmin, are you up?”

There’s a hum, muffled by the wooden door. You turn the knob and peer in. It’s dark, sunlight peeking out from behind a closed curtain. You can see Seungmin, curled up under his blanket. It was pulled up to his chin. 

“How’re you feeling?”

He lets out a positive sounding hum. You don’t push him further. 

“Well, I’m going to make breakfast… do you want any?”

Seungmin sits up, his eyes still closed. You watch as he takes a deep breath. “Yes, please.” 

As he starts to pull the covers off himself, you close the door.

Quickly scanning the fridge, you take out some fish and green leaves. It doesn’t take long to cook up a simple meal of pan fried fish and boiled greens. Instant rice is out fresh from the microwave and you’re doing the dishes when Seungmin emerges from his room.

“What happened to me having to do my own dishes?” He asks, as he takes a seat behind the counter. He eyes the fish and boiled vegetables, taking in a deep breath.

“Sympathy for the sick, or something like that,” you say with a shrug. “Half of these were from cooking just then, anyways.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” 

You glance over at Seungmin as he turns his eyes to the clock. He did look better - his cheeks were still a little flushed, but he seemed better. He was moving better too, not as sluggish as yesterday. He looked like he had attempted to brush down his hair, but a tuft at the back still stood up. You hide your smile, turning back to the dishes.

“Hey, thanks, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“For last night. Taking care of me.”

With warm cheeks, you stack the last of the dishes aside to dry. “Again, sympathy for the sick or whatever.”

“Y/n.” 

Turning at your name, you find him looking very intently at you. 

“I’m serious. Thank you.”

You gulp, and the only thing that calms you a little is the realisation that his cheeks aren’t pink from feeling unwell anymore. 

“Yeah, I know,” you say softly. 

He looks up at you, and you awkwardly fiddle with the towel hanging off the cupboard doors under the sink. It was undeniable that something had changed after last night - the dyanmic between the two of you were different now, and you weren’t too sure how you felt about it.

“Okay. Cool. Can I eat?”

The question catches you off guard, strangely, but you nod and take out plates. “I- I was going to just fry an egg for you, but i decided you probably need a change after last night.” part of your brain was panicking - but why? “We had fish, so I thought hey, why not, right? This probably isn’t much of a better meal, but-”

“It looks great, y/n. Thanks.” He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “By the way, you don’t…” Seungmin clears his throat. “Do you actually have Hyunjin’s number?”

You give him a sweet smile, clasping your hands behind your back. “You’ll never know, will you?”

You don’t, but the slight twitch of his eye and subtle pout are worth it.

Shaking his head, he looks back at his food. He seemed very concentrated on separating a single grain of rice. “I’m just asking, jeesh. It’s an innocent question.”

“Innocent. Right. Anyways, I need to get ready to go. Class starts in a bit.”

You make your way to your room and change, gathering laptop and notebooks. When you exit, Seungmin’s at the sink, washing his plate.

“Don’t strain yourself while I’m gone, okay? Actually, just sleep while I’m gone,” you say from the hallway as you put your shoes on. 

Seungmin’s head pops around the corner suddenly, and you see him take a deep breath.

“What time do you finish?”

“... 12:30, why?”

Having finished with your shoes, you sling your bag over your shoulder.

“Do you- Can I-” He cuts off and swallows thickly. “Lunch? Can I treat you to lunch?”

Your eyes widen, and you freeze.

“As a thank you, obviously,” he adds, but it’s only half convincing.

“I told you, it’s fine. Sympathy for the sick, right?” You joke, trying to ease your nerves.

He manages a small quirk of the lips. “C’mon, let me treat you. And don’t say yes out of sympathy.”

Well, things were different now, right?

“Sure, why not.”

You could see his shoulder relax, a strand of hair falling into his face as he exhales. “Great. I’ll… I’ll meet you at the front of your building then?”

When you give him a nod, you can see him trying to keep in a smile.

“See you later, then.” He pops back behind the wall, and you hear from the kitchen, “Have a good day!”

Letting out a small laugh, you ignore the buzz in your veins as you open the door.

“It’s a date, Kim Seungmin!”

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.10/25

Previous

The flat was filled with the melodic sounds of sitar strings, or more accurately, the screeching sounds of sitar strings.

Jaskier still hadn’t gotten the hang of his new baby.

It was a truly beautiful instrument but completely different to his usual stringed instruments. The long neck of the sitar had way more pegs than he used to and he just couldn’t get it to sing like he wanted. He was struggling to play with the microtones that the sitar music was famous for. He would probably have to see if he could find a teacher to help him. That wasn’t going to be easy.

He gently put the instrument back in its case and sat down at his piano instead. His flat wasn’t really big enough to house his baby grand piano but he just hadn’t been able to leave the beautiful instrument behind in the shop. It had called out to him like a siren and he’d been helpless to resist its call.

Of course, he’d probably be able to afford a bigger flat if he managed to stop buying instruments.

He laughed. “But where’s the fun in that?”

His fingers idly pressed the keys without him putting much effort in. He closed his eyes and let the music free from his heart.

School was starting back the next day and he’d been up almost all weekend trying to finish up his lesson plans. He hadn’t meant to leave it to the last minute but time had just gotten away from him and suddenly it was Saturday and he’d not done any work. Luckily coffee and cat naps were his bestest friends in the whole wide world and he’d finally managed to get it all done. Just in time to enjoy his last evening before the kids took over his life once more. His kids were amazing but full of energy and it took a lot out of him to be so switched on all day long. He’d already drafted his email to the parents to send out on Friday evening based on his lesson plans for the week, but he still had Geralt’s left to write.

Not that Geralt received any special treatment or anything.

It was just that he needed to be mindful of Ciri’s special circumstances.

Or at least that was the lie he’d told himself all term.

But at least he still personalised each of the emails a little before sending them out!

And so what he he wrote Geralt handwritten letters more frequently than the other parents.

It wasn’t a crime.

The only crime was Geralt’s ass.

It was to die for.

He groaned and shook his head to try and clear out the thoughts of his love, his fingers slipping on the keys of the piano, but there was really nothing he could do to stop the barrage of Geralt thoughts. Since parents’ evening he’d developed a blooming friendship with Geralt and it was making him feel all sorts of things that he really shouldn’t be feeling if he wanted to keep his job.

They had managed to meet up a few of times over the last half of the school term to discuss Ciri’s progress at school, although Jaskier could count on one hand how many times Ciri’s classwork had actually come up in conversation. Jaskier could never resist flirting with the firefighter which Geralt took in his stride. Although Jaskier wasn’t entirely certain that Geralt even realised he was flirting.

Jaskier was ninety-five percent sure that Geralt was interested in men, and in him specifically. He’d never explicitly said it and there was nothing about their meetings that really screamed anything more than friendship, but every so often Geralt would seemingly flirt back and it floored Jaskier every single time. How was he supposed to handle that? This tall muscular amber-eyed God was actually paying him attention. The small smiles that Geralt gave him made his heart sing, and to the gods when Geralt laughed, he felt his insides turn to mush. Geralt was usually happy to let Jaskier hold most of the conversation, talking about his new instrumental conquests, books he was reading, the beautiful birds he’d seen on the walk to work, but the white-hair man was beginning to open up.

Jaskier had learnt more about Roach, who he’d mistaken for a large dog in Ciri’s drawing. He had, of course teased Geralt over his choice of name but that hadn’t lasted long when Geralt had turned the table on him and asked what Jaskier would call a horse and the only name he could think of was Greg. Geralt offered up a little information about his teammates but notably avoided talking about his childhood. Jaskier couldn’t blame him for that. He had avoided that topic himself.

He knew that Geralt struggled to find time to cook but always made an effort to cook something from scratch with Ciri’s help at least once a week. Their favourite thing to make was pizza, it was also their favourite take-away. He’d learnt that Geralt tended not to watch much tv unless it was with Ciri and the man could tell you far too much about Ciri’s favourite cartoons, which explained his Apple Jack lunchbox. Geralt preferred to read in his free time instead, normally fantasy books, anything with a dragon in. Geralt’s favourite colour was blue which Jaskier adored. He could pretend that the reason was because his eyes were blue. He had filed that information away to fuel several romantic daydreams which ended in a summer wedding.

His fingers began to dance over the keys in a previously unheard melody.

It was beautiful.

“Ah fuck!” He cursed and scrambled to find manuscript paper as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

It was buried in between his lute and his computer. There was barely a spare page in the notebook but he managed to find one in the middle. Once he’d got the melody captured he would copy it over into a fresher, more organised book that held his complete compositions.

He closed his eyes again as he tried to remember precisely what he’d played before but it was missing something. The chords weren’t quite right and it left the piece sounding almost empty and dead.

“Bollocks!”

The moment had passed and his muse had left him.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his recents calls until he found the number he wanted. The phone rang twice before the sweet dulcet tones of his younger cousin sounded in his ears.

“What do you want?” Essi asked wearily.

“Lovely to speak to you too.” Jaskier shot back.

Essi sighed. “I’m working, Dandelion.”

“This late?” He double checked the clock. It was almost nine in the evening but then again she was a professional singer. If she had a gig then it was likely to be later on in the day, and now that he paid more attention he could hear the sounds of a bar in the background of the call.

“Not all of us work nine til five, Dandy.” The old nickname slipped out.

“Essi!” He groaned. “I stopped calling myself Dandelion years ago”

“Says the man that realised an album last spring under the alias of Dandelion.”

“It’s a stage name.” He pouted before he remembered she couldn’t see him.

He heard someone calling her name in the background and she yelled back. He winced as the shout hurt his ears. “I gotta go, did you need something?”

He sighed as he ran his fingers over the keys of his piano without making a sound. He could still hear the notes in his head as he desperately tried to recall the tune he had played before. “I just lost another composition to the cruel winds of time.”

“Who were you thinking about?” She asked and he could picture her easily. One hand on her hip, guitar case slung around her shoulder, long blonde hair falling in front of one of her cornflour blue eyes, eyes they had both inherited from their shared grandfather.

He frowned as he considered her question. “Who said I was thinking about anyone?”

She laughed before shouting again at whoever was trying to get her attention. Jaskier held the phone away from his ear this time. Essi really did have a set of lungs on her. “Dearest cousin. Your first album was all about your failed relationship with Pris. The second album was your failed relationship with Stella, and Valdo’s betrayal by stealing away your true love.”

“Wow. Geez. Thanks Essi. You really know how to build a man up.”

“So what failed relationship is it this time?”

“There is no relationship.” He spat back through gritted teeth, wondering why he even bothered with his cousin sometimes. In many ways she was like his little sister and she never hesitated in telling him exactly what she thought of him.

“Sure, sure. That’s why it’s failed. Look I really have to go. They need me on stage. Don’t be a stranger Dandelion!”

The phone line cut off and Jaskier stared at the phone in his hands.

“Oh cock!” He cursed as he realised she was completely right.

He’d been thinking about Geralt.

He closed the lid of the piano with more force than necessary and moved to sit back down on the sofa. He hadn’t meant to think about Geralt. He’d just been thinking about the work he needed to do for school and his thoughts had drifted to his infatuation on their own accord.

As if reading his thoughts, his phone buzzed signalling he had an email.

From Geralt.

“Oh no. No no no. Can’t do this right now.” He moaned and put his head in his hands, knocking his glasses half off his face. “Can’t I have a moment in peace?!” He asked the ceiling.

It was Sunday. He didn’t have to worry about what to say to Geralt until Friday. That was the rules… unless they had a catch up about Ciri but they hadn’t organised another meeting yet. Yes he missed Geralt desperately but he was aware that that was borderline clingy and he didn’t want to scare the man off, and yet here he was emailing Jaskier out of the blue.

It was probably about the present he’d bought Geralt. It wasn’t much, just a voucher for one of the outdoor activity shops in town and a poem he’d written about Roach.

It was terrible.

He hated it.

“Oh fuck off.” Jaskier groaned at his own thoughts and clicked on the email.

 Jaskier,

 Sorry for bothering you. I know you’re busy.

 I wanted to say thank you for my present. I read Roach the poem. She was very impressed.

Jaskier grabbed a pillow from his sofa and hugged it tightly as he continued to read, feeling very proud of himself.

 I am sorry I didn’t think to get you anything from me but hopefully you liked Ciri’s gift.

He had. Ciri had bought him a brand new travel mug. It was covered in music notes just like his mug from the staffroom at school. There had also been a little photo of Roach tucked into the card because Jaskier hadn’t stopped asking Geralt about her.

 I need to ask you something. It would probably be better in person or over the phone. I’m not good at emails.

 - Geralt.

Jaskier re read the last paragraph twice before hitting the reply button.

He sent Geralt his number before he could change his mind and then threw his phone onto the sofa. The phone barely managed to bounce on the cushions before it started ringing and Jaskier lunged to pick it up.

He clicked to accept the call and all at once he felt lighter than he had in weeks.

“Geralt!” He cried happily. “Hi!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s gruff voice answered. Jaskier felt like he’d turned to goo. The way Geralt said his name never failed to make him feel weak at the knees.

Pull yourself together Jaskier! He chided at himself.

“So, my dear, what was it that you wanted to ask me?” He kept his voice light like his fingers on his lute strings, not betraying the way his heart thundered in his chest.

Geralt grunted on the other end of the line and Jaskier rolled his eyes and smiled. How was it that he even missed Geralt’s ineloquent grunts?

“It’s not a stupid question, Geralt.” He replied. “If you don’t know something then you should ask.”

“I’m not one of your kids, Jaskier.” Geralt huffed.

He laughed at that and put the phone on speaker. His fingers were itching to move and he was getting restless not being able to play whilst holding the phone.

“Yes yes. I know that.” He hummed as he let his fingers trail across the many different instrument cases that were stacked up against the wall. They landed on his lute, an instrument long forgotten to many but one that remained so dear to him. He’d originally started to play the lute because it was different and he liked to stand out. Every musician in the folk scene played guitar or violin or piano.

He didn’t want to be like every other musician.

He wanted to be the best.

So he’d pick up the lute and never looked back. It was an expensive and delicate instrument so he tended not to bring it into school that often but he often found himself playing it at home.

It was also a reminder as to why he’d begun teaching full time. At first he’d only taught guitar and piano whilst he was at university in Oxenfurt to help finance his music career and pay for his rent after he had had a disagreement with his parents. The lute was the first instrument he’d bought for himself after the argument, to celebrate having enough students to finally make it through the month without begging his friends for cash and managing to save for the first time.

Soon after he realised how much he really enjoyed teaching and after graduating with a degree in music, he went on to study teaching. He’d worked as a teaching assistant in Oxenfurt before moving to Upper Posada where he finally had his own class, the Buttercups.

“Have you put me on speaker?” Geralt asked.

“Don’t you have sharp ears?” Jaskier teased his friend, he was sure they were friends. “It’s just me here, I just needed my hands.”

“You needed your hands.” Geralt replied and Jaskier could practically hear the smirk in his tone.

“Not like that!” He cried. “Honestly, Geralt, is that really what you think of me?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I just wanted to grab my lute.”

Geralt laughed. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Geralt Rivia!” Jaskier exclaimed.

Geralt just laughed in response. It was infectious and soon enough Jaskier was laughing along. Once they’d calmed down he began to strum the strings of his beloved instrument gently, fiddling with the pegs to make sure it was in tune.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you changing the subject, Geralt.” Jaskier spoke softly as Geralt’s laughter faded away.

“Right.”

“Geralt!” He all but whined. “You said you needed to ask me something. Come on! The suspense is killing me.”

Geralt hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll finally get some peace.”

“Now hang on!” Jaskier gasped in offence. “You rang me!”

“Regretting it already.”

“I’ll hang up!” Jaskier warned.

“No. You won’t.”

Jaskier sighed. “No. I won’t, but honestly Geralt. Is something wrong? Not that I’m not delighted to be talking to you, but…”

“But you’re Ciri’s teacher.” Geralt finished.

“Yes.”

It was a topic that had come up a few times. They weren’t doing anything wrong exactly. The friendship that had sparked up between them came as natural as breathing. They argued as if they’d known each other their whole lives, an easy banter that was unpracticed and yet almost flawless. Jaskier was fighting his attraction to Geralt the whole time, and he was sure the other man was doing the same with him but there was still this cloud looming over them. The line between professional and appropriate behaviour between parent and teacher.

He knew teachers and parents had hooked up before. It was scandalous and often the topic of vicious rumours in the staffroom. If it was reported to the headmaster and proven those teachers got in a lot of trouble, some of them were often asked to resign. Jaskier knew his professional relationship with Stregobor was rocky at best. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

But he was falling in love with Geralt, hard and fast.

It had moved beyond infatuation the moment he’d sat in the fire engine and they’d began to talk. The more he learnt about the man, the more he fell in love. Geralt was a complex man. He struggled to express himself and he constantly worried about being a good father to Ciri, but he was kind and loyal to his family. He had a surprisingly quick tongue that never failed to make Jaskier cackle. He wasn’t a pushover either, he was strong-willed and relentless in sticking to his own morals.

His determination to be a good man made Jaskier feel all fuzzy inside.

This strong and handsome man was just a gentle giant, one that could absolutely kill him given the chance, but there was just something about Geralt that made Jaskier trust him.

It was probably those eyes.

He adored Geralt’s eyes.

They were so unusual, like swirling pools of amber brought to life by bright beams of dazzling sunlight.

And that was why it was so important that their calls and meetings had to remain professional.

Without the guise of Ciri or work then their friendship was ruined. Jaskier would fall head over heels in love with Geralt and then…

and then…

He’d have to break it off.

He couldn’t risk it.

Even if there was a chance that Geralt fancied him back.

So he constantly reminded himself that they were friends and managed to frame every meeting or conversation they had as a work based thing. It was imperative that he didn’t forget that.

Friends only, and even then he really should be careful. Tissaia was right. Stregobor was just looking for an excuse to get rid of him and if he was shown to be favouring Geralt ,and in turn Ciri, too much then he might as well start looking for a new job.

He closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself for being a fool.

“So talk to me Geralt.” Jaskier pleaded. “What did you need? Did Ciri say something?”

Geralt just grunted again.

“I told you it’s not stupid.” Jaskier sighed. “It was obviously important to you.”

“It’s for Ciri.” Geralt stated bluntly. All traces of their easy laughter was now gone from his voice.

“Good. I am her teacher, what does she need? Did she say something?” Jaskier’s mind instantly recalled every interaction he’d had with the young ashen-haired girl over the last few days, looking for moments where he might have upset her or said something wrong. He couldn’t think of anything but he could have easily misread the situation.

“We went to Lambert’s for Solstice.” Geralt added.

Jaskier frowned trying to follow Geralt’s train of thought and failing. He stayed silent, waiting for Geralt to find the right words.

“He likes this band and Ciri just started screaming.”

Jaskier felt his heart skip a beat in his chest.

A band.

It wouldn’t be.

It couldn’t be.

Barely anyone even listened to his band. They barely had a thousand views online for their most popular song.

“She swears to the gods it’s you, Jask.” Geralt finished.

Jask.

It wasn’t the first time Geralt had called him that. He hated it. It made his heart do weird things in his chest that was not appropriate when talking to a friend.

He took a page out of Geralt’s book and hummed noncommittally. “Right.”

“And then Lambert pointed out Ciri’s Ukulele teacher is called Priscilla just like Dandelion’s bandmate. I thought it was all just a coincidence, but then I realised, Jaskier, Buttercups.” Geralt added, sounding weary. “Dandelions. All flowers.”

“Ah.”

“Jaskier?”

His fingers stilled on the lute strings. He pressed down with the palm of his hand to dampen the resonating sound. “It’s, well, it’s sort of a hobby?”

“You’re Dandelion?” Geralt stammered.

“Hello?” He tried to joke. “Nice to meet you.”

“Fuck.” Geralt swore loudly. “We all told Ciri she was wrong.”

“And now you’ll have to tell her she was right. That’s embarrassing for you.”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scowled. “Hey! None of that grumpy firefighter stuff. It’s not my fault you didn’t trust your daughter!”

Geralt growled and hung up the phone.

Jaskier gaped at the blank screen.

“Oh no you don’t!” He rang Geralt straight back and to his surprise, he actually picked up.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier said before Geralt could say anything. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Hmm.”

“Well. I did mean that’s it not my fault and I don’t know why you’re cross that I have a band, but I shouldn’t have said that about Ciri.” He rambled on.

Geralt still didn’t answer. Jaskier had to check the screen to make sure he was still on the line, quickly putting it back onto speaker. “So I’m sorry. I can explain to her tomorrow at school, about the band. Although, you really should be able to admit your mistakes. I know it’s not always easy.”

“Hold on.” Geralt said and then was a thud. Jaskier assumed that was Geralt putting the phone down. He could hear footsteps and the sound of a door opening. He held his breath whilst Geralt did whatever Geralt needed to do.

He picked his lute back up again and began to play. The notes flowed easily this time, the same tune as before. He grinned and scribbled the notes down onto the coffee stained page of manuscript. He got so caught up in the music he didn’t hear Geralt enter the room on the other side of the line, and this time he wasn’t alone.

“Mr Jaskier?” Ciri sounded exhausted. Geralt had probably just woken her up given the time.

Jaskier blushed and thanked Freya that the young girl couldn’t see him.

Ciri wasn’t supposed to know they’d been talking more outside of school in case she got confused or the wrong idea. Why was Geralt involving her?

Unless the wrong idea… was the right idea?

He swallowed nervously.

“Hello Buttercup!” He put on his best teacher voice, smiling brightly even though she couldn’t see him.

“Dad said you needed to tell me something. That it couldn’t wait.” Ciri asked in a small voice. “Did I do something wrong, Mr Jaskier?”

“Of course not Ciri!” Jaskier reassured her. “Geralt just wanted to ask me about the band your Uncle Lambert likes.”

“In the middle of the night?” Ciri groaned.

“Well…” Jaskier searched for a good explanation.

“It’s not as late for adults.” Geralt suggested.

Which wasn’t entirely true. Jaskier had to be up early for work and he was exhausted from his late night the day before. Geralt would have to up early too to get Ciri to school on time. They both needed to get to bed soon but there wasn’t a better explanation.

“Hmm.” Ciri hummed starting to pick up on some of Geralt’s mannerisms.

“Your father said you thought that Dandelion sounded like me?” Jaskier asked cautiously.

Ciri gasped and squealed excitably. “It sounded exactly like you Mr Jaskier! But everyone else said it was impossible and then Dad said my guitar teacher was called Priscilla and Uncle Lambert said a naughty word and apparently you are Dandelion, which I already knew because I’d already told them it was you and then Dad said a naughty word!”

Jaskier chuckled. “I am, indeed, Dandelion.”

“Of course you are!” Ciri answered completely certain in her assessment.

“But I need you to keep that quiet. Have you told any of your friends yet?” Jaskier asked.

“You have to speak, Ciri, he can’t see you.” Geralt answered softly.

“Nope.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, his band wasn’t exactly child friendly and he didn’t want it getting out that he’d inadvertently taught his whole class how to swear like a sailor. “Can you keep it to yourself, Ciri?”

“Yes, but why?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier ran his hand through his hair as he tried to think of a good way to explain. “Umm….”

“The band is something Mr Jaskier does outside of school. It’s good to keep work and play separate, Princess.” Geralt answered for him.

“Will you still play for us?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier laughed. “Of course I will, Ciri. It wouldn’t be Buttercups without song time!”

Ciri seemed to consider that. “Good. Dara likes it. Everyone else assumes he can’t listen to music but he can. Dara said he can hear it through the vibe…vibe—”

“Vibrations?” Jaskier suggested.

“Vibrations!” Ciri agreed “and he can still understand the words. He likes that you don’t treat him differently.”

Jaskier almost sobbed. That was probably one of the sweetest things his kids had ever said to him.

“I’m tired now. I’m going back to bed. Goodnight Mr Jaskier, Goodnight Dad!” He heard Ciri’s footsteps patter away.

“Fuck me.” Jaskier sighed and Geralt chuckled. “She’s a good kid.”

“The best.” Geralt agreed. “I should go too.”

“No hanging up this time?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt hummed in response.

“Goodnight, Geralt. Sleep well.”

“Night, Jaskier.”

Jaskier hit the end call button, his hands shaking in his lap.

“Fuck me…” He repeated under his breath and rubbed his eyes, smearing his glasses.

Geralt Rivia was going to be the death of him, and he would die happy.

______

Next

[myfalsedevotion]

good morning vicky!!! for the questions for authors i would love to hear about 5, 7, 12, 15, 18 and 25 for athob! (honestly debated just sending you 1-30 but i controlled myself) 😌💙

Hiii! Sorry this is coming so late in the day 😅😅 Thank you so so much for the questions Maya 🥺💙 Here we go!

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

For All the Hues I’d say my room, cuppa tea, rain. Sometimes I lit lavender candles. If it’s not raining, I usually use MyNoise hahahaha I don’t know what it is about the sound of rain, but it always helps me write :3 Have a couple playlists on spotify too, but I usually just start singing the songs and thus I stop writing hahahah

I remember writing most of Hourglass on train rides or subway rides to class, though 🤔. I guess it depends on the fic hahahah

7. Which part of writing do you struggle with most?

I usually write dialogue pretty quickly (because I’m used to screenplays), so when it’s time to “fill in” the gaps between dialogue I procrastinate a lot. Like you wouldn’t believe 😅

Also, since I’m a very slow slow writer, (this is going to sound super fake deep probably) but I realise some actions the characters take that I planned at the start, I just don’t agree with them anymore? And they feel stupid, and childish and for some reason that puts me off of writing so much. I struggle a lot with writing feelings, decisions or even POVs that I can’t understand/relate to anymore. And I know that makes me the definition of a pretty bad writer, but I just can’t write something I don’t feel like it’s the best/right decision for the character. And of course, that only comes with perspective (after months/years), and I hate it, because I know the characters don’t have that perspective in that moment and that’s why they’re acting like they are, and that I shouldn’t change the planned storyline in any way. So yeah, I struggle writing through those moments because of that. That was probably not worded right and now I’ve confused you even more hahahah Sorry for the rant 😅

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

I think I’ve said this before somewhere (maybe we’ve talked about it?) but even though I absolutely adore reading tropes, I never think I’d be able to pull any of them off? Like yeah, I’d love to write a fake dating AU cos drama and mutual pining, but I’ve just read so many amazing fake dating aus and I am fairly confident that I can’t do it hahahah Maybe in the future I’ll try, I don’t know hahaha

15. A Hollywood producer tells you that they want to film just one of your fics. Which fic would you want it to be?

Listen. I’m a Film Studies graduate. I’ve already thought about shots and colour theory and composition and scenes and everything I’d love to see for All The Hues of Blue like 1276351827635187264 times. I have a background writing scripts, I can assure you writing ATHOB was basically envisioning scenes and storyboards and then filling up the action and thoughts and inner monologues in between the dialogue hahahah. So if a producer told me they wanted to make it a film? You bet I’d be thrilled (and also demand I be part of the production hahahahaha) Never gonna happen though 🤣🤣🤣

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Okay, I think I’ve talked to you about the last scene in All The Hues before, and how I think I will never be able to top that “You’re golden.” last line. I’m definitely proud of that one.

But there’s this bit from Calum on Chapter 7 from Rare as Gold, that starts with:

Calum had never thought he would meet someone that would know how to act around him when his mind was playing tricks. Michael knew how, but he had learnt with time. With Ashton, it seemed easy in a way that was almost scary. Like the older anticipated Calum’s needs even before he did. Or maybe it was just due to them being so honest and open with each other that Ashton knew how to read him. Or the fact that the few times he didn’t know, he asked what Calum needed.

and then he goes on an inner monologue about the metaphysics of the soul and soulmates and superdeterminism and the universe being alive that had me bursting with excitement once I finished writing it. I can’t even begin to describe the feeling I got once I finished writing that whole bit. Which wasn’t planned, I just had something like, “fill this with inner monologue before going back to Ash”. And I know this is the one that I’m most likely going to be called fake deep over, and I just don’t care because I love it so, so much.

I remember texting that whole chunk of text to friends and saying “is this like…too much? Is this too much for a fic where it doesn’t even advance plot?”. There were mixed opinions, my best friend said it was indeed too much, but she’s never read any of my writing in its entirety, and she didn’t understand how this could fit with the previous inner monologue I had established for Calum. Another friend did think it was perfect for Calum. I went over it for a couple of days, and I still loved it too much, so I decided to keep it in. So… idk. hahahah

25. Which idea came to you first in All The Hues of Blue?

Okay, this is a funny one. So, I think I’ve told you about how All The Hues was supposed to have been a one-shot? 😂😂 I still have the very first draft where I wrote down ideas, it’s titled:

I am cringing as I read it hahahha But basically years before, I had seen this one post on tumblr about a prompt featuring a Michael Bublé song and being in a retail shop? And I couldn’t for the life of me remember the exact prompt, and since Christmas season was close, I just took his Xmas album and run with it 😂 😂 This is a sad story but it’s true and I can’t never stop laughing when I think about how much ATHOB means to me and how stupid was it’s conception as a fic hahahha

Hope these answeres weren’t too boring 😅 Thank you so much for the ask!! 💙💙💙

[worldoffanficskpopcpop]

Bang Chan AU Fanfic Recommendation Masterlist

Hello! Welcome to my fanfic recommendations! If you would like to see other groups or other content in regards to this artist or their group, please click the links below! All of the masterlists/posts I’ve made will always be updated when I find new content or scenarios! Feel free to recommend me some blogs to check out! Also, you like my fanfic recommendations, please like and/or reblog so that more people can see it! I will release more groups as time goes on!

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Arranged Marriage AU 

promise this:  Can I learn to love you?

Boxer!Chan

Boxer: Chan needs to know his limits 

CEO AU 

late office nights: An extremely important project was assigned to you, a new employee in a prospering company. Will all the late nights in the office be spent in vain, or will something good emerge?

Slowly, Suddenly, and Then All at Once:  “You lot are way too nosy aren’t you? Well, if you must know, I’ll tell you the story of how we stopped hating each other and became your unofficial parents. But I’m warning you, no interruptions, otherwise the story ends.” 

Detective AU

Detective Dumbass: Detective Bang refused to accept any help from the rest of the squad, insisting that he worked better alone - but what happens when he realizes that he does need his team with him?

Idol!Reader 

An Aussie Jealousy: Chan feels jealous that you are collaborating with 5SOS

Jealousy:  Momo had never been too fond of me and when she found out that Chan and I started dating, it only made it worse. Now, I had to put up with her for almost a month so we could learn the dance to their new song for a stage

 You and Me: As a trainee at JYP Entertainment, you are exposed to new things. Such as new music, new styles of dance, and new boys

Mafia AU 

Imagine: Chan’s right-hand man needs to learn his place in the gang

Trust: Chan’s patience had ran low with you 

Neighbor AU 

Love Drunk: Peering through the peephole, you spotted the bent-over figure of what looked like your neighbor, fretfully trying to shove his key into your lock. As neighbors go, you and Chan were, for lack of a better word, friendly. So by all means, this wasn’t the first time Chan came over, but this was the first he came over drunk, dazed and confused.

Royal AU 

royal blood : it’s kind of hard to be mean to your soon-to-be husband when he’s one of the kindest people you’ve ever met.

Wounded Hearts: When Chan caught you sneaking back into battle after he had specifically told you not to, he was less than pleased. Why couldn’t you just understand that he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe?

School AU 

Bubblegum: Chan is a underground rapper and you’re a too cute chemistry major

Coincidence?:  just as you were thinking of leaving because your date did not arrive, another guy sits down instead.

College Muse: College Music Producer!Chan and College Writer!Reader both dwell on each other for some help on a project similar in nature 

Competition: Chan’s swim team made it to the finals and you stayed to support him, you didn’t realise your presence would cause such a fuss. 

Hidden Comforts: Your hidden relationship with Jock!Chan makes its reveal 

Idyllic: (adj.) extremely happy, peaceful, or picturesque 

insomniac:  in which you meet a music student that is definitely in need of some sleep

Let me love you: he has a reputation in the school and you as a good girl, he hides your relationship because of his reputation and you get sick of secret dates and decided to confront him it turned into an argument, then the two made up.

Muse: You were the Fine Arts major, and he was the Music Composition major. Normally, you’d have nothing to do with the cutie, but as it turns out, you were each other’s muses

nothing like us: You’ve been through countless numbers of miserable relationships. Little did you know, the right one was closer than you think. 

not that bad: chan is getting bullied. you’re like “stop that ''. chan is like “hey…. you’re not a mean person despite having a reputation for being cold-hearted 

Pretty When you Cry: Perhaps all those special times with him didn’t mean shit. Love and let go

Race: It’s the same every time, you always win the races, but Chan doesn’t give up, until you make it up to him

Rescued: You had an accident while swimming 

rubicund :  music production major chris really needs a place to live - and you just happen to have a few empty rooms and need a new roommate.

Shunned: you never seemed to fit in at school; you couldn’t understand why. “Because you’re… different” some people said. But how is that a bad thing? You were always alone, at least until he came along. 

Stuck: student-teacher au, you get stuck in the library with college prof!Chan

Why Not?: You and bang chan weren’t that close, but you were still friends. Through a series of events, you and him ended up being the only ones in his house without any way of you getting out. It was late so bang chan being bang chan insists it’s fine for you to stay which is all well and good except that you get pretty bad nightmares and can’t sleep unless cuddling something or someone and you had unfortunately left your human-sized stuffed bear at your place. 

Single Father AU 

I love you: As a single father, Chan experienced every single difficulty one could imagine. He was frequently frowned upon by others and only could rely on those who were close to him: his eight best friends. As time went by, he learned to ignore those who looked down on him for the sake of his daughter but deep inside, the words, the stares, and the constant questions affected him and he refused to show it. It was only a matter of time when the weight of the burden started to tear him down. It wasn’t until he met you that his whole world found another bright light to cling onto. Even though he feared to say he loves you, you found it easy to love someone like him.

Soulmate AU 

Falling For You (So Sweetly): first touch you have with your soulmate causes magnetic attraction to them for a week or so, enough to ensure that you two get together for sure.

Healing Love: You can feel the pain of your soulmate. Additionally when they receive a bruise or cut, you receive the same marking on your skin. When you meet your soulmate, every injury on you disappears, and you gain the power to heal your soulmate with a simple touch

Human Canvas: You were six years old when you got an inkling of what kind of person your soulmate is; they would draw little doodles on their arms all day, and you would draw back. But as an adult, its as if you two are at war with each other, with them covering your right arm with tattoos and you occasionally painting on your left arm for the fun of it.

My Glow: To have a soulmate was one of the finer things in life. 

Serendipity: For the entirety of your life, you have had the small, neatly and prettily scripted name inked into your flesh on your left wrist

Summer Love: Chan was your summer love once upon a time, and now you two are reunited by the strings of fate once more

The One: Where everyone has a timer on their wrist that counts down until you meet your soulmate

Street Racer AU 

Fast Lane: Chan had pulled you into his world filled with fast cars

Vampire AU

174 years: Chan was frustrated he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror. A kid whose brother broken into his house decided to sit him down and describe his face to him one by one

mistaken: vampire! chan mistakes human! y/n for a vampire

Youtuber AU

Youtube covers: You used to post singing covers on youtube until you got bullied. Yet the person closest to you admires this ‘anonymous’ person’s voice

[the-l-spacer]

This is a sort of sequel to @earako‘s post (which was pretty much a response to this post), about a scenario where Lloyd and Raven heard each others broadcasts. 

This was supposed to be a fluffy, three sentence thing, but it kind of got away from me. Also, starring The Floozies.

-

The Floozies hate seeing Raven Baby so unhappy.

Or at least, even unhappier than usual, since ‘unhappy’ is pretty much their boss’ default state of being. He thinks he hides it well, of course, behind his manic grins and show-stopping numbers and shots of rum thrown back one after the other during the after-parties, but being the ones that actually run the Carnival, The Floozies know that once he’s out of sight from the crowd, or alone in his dressing room (they weren’t spying, okay? They just needed to pop in to borrow some stage makeup and saw him practically wilting as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, muttering something about a man named David), the ‘Raven’ everyone thinks they know fades, just a little bit, and standing in his place is, well, a man. And a pretty unhappy man at that.

All that’s to say that lately, he’s been more down than usual, and The Floozies know exactly why.

It’s the fault of that darn radio.

Raven Baby likes the radio, and listens to it practically every day. He explained to them one night how playing the radio while stuck in the Collective Unconscious was a tricky but intriguing process, that with luck, you could tune in to an infinite number of broadcasts, from places both real, fictional, and like the Carnival, somewhere in between. Raven Baby even gave them a demonstration, skipping frequencies that talked of boring things like ‘politics’ and ‘current events’ and ‘and now, the weathers’, before finally arriving at a station that was playing an unfamiliar but catchy showtune.

One of The Floozies’ eyes widened as she realised he had sang that exact number during one of his more raucous shows, wholeheartedly claiming it as his own composition.

Raven Baby had grinned a slow grin, winked, and mimed pulling a zipper across his lips. The Floozies winked and grinned back, giggling in conspiratorial delight. 

Since then, Raven Baby always let The Floozies listen to the radio with him, hopping from station to station together, their little escape from the carnival that served as their gilded cage.

Until the one night, when their boss turned the little knob on that little box, resulting in the sounds of static, before a tinny voice issued from the radio’s speakers, announcing, “Welcome back to the New Albion Radio Hour!”

One of them swore up and down that Raven Baby honest-to-God flinched at the sound, but before she could ask why, had stood up with a clatter, snatched up the radio, and practically ran back to his tent.

And up till now, he still hasn’t emerged. 

To be fair, they had managed to drag him out once or twice, mostly to eat or check on some ride malfunction they had made up on the spot, but every time, he would emerge looking haggard and worn, and the night before, as they silently listened outside the tent (not spying), they heard the radio still playing that same channel, that same voice.

Something had to be done.

As one, The Floozies march up to Raven Baby’s tent, and peek in. As expected, there he sits, in front of the radio, where an unfamiliar voice was talking about a ghosts. His head is cradled in his arms.

“Raven Baby, we’re worried about you.”

One eye cracks open and stares up at them, standing awkwardly at the threshold.

“You didn’t knock.”

“Tents don’t have doors we can knock on, Raven Baby.”

“Use your imaginations. Picture a door right where you’re standing. Now picture it slamming shut. Now picture yourselves walking away.”

“But-“

“-Walking. Away.” One arm raises languidly and makes a shooing motion. The voice from the radio continues to drone. 

Reluctantly, The Floozies exit the tent, leaving one, who says, “Sugar, if you need anyone to talk to, you know where ta find us,” ducking out before she can spot his reaction.

Getting (politely) thrown out doesn’t stop The Floozies from listening outside, though.

From what they gather, the radio broadcast is hosted by a man named ‘Lloyd Allen’, and when they hear the name, they swear they half-remember nights when Raven Baby would drink too much and mutter about an ex of his, and something clicks into place. 

Their little mission that morning may have been a failure, but The Floozies don’t let that deter them.

Over the course of the day, they sneak an assortment of pastries under the tent flap (that was what people who went through breakups were supposed to eat, right?), several bottles of water, and some aspirins (who knew how much he had been drinking since he first heard the broadcast) for good measure. Even if he doesn’t want them around, they can still support their favourite person from afar. 

They can’t help but feel the slightest bit of satisfaction when they find the pastry tray sitting empty outside the tent the next day, along with a note, on which is scrawled a simple ’thanks’. 

They continue listening to the broadcasts along with Raven Baby at night, fascinated by the stories they tell of monsters and witches and realities they cannot begin to comprehend, all dovetailed by meandering stories of this Lloyd’s present and past, and how said past intersected with that of their boss.

And then one night..

“Maybe, I’ll even be able to track down my boyfriend. My old boyfriend. My boyfriend. I would never be disloyal to him or turn my back on him no matter how many years pass.”

The Floozies don’t quite catch the rest of the broadcast, as Raven Baby lets out a sharp sob, and they quietly return to their own tent.

-

The next day, The Floozies enter the kitchen to find a Raven washing dishes at the sink. He looks like hell, but better than he was the last time they saw him. As he sees them, he gives a small smile and wave.

On the counter sits a plate of freshly-baked cookies.

The Floozies smile back.

Their afternoon is spent together, laughing and joking and sneaking cookies from the cookie jar. They paint each others’ nails and Raven Baby even lets The Floozies tie multicoloured ribbons in his long hair.

He tells them of the man in the radio, of Lloyd, and cries a little, but it’s all okay, because the Floozies have his makeup touched up in a jiffy, and Uncle Raven strides onstage and gives the best performance the Carnival had seen in a long, long time. 

And the world seems to brighten, if just for a moment. 

[twistednuns]

October 2020

To buttress - increase the strength of or justification for; reinforce / to mollycoddle - to give someone too much care or protection. 

A letter from Nina. One of those weird internet connections. Not my first one, certainly not my last one.

Frank’s DnD backstory reads quite insightful/poetic to me as he has taken so much from his life. He might have done it without intent but it’s quite obvious to me. I’ve agreed to make a character sketch for him. I’m looking forward to the challenge but I’m also afraid of starting the project because obviously I want it to be perfect. Anyway so the other night I sat at his kitchen table and started drawing a facial composite for his goliath. Lots of sketches actually with him giving me some prompts and ideas. I think he loved watching me do my magic. What a peaceful moment.

Applause from some students. Simply for entering the room. They must really hate their English teacher, eh?

I’ve started forming the habit of drawing tarot cards on a full moon and new moon night. It helps me set an intention for the following two weeks. So on the first of October I drew the Queen of Wands to represent me and I’m loving it. It’s the perfect choice.

The fabric dyeing process for the Plot exhibition at Haus der Kunst

Inviting warmth into my life. Wearing appropriately warm clothing. Even hats. Drinking tea all the time. Turning the heating on even though it’s only September. Warm breakfast. Ayurveda inspiration. Hot baths. Thinking about buying an electric heating blanket for my bed.So far I’ve been taking a hot water bottle to bed with me pretty much every night.

Finding one of those Barts woolly animal hats online. This one came with tigers. And the seller sent me a cherry marzipan teabag. I enjoyed it on a cold and rainy Saturday morning.

FAQ: The Status of the Shits Women Have Left to Give

Reading the final scenes of Leigh Bardugo’s Shadow and Bone trilogy. I actually took the wrong bus one evening and ended up in front of one of the Pinakotheken instead of Villa Stuck. I must have been quite immersed. I’m very happy with the ending. I mean, the main character is walking around the house barefoot with the smell of fresh paint following her, her hair loose. What a wonderful image.

The wind blowing through the maple trees outside my living room window. I’m just going to quote a Wikipedia article to explain what happened next: The distinctive fruits are called samaras, “maple keys”, “helicopters”, “whirlybirds” or “polynoses”. These seeds occur in distinctive pairs each containing one seed enclosed in a “nutlet” attached to a flattened wing of fibrous, papery tissue. They are shaped to spin as they fall and to carry the seeds a considerable distance on the wind. People often call them “helicopters” due to the way that they spin as they fall. During World War II, the US Army developed a special airdrop supply carrier that could carry up to 65 pounds (29 kg) of supplies and was based on the maple seed.

Monsieur Wiener - I’ve paid him a visit when I had problems with my analogue Pentax camera!

I don’t know why but one dark Friday evening I slipped into the empty church at Odeonsplatz. I loved the peaceful atmosphere, the specific smell and the red church candles flickering.

I loved meeting Flo. We had such a great time, constantly joking, talking about this and that. Sailor Mercury, Hades, our family. His wink. He said that I had been exactly right but in the end apparently I wasn’t. It stung because he had been one of the rare guys in the last months (years, actually) I actually liked. Oh well. I guess it wasn’t meant to be after all. This is what the Universe had to say about it the other day: There are no accidents. If it’s appeared on your life’s radar, this is why: to teach you that dreams come true; to reveal that you have the power to fix what’s broken and heal what hurts; to catapult you beyond seeing with just your physical senses; and to lift the veils that have kept you from seeing that you’re already the person you dreamed you’d become.

Videos of Marno and Erin together. Also: she is so freakin’ beautiful as a marauder.

A surprise call from Ann-Katrin.

Sweet chai tea with milk.

The bright moonlight making the neighbours’ roof look like fish scales.

Forensic linguistics. I listened to a podcast episode about the Unabomber who was only discovered after his brother had noticed some stylistic irregularities in his manifesto. You can’t eat your cake and have it too.

Autumn leaves. Especially when it’s just the outer leaves turning red or yellow while the rest of the foliage is still green.

Sitting next to my ten-year-old student Ella on the bus on our way home on a Friday afternoon. She’s a very chatty Gemini and even though her self-importance and constant talking can be quite annoying I’ve kinda taken a liking to her.

A bunch of Alstroemeria in my dark green glass vase on the desk. A pretty image.

I still appreciate how beautiful my LuLuLemon thermos bottle is after all this time.

I should probably mention my new hair (extensions). Well, it looks absolutely gorgeous from the front. But I already know that I won’t get them again because you can see the glue in a few places, it’s quite hard, often painful and feels unnatural. And of course it’s much too expensive.

Baby carrots with King hummus.

My lunch dates with Becky.

Making my favourite sour thai curry. With rice noodles. And peanuts and cilantro. Yum.

Starting to work on a big soapstone sculpture. It’s going to be a hand! I love it when I have a group of calm students. It allows me to work on a project with them.

Making delicious pumpkin lasagna.

Visiting Manu’s mum. Making plum dumplings together. A fun afternoon in their kitchen.

A very cosy Sunday. Waking up at 5:30am. Watching Practical Magic in bed. Having a slice of pumpkin lasagna for breakfast. A sudden urge to get out, dressing up to keep out the cold, going out, early, streetlights still on. A walk through the woods. I loved how calm everything was. Being out before all the others had a chance to disturb the stillness with their kids and dogs and bicycles. Making lebkuchen. Lots of pecans. Having a nap. Writing a letter. Drawing weird mushrooms and bugs.

Autumnal smells. The moist smell of the forest ground, mushrooms, the smell of chimneys on a cold Sunday morning. Incense, gingerbread spices. Facial oil with lavender and iris. Roasted pecans.

A crafty day. I made a haunted house, some ghosts, spiders, bats, skulls and pumpkins out of paper.

Schlurp.

Meeting Frank in front of Residenztheater. The whole square was empty, he was the only person there. Waiting for me. Looking up to the opera roof. What an impressive building.

Talking about living life in story mode and action mode. I feel so stuck in action mode at the moment and desperately want to switch to story mode. Fantasy, magic, coincidences and meaning.

Spicy pumpkin recipes in the current issue of Schrot und Korn.

Rice and hazelnut milk as a bedtime treat.

Collecting autumn leaves. Chestnuts, acorns, feathers, beechnuts. Making a little autumnal alter with some crystals.

Thursday mornings. So much time for myself. Lots of tea, warm breakfast.

Treating myself to massages and nice facial creams and serums. Ya Yah is such a gifted person. I love her massages the most. The other day I also got a facial for the first time in many many years. It was nice to be wrapped in an extremely fluffy blanket. When the bright lights were on I could see different colours after closing my eyes and imagined being at a tropical beach. Unintentional ASMR sounds from the rubber gloves. Cosy.

Spicy winter tea in my new thermos bottle. The steam swirling up from my favourite mug (the moon phase mug I bough in Canada).

Buying cheap sparkly stickers, washi tape and stamps. Just because.

Pecan nuts are the BEST. Crazy delicious.

Porridge with coconut milk and mango for breakfast. Persimmons. Candles in the morning.

Gloomy twilight. The dark hour right before sunset/sunrise. Spooky black silhouettes against the ink blue or greyish white sky. Fairy lights. Memories of spending Halloween at Greyfriar’s Kirkyard in Edinburgh.

Finding yet another woolly hat for my collection. This time with pheasants.

Deltavenus’ Instagram feed.

Cutting open a fresh lime.

Happily singing along to my two favourite mantras (Jai Mata Kali / Om Gam Ganapataye Namaha) while making apple galette. Trying to harmonise in different ways.

A very surprising call from Claudia. She ended up in my kitchen, drinking half a bottle of wine.

A lovely Sunday with Sash. A walk through the English garden.   Watching the waterfall, falling leaves, backlit by the afternoon sunlight. Haus der Kunst. Getting in for free (art teacher bonus). I really liked the Michael Armitage exhibition and the enormous dyed curtains in the hall. Franz Erhard Walther’s Dust of Stars autobiography was impressive as well. I just ordered the book online; I’m looking forward to reading it. We also had a drink at Goldene Bar and enjoyed a late lunch at Baoz Bar.

Becky leaving me a lovely note and an English magazine on my desk.

Fink’s Knödelstube with Lena and Sash. We had 13 different kinds of dumplings. Heavenly delicious.

I came to realise that mornings are my favourite time of the day. I love gloomy, dark sunrises and my usual productivity highs.

Writing limericks with the kids.

Getting lost in the woods after dark which might not look like a good think at first glance but I uncovered a little secret - some bee hives I had never seen before!

A mild obsession with The Corrs’ song Old Town. I didn’t even know where it came from. It’s not a song I’ve ever actively listened to.

Learning about sesame plants. Another one of those plants I expected to look completely different.

I can smell mushrooms. On Saturday morning I went to the forest again early in the morning and whenever I would get a whiff of mushrooms and look down there they were.

Dog owners wishing me a good morning on my walk. Interestingly only men, the women tend to ignore me.

Wicked! - Modern Art’s Interest in the Occult. Learning about Leonora Carrington.

James’ chameleons in art class. He drew one representing each of his family members. He was the one licking a bat. Bold.

Buying far too many books. But I found out that Naomi Novik just published a new novel about a school of magic. And within two days I came across the writer Ursula K. Le Guin three times so I took it as a sign and got one of her books as well.

Prepare for the Roaring Twenties - The human desire to socialize will survive the pandemic.

A deep talk session with Jonathan about getting old, having children, self-worth, dating, obeying rules.

Finding my favourite pair of jeans on Kleiderkreisel for a fraction of the original price. And a baseball jacket with a Strange Ladies Society print on the back.

A walk in the forest before work. Something I’ve never done before I think. So good for my nerves, really.

The art of decision-making.

Joy praising me for my authoritative voice (effectively making the fifth-graders do what I want).

Decorating the classroom with the fifth-graders. I love my haunted house on the window pane, their lovely spiders, ghosts and bats. I should probably mention that our class mascot is a cute spider named Crawley so we’re all quite into spooky stuff. On the last day before the holidays we all showed up in costumes, played a Halloween quiz, listened to creepy music and I brought some candy, too. Fun!

Meeting the gang on Halloween. Japanese-inspired dinner and a board game.

[aurora-daily]

Like A Bird In The Night: Clash Meets Aurora

Interview: AURORA for Clash by Lisa Higgins (July 4th, 2019).

Having just performed a headline slot with The Chemical Brothers at Glastonbury on Saturday night, where she was projected 50ft high onto the main stage screens, it’s hard to think of Norwegian star Aurora as the same shy and unassuming woman Clash met 10 days before in a quiet corner of a London hotel.

There to get deep with me about her third album, ‘A Different Kind Of Human’, the singer was celebrating her 23rd birthday contemplating the meaning behind her avant-garde pop sound. The new album covers everything from male suicide rates to climate change and consumerism, and Aurora is determined to empower young people to change their surroundings for the better using her compulsive natural talent for songwriting.

To be Aurora is to live with an incessant need to make music and while it can be anxiety-inducing having such a busy mind, the outcome is material of an impressive magnitude far beyond her dainty stature. And when she’s not creating other-worldly, dystopian soundscapes she’s either sober raving until 6am or listening to Slayer.

Basically this is not your average pop star.

You spilt your concept into two albums. How do you feel now compared to when you were embarking on the whole thing?

I love not being ‘up and coming’ anymore, it’s nice to be more established. I knew the work would come out like it has. The day I released step 1 I had everything in my head for step 2. I woke up in a hotel, in London actually, and had the album in my head and I knew what I was going to do. Now I’m already making my next album. I just can’t stop.

So you give yourself no time off - the end of one album sparks the creation of the next?

It does. I have the title and tracks and the concept straight away. It’s weird how I can’t do it until I’ve released one though. I’ll cry and laugh and think about all the work I’ve done, but then I’m empty and then I fill up with something new. It’s an eternal hunt or game between me and my mind. It’s very fun.

Why did you decide to split the record into two albums in the first place?

It was while making Step One that we discussed splitting it up. I have so many songs and I realised that the whole concept was two different aspects of one process. One is internal and emotional (Step One) and about letting yourself be infected by something… but then that will turn you into 'A Different Kind Of Human' (Step Two). And when you’re a different kind of human you can change the world and do something important.

The album is about making the choice to become a different kind of human. Many people think it’s about me, because I’ve always been a bit strange or different but it’s nothing to do with me at all.

We love the themes of nature and the environment. It often sounds as though you are singing from the top of a cliff…is that the imagery you are trying to create?

Yes, music for me is not about my own pain, relationships or breakups, I write about the world around me. I want the music to be a nature force big like a mountain, ocean or hurricane. Music for me is really big and the closest thing I’ve experience to something divine. I want people to be reminded of their inner warrior.

We’re in an important time, fighting for nature and what you believe in. I think we’re hungry for more. I write pop music and it’s very intellectual and full of emotion. I have many different styles within pop in my songs. Every song has a clear identity and asks for its own colour it’s own mood. I’m really missing meaning in pop music and I have been the last 20 years. I miss the force that we need and I believe that it’s up to individuals.

We don’t have a machine to clear the water of plastic, we have to do it by hand. It’s up to us, the people. The true power lies within the people it always has but somehow throughout history the rich leaders have made it seem like power lies with one person. But that’s so old fashioned, we’re getting out of that now, the power lies with the people. I really want to remind people of the power they have that they may have forgotten about.

Are there are artists you listened to growing up that you felt gave you this power?

I grew up in Norway without a radio or music on the TV so the only artists I listened to were Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen and Enya. They are really the only artists I listen to now. I like Underworld, The Chemical Brothers and rave music too, but I know very little about music. I think that’s why I started to make my own.

That’s interesting because for a lot of people, growing up with music is intrinsic. I can’t remember the first time I heard certain types of music but I did and all those influences are part of what I like now, so I suppose your music is very pure and intuitive because it has less of that?

It is very intuitive and it comes by instinct. I just make music and I produce in a way where I don’t think about where it comes from, it’s just energy. But I did learn from Dylan and Cohen that you can make something beautiful and tell something important without being condescending. I feel like a lot of music on the radio lately is underestimating people, as though they wouldn’t understand complicated music.

What’s your favourite track on the album?

'Soulless Creatures'. It means a lot to me and it’s written about giving too much. It’s Mother Earth writing to humankind about wanting to thrive again. Sometimes I don’t understand what a song means for a while. It sounds pretentious and stupid but it does happen. I just write and write all the time. I have songs already for my fifth album.

Wow you’re so prolific, you’re like the Beatles!

Yes haha! It’s very messy in my head. I have to constantly make notes and colour co-ordinate them. It takes a lot of planning!

It sounds exhausting. How do you look after yourself emotionally and mentally, having compositions weaving through your mind all the time? Obviously you love it, but it sounds tiring.

It can be, and album release week is always a mess for me, as I can’t sleep. I stay awake until 6am every night and wake up at 10am. It can be a pain in the ass trying to go to sleep and then I hear a melody and harmony and all the instrumental parts come. I record it down quickly and once it’s out of my head I feel better.

I have a very strong relationship with heavy metal. It was the first music I discovered for myself when I was 13 and I remember the force of the anger in it. People think it’s noise but it’s not. I love the polyrhythmics of it; I’m a good percussionist and that comes from my love of heavy metal. I love System of a Down, Gojira, Masterdon and Slayer.

I first went to a Gojira show in Bergen when I was 11. I find it calms me down and I can fall asleep to it. I often need to come home and put some heavy metal on, scream and dance and then make myself some dinner. If I listen to music I listen to heavy metal or Enya. But generally I find it hard to listen to any music because music is in my head all the time and I’m so afraid I will miss an idea.

How else do you relax?

I love rave dancing; it’s my favourite thing. I’ve been to a few rave parties on boats in Paris, London and Berlin. I like the ones that are secure with no drugs and I don’t drink alcohol when I go raving because then I can really dance and I feel safer.

Dancing makes me feel comfortable in my own skin. I would recommend to everyone out there to challenge themselves a bit and go out to dance, because no one knows you. It’s very good for self growth. I’ve been 20 times in the last two years and I prefer it to dancing with friends. It’s always on evenings that I should be tired and then often I’m not home before 6am the next day.

Are there any other stand out tracks on the album?

I want to mention 'Hunger'. It’s about all our consuming, the endless hunger for money, food, clothes and how we’ve destroyed the world because of that hunger. We force ourselves to not see the people dying to make you a t-shirt because you’re hungry to buy as many T shirts that you can. We waste money and time on things that won’t make a difference.

I hate everything in fashion. I make my clothes or buy vintage. A fan gave me a piece of fabric from Indonesia that I’ve stitched into my trousers and made a top from. She carried it all the way for me and gave to me at a tiny show in Norway.

You recently wrote with The Chemical Brothers on 'Eve Of Destruction' tell me about that?

I got an email from Tom Rowlands in 2017 and he just said: Do you want to write with us? I couldn’t believe it. I don’t get starstruck but my musical respect for them is so huge and it was so nice that he asked me direct rather than through his management.

I took a week to reply because I couldn’t find the right words. Tom lives in the countryside with no phone reception. I stayed at an inn and a South African oil painter was living there in exchange for teaching the owner’s children to paint. I love to paint, so we went out together to paint by the ocean after I had been writing with Tom in the day.

It was a dream to be in the studio with Tom and all the synths. I was nervous to pitch the ideas I had but I also knew he would like it somehow. He’s such a nice guy and I felt that we are similar with our passion for music. I think one day we will make more music together.

Is there anyone else you’d like to write with?

I would love to work with Underworld. If they want my number I will happily give it out! I also love Imogen Heap, Lorde and of course, Gojira.

[har-rison-s]

insomnia

ben hardy!roger taylor x oc

a/n: so... this series is all over the place. as is my mind, so i can't help my rapid ideas, really. this is something from roger's point of view more than june's. hope you enjoy :)

warnings: smut, insomnia

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“Come on, darling,” Roger whispers calmly, despite being buried deep into his wife and watching her from below. His words heavily contrasted the other sounds coming from him and his wife. “You're doing so good...”

June is gasping for air, her hands hitting against Roger's chest. Out of kink and pure lust, Roger takes her wrists and moves them up his own hair. He almost screams when June tugged at his roots. 

“Oh, Roger, I'm... I'm close...” she announces to her love and can barely breathe. 

“Go on, darling,” Roger poorly replies and takes her wrist to kiss it, “let go.” He exhales and June finishes with a high pitched moan. She can do no more than collapse against Roger and try to calm her breathing. Until the man himself orgasms, he keeps pushing in and out of her.

“Are you done now, Rog?” June whispers after Roger shouts a few profanities and lets out a string of moans. He pulls out and June takes that as a yes, with a sigh.

“I'm going to take a shower.” She said. Roger chuckles.

“Really? After what I've done to you?” He asks with a cheeky grin. June shoots him a guilty look and pushes herself off the bed, only to fall to the ground in the next second with a yelp. “Oi, darling!” Roger exclaims.

He's quick to pull her back into the bed by her forearms. She shoots him a tired look, her eyelids barely keeping themselves up. Roger sees only a third of her green eyes. 

“You're very tired, love.” He says with a soft understanding smile. June giggles. Roger sees that she needs rest, whereas his body is far from tired in this moment.

“I know.” She admits. 

“And you're not going anywhere.” He says. Roger lays June down, and the sight of her reminds him of how this night started. His eyes turn into hearts as he watches her laying there, beneath him, too tired to speak or move. 

Roger doesn't want to leave, but he needs to because June's breasts are a big distraction to him. So he leaves her on the bed to fetch her a shirt. Contrary to your popular belief, he takes one of her loose flower blouses from her wardrobe and hurries back to June. 

“Arms up.” Roger says. June lifts her arms up tiredly, almost hitting Roger in the cheeks. He turns away and chuckles at his love. “Good job, June.” He salutes her and pushes the blouse over her head.

This is the most fun Roger has during his days lately. Just being with June, trying to take care of her while also having a lovely time when he gets back from the studio. The evenings are his favourite time of the day because he's finally out of the most stressful place he could be. Freddie was getting on his nerves, he had fired their manager and was always late to recordings - Roger was pissed all the time, came home cranky and easily irritable. Only when he was in bed with June or playing his drums and getting carried away with palying was he calm and humble.

She hums in appreciation and moves over to sleep on her side. Roger sits on the edge of the bed next to her, keeping his eyes on her face. She looks so beautiful to him. Quickly falling asleep, tired and freshly made-love-to. Her hair was still a little messed up and she would probably complain about it in the morning until she would forget her laziness and wash it. 

Roger loved hearing her complain about things she didn't like about herself, they amused him. June was the most perfect woman in the world and doubting herself was just silly to Roger. She would ramble on about her hair, her nails, her thighs, etc, and Roger would be laying in bed and listening to her - partly if he was smoking a cigarette or if June was in a particular sexy morning outfit.

He reaches out to June's cheek and strokes it with his pointer finger softly, not wanting to disturb her slumber. But he can't help his hand being heavy and June's eyebrows furrow as she barely opens her eyes. 

“Why aren't you sleeping?” She asks and closes her eyes, getting her head more comfortable on the pillow. The corner of Roger's lips curls up into an adoring smile and he sighs quietly.

“I'll join you in a second. Go to sleep.” He doesn't want to lie, but he also doesn't want to tell her the truth. Roger hasn't been able to sleep these past few weeks, and this night is no different. He spends his nights either laying next to June, writing something downstairs, trying to fall asleep or simply staring out the window, waiting for the exhaustion to dawn on his system.

Roger probably knows why it's like that, but he hates it. The rage of not getting sleep is only contributing to his insomnia. He's going in circles. 

He doesn't smoke in the bedroom anymore, hoping the lack of smoke in the room will help him fall asleep. Roger also tries to quit drinking in the evenings, only during the day, so his body and system can be clean before going to sleep. He's trying anything and everything to get rid of the stress from Freddie and the insomnia. 

Roger gets up from the bed, puts on his boxers and a shirt and leaves the bedroom. He slowly closes the door and then presses his back against the wall, a sigh leaving his lips. What do I do now?

He stands in the hallway for quite some time, not registering how much time passed, thinking of what he could do to either exhaust himself or be productive. Something that also wouldn't wake up June.

The idea of June's studio shoots into Roger's mind and he considers it. He knows he's not allowed in there without her, but she's asleep. But what would he do there? Look through her works? That would be like a... eh, what else could he do now? He has many song ideas in his head, maybe he could write songs in June's studio. Why? He has never been there alone, and has never done anything in there alone.

Roger takes a pen and his song book from the living room and walks up to the attic. He avoids the creaky wooden steps and boards so June would keep on sleeping.

Roger spends hours in June's studio, looking through her artworks and sketches, and also writing out his frustrations in his song book. June's works contains so many portraits of Roger, he is her muse and the main model every day. He also finds compositions of the band at the studio, the other wives lounging on the sofa, people at bars and at gigs. 

There are a few sketches and paintings of the band in the dressing room before shows, Freddie's outfits, Roger's angry face when someone has pissed him off or made a joke about his Car Song - Roger snickered at that. The most intruiging works of June's was of Roger sleeping and he realised they were made in the most intriqite times. On the tour bus, between interviews, at home, after a party, even asleep in a taxi. 

June doesn't draw herself, not at all, but there is one watercolor sketch/painting of her looking at herself in her make-up mirror. It's a very beautiful one, and probably Roger's favourite work of hers. He notes in mind to frame it someday before her birthday or Christmas.

When he walks down to the kitchen and sees the clock striking half past three in the morning, a yawn breaks out of his mouth. Roger gets excited and chuckles to himself - he's finally getting sleepy! 

He leaves the pen and book on the kitchen counter along with a glass of water, and hurries back to the bedroom. Roger quickly but carefully gets under the blanket and puts his arm over June's figure, ready to sleep beside the love of his life finally.