#I wanted to make a more elaborate year reflection where I looked back at my favourite comics and jokes.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At the start of this project all I wanted was to 'learn how to draw' using comics as a medium and the MDZS audio drama as inspiration.

I've come *very* far from making simple, 3 panel black and white comics, and I truly do intend to go even further. Thank you to everyone who cheered me on throughout 2023, it has been an incredible year in so many ways I never could have imagined. I look forwards to drawing throughout 2024 B*)

[missrosegold]

someone new

Synopsis: Post-war!AU. It’s the quite moments that Touya enjoys the most. Sometimes he still has a hard time believing they’re real. That you are real.

He has no problems allowing you to remind him of the latter.  

Word count: 16K

Paring: Dabi x Reader (fem!reader)

Warnings: Mentions of post surgical interventions, Touya has hints of survivors guilt and some suicidal idealization if you squint, Smut and additional warnings listed below and on A03 so Minors or Ageless Blogs please DNI. This is rated 18+

Playlist: Omar Apollo - Evergreen (You Didn't Deserve Me At All)

Authors notes: Written for @shibaraki Komorebi collab! Thanks for having me love! Hope you enjoy!

Title is from Someone New by Hozier

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

Sometimes Touya wonders how he got here.

It’s a loaded question and he knows as much. He knows exactly where he is, and he’s painfully aware of the series of events that led him to this moment in time – but he often finds himself struggling to believe it.

A part of him doesn’t want to believe it – a gnarled, still-angry part of what remains of his soul is convinced that it’s all part of some elaborate dream – one that will fade away and leave him alone and bitter once more as soon as he opens his eyes.

He falls asleep again and again, trying to prove his theory, but every time he wakes back up, he’s still in the same place:

He wakes up in your sun-lit apartment, more often in your bed, with you – always close by, never too far away.

It’s where he is even now: nestled into the soft sheets of your—no, the bed you shared together, even though it’s pushing noon on a Tuesday. Despite his body screaming at him to move, he can’t bring himself to get up just yet.

It’s not like it matters if he stays in bed anyways, he doesn’t have anywhere to be. He doesn’t have his court mandated therapy appointment until Thursday, and it’s not like he has a nine to five job like most people do. Christ, he can’t even leave your apartment building without you or a Pro-hero escort with him. (Who, ninety-five percent of the time ends up being Shoto, since he’s about the only person who wants to deal with him these days aside from you, his mom, and sometimes Fuyumi and Natsuo.)

He rolls over slightly and listens for you, trying to hear the tell-tale tread of your footsteps echoing through the halls, or the sound of you humming a gentle melody under your breath as you do your menial chores around the apartment; before it finally occurs to him that it’s a weekday and you’re at work.

He stifles a groan as he finally pushes himself up, and makes his way towards the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him.

That was his biggest problem these days: not wondering when his next meal would be. Not obsessing over ruining his father’s life as he had done his. Not charring himself past the point of no return as a means of exacting vengeance upon the world of Pro Hero’s that had long since turned their backs on him. No. That was all in the past.

For the first time in his life, it was boredom that was getting to him.

That was a joke if he ever fucking heard one.

Looking at himself now it’s hard to believe that he was once a homicidal serial killer, with a rap sheet several miles long.

He looks different now. He fights the urge to snort as he turns away from his reflection in your bathroom mirror while he goes about his business.

Like a snake that sheds it’s skin every couple of years, he’s changed his form once again; though this transformation wasn’t up to him. He had no choice in the matter; what happened to him after the war was decided for him. His opinions be damned. (Though, if he thinks about it, he didn’t really give All For One and his fucked up scientist permission to piece him back together after he incinerated himself up the first time. The irony almost makes him laugh.)

He forces himself to face his reflection in the mirror as he begins the painstaking task of his skincare routine – burning turquoise eyes staring a little too long at who looks back at him.

The worst of his burn scars are gone, though the shadow of them remains. His two-toned flesh has been concealed by pale, raised skin, but he can still see the lines in his face from his first Escharotomy – a reminder of Dabi; always lingering, never fully gone, even if he wears a different face.

The rest of his body is like that as well. No longer is he marred by wicked burn scars and surgical staples; he is one even skin tone now. He is complete by all accounts, even though he feels anything but whole. The skin grafts aren’t perfect – they’re textured and prone to drying out, and the skin around his eyes always looks bloodshot – but for the first time in years, when he looks in the mirror; the person staring back at him actually looks like Touya.

It's not a perfect visual, but it’s still closer than he ever thought possible.

Truth be told, he still has a difficult time looking at himself in the mirror. It’s jarring honestly. He’d gotten so used to seeing the horrific scarring on himself, that seeing his reflection without them makes him feel like he’s staring at someone new.

The skin grafts he received at some point after his barely responsive body was all but dragged off the battle field, still itch sometimes, but he knows it’s all in his head. He can’t feel anything. He hasn’t been able to feel anything since he was discharged from the hospital he been taken to after he collapsed.

His memories of that time are hazy – he had been doped up on heavy narcotics and other nerve blockers as he was subjected to surgery after surgery in a desperate attempt to fix his scorched body – so much so, that he doesn’t know how long he was out for, or how much time passed while he was in recovery.

He remembers Shoto coming to visit him shortly after waking up from the worst of his many surgeries, and explaining that while the doctors had been able to successfully graft new skin onto him, (how his mangled body had been able to withstand another set of skin grafts was beyond him), they hadn’t been able to fix his damaged nerve endings, and had opted to cauterize the few that still worked; leaving him completely numb to any and all feeling.

Truthfully, he hadn’t cared at the time, he hadn’t been able to feel much of anything for years before that, and the little he was still able to feel was nothing but chronic pain, so at the time he has seen the news as a blessing.

And then he met you.

Shortly after that, he found himself cursing the fact that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

-----

He remembers the first time he met you.

After he had been cleared to leave the hospital, he had been taken to a heavily fortified psychiatric ward, eerily similar to the med-bay in Tartarus: all sterile white walls and armed guards. His room hadn’t been much better: just a mid-sized white box with a cot and a small window for him to look out of, though there wasn’t much of a view outside. He had no idea where the fuck he was anyways.

There he had started his rehabilitation. 

It was hell. The first few months he spent there, he adamantly refused to speak to any of the doctors or physiatrists who came to work with him. Some were more persistent than others, poking their nose into his past (like he hadn’t just aired his dirty laundry out for all of Japan to witness), and those were the ones he got pissed off at the most.

In another life, Dabi would have had no qualms about turning the doctors to ash, just like he had done to everyone else who had annoyed him in the past, only; he wasn’t Dabi anymore. He wasn’t sure who he was now.

It didn’t help he had been hopped up on quirk blockers that canceled out his quirk, otherwise he probably still would’ve tried to incinerate them. But he couldn’t, and for the first time in his life, Touya Todoroki was fucking cold.

Turns out his quirk did a wonderful job of insulating him against the ice he kept hidden inside his chest all along.

He supposed he couldn’t blame them for rendering him quirkless while at the facility. Hell, he’d render himself quirkless if he was a staff member, having to deal with someone like him. Footage from the fight with his father and the all-out brawl with Shoto had been leaked to the public, showing his quirk’s true power in all of its devastating glory.

He had been told the aftermath of both fights had done irreversible damage to the surrounding areas, and no one was sure if they’d be able to fix the carnage he had created.

Good. The bitter, angry part of himself thought when he had been inadvertently told of the news. Suffer like I am.

He had been kept in isolation most of the time as the doctors tried to figure out what to do with him. His family hadn’t been allowed to visit him yet, and for that he was grateful – he hadn’t been particularly keen on seeing them after his recovery anyways. It was still too soon to face them, and he wasn’t ready to deal with the inevitable aftermath of what was to come. In the meantime, he still refused to respond to any of the medical staff who came to try and work with him, outside of sarcastic remarks and biting jabs that made the whitecoats squirm in their seats, much to his enjoyment.

Curiously, during one of the very few times he did speak to one of the doctors responsible for his treatment; he found himself asking about what happened to the rest of the League. Of course, no one would give him any answers aside from the fact they were alive and they were in custody.

He was more relieved than he thought he would be.

More time passed, and he still refused to open up to any of the staff who came to see him, though he had become more vocal with them – aggressively so – to the point he started to notice there was a continuous rotation of people now; it wasn’t just the same staff he was used to seeing when he first arrived at the facility.

Turns out, even the professionals were still scared of him – quirk or no quirk, his fiery reputation preceded him.

Eventually, the facility couldn’t keep cycling through their therapists, so they had switched tactics. Whether it was out of desperation, or the fact he made so many professionals break down after a session with him, he wasn’t sure, but he can’t say he regrets his actions, because in the end, he met you.

He remembers the day you met for the first time.

He had been forced out of his little cell and taken to one of the treatment rooms where he spent most of his time outside his own room. He had been shoved in there before he could make a snarky retort, and then… he saw you.

You had been sitting on the couch adjacent to the spot where he normally sat during his apptioments. He had been so stunned to see someone new, he’d been rendered silent. You’d looked up towards him, and for the first time since he arrived, you smiled at him.

“Hey.” You’d greeted him casually. He hadn’t responded, still unsure of who you were and what you were doing here instead of the usual staff.

You nodded to the couch across from you. “You wanna sit?”

He sat.

He fully expected you to introduce yourself, but you hadn’t. You’d just leaned back into the couch you were seated on and crossed your legs, giving him a content smile as you regarded him casually.

A few beats of silence passed. You didn’t speak and neither did he. A few minutes passed, then a half hour, and then an hour. Finally, one of the assistants came to bring him back to his room.

He stood up to go but you still didn’t say anything. He’d allowed himself to be taken back without a fuss but, he didn’t think anything more about it. The next day it was the same thing. He was taken out of his room back to the same treatment room, and surprisingly, you were already there waiting for him.

You gave him a little grin and nodded to the couch opposite you, and just like the last day, he sat.

Once again, you didn’t say anything, which was unusual, since all of the other doctors had always started off the conversation, but you sat in silence across from him – the gentle smile never leaving your face all the while.

A half hour of silence passed before he finally broke. “So, what exactly is this?” he remembers his voice sounding dry and scratchy after weeks of misuse. “This the part where you try and butter me so I’ll talk to you?”

You’d grinned at his remark. “No.”

“No? Then what the hell are you doing here? Is this some new technique the therapist’s showed you to try and get me to spill my guts to you? Reverse phycology or some shit?”

“Nope. None of that I can assure you. Actually, if I’m being honest, I’m not even a doctor.”

That caught his attention.

“The hell do you mean you’re not a doctor? How the are you in here then?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

He remembers being completely caught off guard by your answers, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit intrigued by you. He remembers squinting at you carefully – taking you in – and for the first time, he saw you. Really saw you.

He could tell that you weren’t lying to him about not being a doctor. You were dressed casually, though you were still covering up a fair amount of skin – no doubt something they told you to do ahead of time. You looked more alive than the rest of the staff in this place as well.

He was loathed to admit it, but you were pretty.

He remembers you flashing him a knowing grin, clearly able to tell he’s been shamelessly checking you out, and it was enough to make him recede back into his shell; his walls going back up once more, as he rolled his eyes condescendingly at you.

“So what’s your angle then?” He’d asked you. “You’re not a doctor but you wouldn’t be in here with me if you didn’t want something from me.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was simply here to talk?”

That had gotten a laugh out of him. A short breathless laugh, but it was the first one he’d uttered since he’d tried to incinerate himself along with his father. It felt weird leaving his throat, foreign even, and he’d cut himself off as soon as the sound exited his mouth. So, he settled for snickering instead.

“Really now? You want to talk to someone like me? Why do I not believe that?”

You had sighed, and leaned forward so your forearms were supported on your knees, fixing him with a stern gaze. The intensity of it had made him flinch before he remembered who he was. He returned the look best he could, but it hadn’t deterred you in the slightest. Instead, you sighed again.

“Look I’ll be honest with you: the staff here filled me in on your situation. I don’t know what they’ve told you, but from how it was explained to me; your family wants you back home with them. They’ve made a bunch of deals with the authorities about getting you out of here and not spending the rest of your life behind bars, but you have to successfully go through rehab first. The reason you’re here is so they can determine that you’re not a threat to society or to yourself, but the staff don’t seem to be having much luck getting through to you, and they’re desperate. They sent out a request to bring in outside help and I applied. They picked me because we’re the same age, and well… no one else really wanted to. Turns out most people are pretty scared of you.”

“Fucking figures. And you’re telling me you’re not?”

“Of you? No.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not. I’m a little nervous maybe, but I’m not scared.”

That had made him pause. He’d swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling like it was packed with cotton.

“Why’s that?” he’d finally asked you after a moment.

You had gone quiet, seemingly mulling over his question before you finally responded: “I think you have a lot to say. More than you already have, and more then what people think. To be honest, I want to hear it.”

He had laughed again, but this time it sounded forced, even to him.

“If you watched my broadcast then you know it all already.”

“Oh, trust me, I think the whole world saw your broadcast, not just Japan. No one would shut up about it for weeks. But I think there’s a lot more to you. I think a part of you wants to talk to someone else – none of that scripted bullshit – and I want to talk to you. Honestly, I think you’re pretty fascinating.”

He had been very tempted as ask you if you had a thing for villains, but he held off.

“You must be crazy if you find talking to me enjoyable. The other quacks can’t even stomach me, let alone stand to be in the same room as me for more than a few minutes. Just how fucked up are you really?”

You’d grinned and wiggled your eyebrows mischievously at him as you leaned back and spread your arms out along the back of the couch. “The only way you’re going to find that out is if you agree to talk to me. I don’t just give up all my secrets willingly you know.”

It was his turn to go quiet as he thought about your words over and over in his head, taunting him. He hadn’t been in any rush to leave the facility and go back to his old house, even if his mother and siblings were waiting for him. On the other hand, this was the most enjoyable conversation he’d had with anyone since coming to this white hellhole they called a hospital.

He figured maybe he would entertain you for a little while. If nothing else it would get you off his back.

You were lucky you were attractive.

The sound of your voice calling out his surname brought him back to the present.

“Mr. Todoroki?”

“… Fine.” He had finally relented. “We’ll see who you really are, and for fuck’s sake don’t call me that. I’m not my fucking father.”

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“D—” he stopped short. Was that his name any more? Did he get to call himself that after everything was said and done? It was the name he had given himself when Touya died all those years ago, but for some reason, saying it now just seemed wrong.

“…Touya.” He finally muttered. “Just Touya.”

You had smiled at him and for some stupid reason, it made his heartrate pick up. Just a little.

“Okay then. Touya it is. It’s nice to meet you.” You extended your left hand, and he had clumsily fumbled around for a moment before shaking your hand. As soon as your hands touched, and he felt the gentle pressure of your hand in his own, he was struck with the realization that this was the closest to human he’d felt in God knows how long. The other doctors that would come in and out of his cell treated him like he was some kind of feral animal, but you had extended your hand to him without any shred of fear or disgust. 

Once you’d both settled back into your respective couches, he’d shrugged.

“So, what now then?”

“Now we talk I guess.”

“About what?”

“I think that’s up to you. The people who brought me in here didn’t specify what we have to talk about, but I am supposed to tell you that I can’t talk to you about the UA students, politics, current or former hero’s, or the League.”

Fuck. It didn’t seem like he’d be getting any answers out of you regarding his former group either.

“…fine. Ask away, I guess.”

To his surprise, you shook your head. “Can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I’m the one doing all the asking, then we’re only going to talk about things from my perspective, which isn’t the point. The only way this is going to work is if you talk to me first.”

That’d had thrown him through a fucking loop. Ever since he had arrived at the ward, all the doctors had done is talk at him, hoping he’d respond eventually. You may not have been a doctor, but you made for a better conversation then any of them ever did.

“…Well… Where am I supposed to start?” he’d finally asked, feeling like an idiot. To his immense relief, you’d simply shrugged.

Wherever you want. From the beginning maybe? It might be easier that way.”

He remembered swallowing hard. “Alright… from the beginning then.”

He remembers pausing and looking up at you, taking you in. “What the hell is your name anyways?”

You told him with a smile, and that was how it started.

For the next year, you came to see him almost every day.

He was taken to the same room where you were always waiting for him without fail at the same time every day. Even though at that point, he’d rather choke than admit it; he began to look forward to your visits – finding that they gave him a reprieve from his mundane existence at the mental ward.

He knew the doctors were always listening and recording everything you talked about during the hour you were together, but he found he didn’t care as much as you managed to keep the meetings interesting.

True to your word, you wouldn’t talk to him about current political events, or any news related to heroes (he knew better then to ask anyways), but you were open to chatting with him about anything that he wished to talk about, even though conversations were often hard for him to start – but you were kind and patient with him, more so than anyone had ever been to him for the majority of his miserable life.

He found himself growing found of you, the little smiles you give him when he’d sit across from you, bringing a hidden grin to his own lips, though he was quick to push it down, never letting his passive façade drop for more the a few seconds, lest his supervising doctors notice and assume shit, as they tended to do.

You may not have been a licensed doctor, but you helped him more than any of the ones who worked at the medical ward did.

There was a gradual shift in your relationship as time passed. Around the six month mark he could feel it, and he was almost positive you could too.

Your conversations had become more fluid, more casual. You were relaxed as you could be around him, and he found himself opening up more and more to you without being prompted. Most times he liked to keep the conversation light, but every so often, he’d tell you bits and pieces about his childhood – before everything had gone to shit. He never bothered telling you about everything that happened after Sekoto; he didn’t want to tell you about the years he spent on the streets, or his time in All For One’s medical center with the other children turned Nomu’s, and to his immense relief, you never asked him to.

In return for his openness, you rewarded him with tidbits from your own life growing up. You didn’t name anyone specific (he couldn’t fault you on that one), but you’d tell him about your childhood and some of the adventures you’d had when you were young, well into your teen years.

He learned that you were born an only child to your parents, raised in a caring household. All the idealistic, quaint things that he had wished from his own family. He’d told you as much one day, prompting you to laugh softly.

“Not always.” You’d told him quietly. “I had my own pressure on me when I was growing up. My parents and I fought a lot. We rarely saw eye to eye – they didn’t agree with a lot of choices I made when I was younger, but it was okay aside from that.”

“Still sounds like your parents were better than mine.” He’d told you with a bitter smirk. “My dad’s an abusive asshole, and my mom—”

 It was then he realized that he struggled for words to properly describe her. Broken images from his fire fight with Endeavor had come back to him, and he remembered his mother’s fierce determination to try and cool him down – to save him – even as the heat was melting her flesh. She had thrown herself into the fray to try and stop him from ending it all without a second thought for her own safety. Up until very recently, he would’ve described his mother as weak and submissive, always bending to his father’s whims, even though he knew she didn’t have much of a choice back then, but now… that description didn’t seem to fit her anymore.

“—she used to be a doormat for dear old dad to walk over when I was a kid… but she’s changed. She’s a lot stronger than I remember her being.”

“I saw bits and pieces of your fight with… him.” You’d admitted quietly then. “I saw the aftermath. Your mom, your siblings… they all ran in to save you.”

He’d fallen quiet at that, not truly knowing what to say, but when he looked up again, you had offered him a gentle smile. “I’m sorry if this oversteps a boundary but… they never forgot about you Touya. Even if it felt like they did, they never stopped thinking about you.”

For once, he remembered being grateful that his tear ducts were permanently sealed shut, because he suddenly found himself in danger of crying. The tell-tale prickling behind his eyes caused his face to scrunch up as he pushed the thought of his mom and siblings down. He had quickly forced his expression to go back to neutral, and prayed that you hadn’t noticed the switch, but if you had, you didn’t comment on it – another thing he liked so much about you. 

Instead, you asked him something that caught him off guard.

“Have you seen them? Your family? Since you were placed here?”

“No. Didn’t think they were allowed to come here. Why?”

“I think… maybe you should let them come see you – your mom and siblings I mean. Not you know who. I don’t think you’d be doing yourself any favours.”

“Why?” He remembers pressing you. “Have you seen them?” You’d shook your head.

“No, I’ve never met them, but I think it might help if you sit down with them and actually talk to them one on one. You must be getting so bored just talking to me day in and day out.”

“No!” he remembers saying a little too quickly, causing another one of those knowing smirks to creep up your lips. “I—no, you’re fine. I like talking to you.”

“Do you not want to see them?” you had asked him seriously. “Is it too soon? I understand if you’re not ready. That’s a decision you have to make on your own. No one can make it for you.”

“… I’ll think about it.”

Because in truth: there were things he wanted to say to them, and conversations he wanted to have.

In the end, it was you who finally convinced him to let his family visit. They had been cleared to see him at the faculty a few months prior, but he had always declined a visit from them, not wanting to see them so soon, since the last time they were all together had resulted in him almost melting his mother, Fuyumi and Natsuo.

There had been strict rules set in place for his family’s visitations: only one person could see him at a time so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed. they weren’t allowed to talk about outside events with him, and finally, under no circumstance was Endeavor allowed anywhere near the faculty. He was fine with his mother and siblings coming to see him if they wished, but he didn’t want his father to be anywhere near him.

He wasn’t ready to see him again so soon. Even after his apologies. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to see his father again.

Thankfully the faculty had minimal difficulty honoring his last wish, as it seemed that Enji didn’t want to be around him either – or maybe he was purposefully keeping his distance. Either way, the old bastard wasn’t around him, and he figured it was for the best.

Once again you had been right; seeing his family again had been as cathartic as it had been terrifying.

There had been tears (from his family – he still was unable to cry), and there had been a lot of long, overdue heart-to-heart conversations with them of things that should’ve been said long ago.

It had been hard to sit down and listen to each of his family members without feeling the intense urge to get up and run when the guilt became almost unbearable, but he had forced himself to sit through it all for their sakes (and even his own), and soon he found himself scheduling more visits with his family, as well as seeing you for your daily interactions.  

You never prompted him to tell you how his now daily visits with his family went, but he’d told you anyways – not what was discussed, that would stay with him – but he had told you about his favourite visit. Hilariously, it had been with Shoto; something he never thought he’d ever say.

He’d told you about how Shoto had brought him lunch from the outside the day before. It wasn’t anything special; just piping hot udon noodles with vegetables in pork broth. They had sat down in silence and eaten together, sharing a meal for the first time in their lives. Nothing had been discussed, and yet everything had been said.

It had been nice. Comfortable, even.

He remembered telling you with a soft smile on his face, and you had pointed it out, causing him to scoff and wave you off.

“It’s better food then the shit they feed me in this prison. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, once you’re cleared to leave, I’m sure you’ll be able to eat all the udon you want with your brother.” You’d told him as you tucked your feet under you. He’d shrugged, brushing you off, but you were ever observant, and had called him out on it.

“Do you not want to go back to them once you’re able to leave this place?”

It was a simple question in theory, but it wasn’t easy to answer.

He’d shrugged again. “Don’t really know if I can. Not after everything. I won’t go back if he’s there.”

“I don’t think they’d push so hard for you to come back to them if he was.” You reasoned with him gently. “Where would you want to go, if not there?”

You and your questions. Most of the time they were harmless, but sometimes they really made him think. Unfortunately, he hadn’t had an answer for you at that point, and you had quickly switched the conversation topic.

At that point, he’d be lying if he said he was thinking about what he’d do once he was released. Truth be told he hadn’t thought about it much at all. To him, it felt like he’d be in the psychiatric ward for the foreseeable future. He had no real plans for what he’d do once he was out. Maybe he would go back to his old house with his family, or maybe he’d try staking out on his own since that was what he was used to, if he was even allowed to go off on his own. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do once he was let out – but he certainly wouldn’t be free, he knew that much.

Maybe he’d try and reconnect with the League – assuming that any of them were even allowed to be released from custody.

It still bothered him on some level that he had no idea about what happened to them after the dust had settled. He had been carted off the battle field before any of them, after his attempt at going nuclear failed, and had been in and out of the hospital and the physiatrist wing ever since.

When he had first arrived, he’d asked the staff about what had happened to the remainder of the League, but they hadn’t told him anything aside from the fact they were alive – but he wasn’t sure how much of that he believed.

The only one he’d really trusted in the whole building was you. He knew you weren’t allowed to talk to him about any villains or heroes, but maybe if he asked you discreetly, you’d be able to tell him something more than what the medical staff had. He didn’t want you to get in trouble, but the curiously was eating away at him. 

Finally, one day he risked it, and asked you if you knew anything about the fates of his former teammates.

You had paused after he’d voiced his question, and went quiet for a moment, seemingly debating on what you could say to him. For a moment you looked like you were almost about to tell him that you couldn’t say anything, but the look on his face must have been desperate enough that you cracked.

You had given the cameras in the room an unreadable look before sighing loudly. “I don’t know where they are exactly. I never looked into it, and it isn’t public knowledge anyways.” You told him gently. “What I do know is that they’re alive, and they’re in different treatment centers receiving help. I know they were beaten badly and some of your friends almost died – but as far as I know, they’re doing okay.”

You’d then sat straight back up on your chair and loudly proclaimed, “I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to say that much to him, right? Don’t take it out on him or me once we’re done here.”

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but at least they were alive, and were in similar situations to him. It made him feel slightly less alone.

When the timer beeped shrilly, signaling that your hour was up, you had stood up to leave just as you always did, but before you could say goodbye to him, he’d quickly lunged forward and grabbed your hand, incasing it with his large cold one.

You’d stared at him in shock, as he’d never made a move to touch you once in the six months, you’d been visiting him, but before any of the guards could rush in and pull him off, he’d let your hand drop, but not before muttering a quiet “thank you” under his breath to you, before backing off and allowing the armed guard to escort you out of the room.

He distinctly remembers feeling the pressure of your small hand in his own, but he hadn’t been able to feel anything else aside from that. He hated it. He suddenly found himself hating that all of the nerves in his body had been severed, rendering him unable to feel anything. He couldn’t feel the texture of your skin against his own, or if your hands were cool or warm like his.

He was forced to admit to himself that for the first time since he’d left the hospital; he wanted to feel something again.

He wanted to feel you. But he couldn’t, and it aggravated him more than anything.

There was another thing he remembered distinctly about that day as you were leaving him behind: For the first time since you had started your daily interactions with him; you had looked back.

You had looked at him like you were seeing him in a different light.

He didn’t see you for a few weeks after that. When he had been pulled from his cell, and into the room where you usually met him, he was instead greeted by several doctors that had overseen his treatment when he first arrived.

He had asked them where you were, and when they refused to answer his question, he had immediately become hostile and threatening. The walls that were slowly starting to lower since he first met you went straight back up, and Touya turned into Dabi once more.

For the first time in roughly seven months, he lashed out (quirk be damned), and was immediately taken back to his room and put on lockdown. He wasn’t allowed visitors, and the only times he was allowed to leave his cell was to go back to the same room with the same doctors who poked and prodded him – asking him increasingly invasive questions, until he shut his mouth and refused to speak to them once more. One last act of defiance on his end since he still didn’t have use of his quirk.

When it had become apparent to the doctors and specialists that he refused to speak to any of them, they stopped taking him out altogether. He spent countless hours staring out the tiny window in his room, basking in the weak sunlight and taking in the menial views he could see from his window.

He had wondered where you had gone; if you had been forcefully sent away after he had asked about the League. He hoped that wasn’t the case – he liked you, probably more then he should if he was honest with himself – and you were just about the only person he could actually carry on a conversation with in this shitty place.

A few more weeks in solitary had him about to snap. He had reached a point where he was about to try and strike a deal with the overseeing doctors about bringing you back if he answered their shitty questions, when one of the armed guards opened up his door and guested for him to follow.

Once again, he had been taken back to the same observation room, but to his pleasant surprise; you were there waiting for him.

You had beamed at him and before he could think about what he was doing, he had crossed the room towards you in three long strides until he was standing directly in front of you. He had begun to lift his hand up towards you, only for his action to halted by a curt bark from the guard who was still standing at the door. You had shaken your head, motioning to the guard you were fine and sent him on his way. As soon as the door had closed, he rounded on you.

“You left.”

You had nodded, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I did, yes. Not really by choice though.”

“Why did you go?”

You’d barked out a laugh. “I’ll be honest, the supervisors weren’t too happy with me when I told you about the League. I broke one of their rules, so they told me I had to go for a bit.”

He’d narrowed his eyes, confused. “But now you’re back.”

You’d given him a slight smirk. You turned to sit down on your usual spot on the couch, but this time, instead of having him sit across from you, you’d gestured for him to sit beside you, which he’d done so embarrassingly fast.

“You’re very stubborn.” You’d told him with a light laugh. “From what I was told, you refused to talk to anyone after I left – heard you got downright nasty with some of the staff, and they put you on probation. They called me a few days ago almost begging me to come back. Guess they felt you made the most progress when you were talking to me.”

You’d given him a look that was hard for him to read. “Why did you snap at them?”

He figured there was no point in lying to you – you’d find out somehow. “Didn’t know where you went. Fuckers wouldn’t tell me, and they kept prying into my shit. Didn’t want to talk to them so they put me in solitary.”

He remembers you looking sad at his answer. “I heard you were in there for several weeks. I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to happen to you. Not on my account. I didn’t… I don’t want to be the reason your release got delayed.”

For some reason, it bothered him that you blamed yourself for what happened, and he reached out to gently take hold of your wrist. To his surprise, you hadn’t stopped him, or made any move to pull your hand away from his, so he allowed himself to rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb, even though he couldn’t feel it.

“Not your fault. Don’t worry about when I’m getting out. It’s not like it really matters anyways.”

“Do you know why they were pushing you so much?” you’d asked quietly, still not making any more to remove yourself from his hold. He’d shook his head and you’d simply leaned into him, damn near making him freeze up in surprise at your boldness.

“They told me that they’re planning on releasing you soon – with restrictions of course – but they were thinking that you’d be able to leave here sooner than expected. That was before your outburst, but if you’re willing to just hear them out and answer their questions, it’ll help speed up the process.”

“They seriously think that I’m fit to send out into society again?” he remembers scoffing, hardly believing what he was hearing. “Pretty sure the majority of them think I’m an irredeemable sociopath.”

“They’ve seen the way you act around me and your interactions with your family. You’re not perfect, but you’re trying, and sometimes that’s all you can do.”

“You do realize I have killed people, right? I’ve maimed countless others. They’re… not exactly wrong about me.”

Surprisingly, you’d simply rolled your eyes at his statement, acting like he’d just told you the sky was blue. “Of course I know that Touya. I’m not overlooking what you did. But they—your family – are fighting hard to try and get you another chance, a fresh start. They think you deserve it, and they’re out there right now, day and night, trying to convince others that you deserve a second chance too.”

You had twisted your hand in his so your palms were kissing, fingers laced together, and he could feel his heart pounding in his ears as you gave him that damn smile of yours.

“You’re right: the past never dies, but that doesn’t mean that it has to be your future as well.”

That simple statement had stunned him. For the first time in a long time, he hadn’t had anything to say in response to you.

He remembers fighting an internal battle in himself, trying to find something to say to rebuttal what you were telling him. A part of him understood why his family was fighting for his uncertain future outside the psychiatric ward, but on the other hand… he didn’t necessarily believe that he deserved it.

What kind of life would he be able to have even if he was allowed to be released? He had never planned on living this long, as morbid as that was. His original goal had been to go out in a fiery hell-blaze with his bastard of a father, but clearly that hadn’t happened. He was known a global terrorist, the right-hand to the symbol of fear. His quirk was legendary for all the wrong reasons. How could he possibly be allowed to live on the outside? There was no way the rest of Japan wanted him released, let alone wandering around. What kind of future could he possibly be allowed to dream about? Did he even dare to think about it? He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what he might do if he was ever allowed out of the ward from time to time, but now that his impending release seemed like more of a possibility; he was starting to think maybe it was better for everyone – and maybe even himself – if he stayed locked away.

Thankfully, you and your perspective nature had picked up his internal struggle. You’d leaned into him and taken his hand in both of your own, allowing him to breathe again.

“What do you want Touya?”

What did he want? Christ he wasn’t sure.

“I… don’t know. Honestly: I never planned on living this long from the get go. Everything has always been decided for me. I kinda figured that this would be the same.” He had admitted quietly, the gentle pressure of your hands on his own, grounding his rapid thoughts.

“Do you think you’re ready to leave soon?” You’d asked him gently, prompting him to laugh, a bitter, ugly thing, but you hadn’t flinched.

“No.” he’d admitted after a moment, scrunching up his nose. “Dunno if there’s much of a point. I’ll never be free. No matter where I go, I’ll always be a prisoner. What kind of life could I even have outside of here? I don’t know how to live any other way aside from how I’ve been living since I escaped that damn—” he’d cut himself off last minute, reminding himself that you didn’t know about All For One’s hellish medical facility he had woken up in, and he had no plans on telling you about that.

“I just…” he remembered breathing out hard through his nose as he tried to collect his thoughts, focusing on the faint heat he swore he could feel emanating off your hands and leaching into his cold skin. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if they decide to let me out. Dunno if I can go back to the old house after everything that happened, and I’m not sure if I could bring myself to live with my mom or my siblings after… well, you saw bits of what happened on TV already.”

He hadn’t needed to say it for you to know that he felt a tremendous amount of guilt towards his mother and siblings – especially Fuyumi and Natsuo – for nearly charring them in the heat of battle. He may have held onto so much resentment and anger towards his family for his mistreatment as a child, but he was also self-aware enough to know that it hadn’t been their faults, and they had tried to help him in the only ways they knew how.

You had been quiet as you let him vent to you. You hadn’t said anything for a while afterwards as you mulled over what he’d told you. Finally, you had nudged his shoulder with your own.

“I think that everything you just told me is proof enough that you deserve a chance to have a life outside of these walls.” You admitted. “What you said isn’t something an ‘irredeemable sociopath’ would say. That’s something a self-aware person says. You’re not perfect Touya, but Christ if you’re not trying. I can see it, your mom, sister and brothers see it, and I think a lot of your other doctors are starting to see it too. I think there’s a point, even if you don’t think there is.”

In that moment he’d been convinced that if he could cry, he would’ve been.

“Yeah? Well, thank you sweetheart.” He’d muttered into your hair, fighting hard with himself to try and keep his voice steady. “I have no fucking idea why you’re so nice to me, but it’s… yeah.”

“I think someone needs to treat you like a normal human being, because I don’t think anyone did for a long time.” You’d looked up at him pointedly, but he’d seen traces of something else in your eyes when you’d asked him, “Did they?”

A simple flat look from him had been answer enough for you, and prompted you to squeeze his hand. “Didn’t think so.”

You’d both lapsed into a comfortable silence aside from the steady ticking of the clock, and he’d known without looking up that your time with him was coming to an end. Now, he was dreading it more then he normally would’ve been. You’d spoken up again, but what came out of your mouth next, had shocked him.

“When you’re released… If you’re still unsure of where you want to go afterwards… I could… if you can clear it with the people overseeing your progress once you’re cleared to leave… Maybe… you could come stay with me.”

He remembered staring down at you, shocked. “Is that even allowed?”

You’d shrugged in response. “I’m not sure. I think you’re going to have to initially stay with your family for a while, but if you’re really having a difficult time staying there… maybe I could work something out with your family, as long as it’s approved. It’ll probably take a while, but I can try.”

He had a difficult time allowing what you were implying to sink in. How? How could you be so trusting? To even suggest the idea of someone like him staying with you? Forget if it was even possible or not, the fact you’d even offered in the first place was mind-blowing. Before he could think about what he was saying, he’d voiced his thoughts to you:

“I’m sure your parents would be thrilled, you bringing a villain back to your home.”

You’d simply given him a small smile. “I’m sure they wouldn’t like it… if they were around that is.”

“Oh. They not in the country, or—”

“We’ll go with that.”

Ah. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one with secrets. That was fair, you were allowed to have your own. He wouldn’t pry.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. You didn’t know.”

You’d both fallen back into the same silence from before. You were still leaning on him, his hand trapped in your smaller one, yet he’d made no move to remove it from your grasp. Honestly, he was shocked the guards from before hadn’t barged into the room and forced him away from you. The close proximity must have been violating a rule of some kind, and yet no one had made any move to separate the two of you, Maybe the medical staff really had been as desperate as you’d claimed, and were willing to let some things slide. Either way, he wasn’t complaining.

“You’re a lot colder than I thought you’d be… with your quirk being what it is and all.”

He’d glanced down at you, only to see you staring down at your intertwined hands. You’d squeezed the appendage again, prompting him to respond.

“It’s the quirk suppressors. Haven’t been able to use my quirk since before I got here. The quacks made it so I’m hopped up on suppressors around the clock, just in case. Turns out I’m pretty fucking cold without my flames. Must be from the ice side, but I can’t use that either.”

“Well, maybe if you keep being nice, you won’t have to be on them indefinitely.” You had tried to give him a hopeful smile, but he knew what the likelihood of that happening was, and you must have too, since you didn’t say anything else on the matter.

The timer had sounded then, signaling the visit was over. Before the guard could come to collect you, he’d quickly pulled his arm out of your grasp, and had wrapped it around you tightly, much to your initial surprise. He’d begrudgingly let you go so he could help you stand, sending the guard at the door a pointed look as he’d seen him casting an unsure look between himself and you. You hadn’t been the least bit bothered by the anxious glances the guard was trying to send you as you stood slowly and sent him one of your little smiles he’d come to expect from you.

“You’re coming back?” he’d blurted out before he could stop himself.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time.” You’d told him confidently as you’d turned to leave, brushing your knuckles against his. “Don’t worry Touya. I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time since someone had promised him anything in a very long time, he’d believed you.

In the end, you’d kept your promise.

It had taken close to another year before he was allowed to leave the psychiatric facility (some minor setbacks had pushed his initial release date back), but you had come to see him almost every day at the same time.

Over that time, you’d grown exceptionally close to each other, even more so from when you’d first started visiting him initially. It was almost impossible for him not to grow attached to you – you were his constant source of company, his companion. You were the one person he could tell anything to and not have to worry about being scrutinized for his thoughts. You were his safe space – something he’d never thought he’d ever say about someone else – and once he’d worked out how he saw you; it had been game over. He’d fallen for you fast and hard before he’d realized it, and by the time he did, it’d had been too late. He was hopelessly and utterly drawn to you, like a moth to a flame.

Surprisingly, you’d felt the same as him.

You’d openly admitted it to him one day near the end of his stay at the ward – even at the cost of possibly being prevented from seeing him again, since both of you knew you were crossing boundaries you hadn’t been meant to cross. He’d warned you as such, heart pounding in his ears at your confession, but you’d told him that he’d deserved to know with a simple shrug.

“Besides; if you keep up the good behavior and don’t have any more outbursts, you’ll be out before the end of the year anyways. Even if they don’t let me back after this – you can find me on the outside.” You’d told him matter-of-factly, boldly taking his hand in your own, before sending a shit-eating grin to the cameras set up around the room – knowing the doctors were monitoring every move.

He'd been certain that he could’ve kissed you right there and then.

Surprisingly, the medical staff had allowed you to continue coming back, even though it was apparent both of you cared for each other in ways that crossed professional boundaries. As much as the doctors were against how close the two of you had become, they couldn’t deny how far he had progressed since meeting you. He had gone from being the bitter, angry husk of a man, to someone who was still, and would always be forever scorned by the past, but overall, in a better place mentally.

Not too long after he’d sorted out his own feelings for you, he’d made you a surprising request:

He wanted you to meet his mother and siblings.

The meet up had taken almost a month of careful planning on the medical staff’s end, and had initially been met with some hesitation on both sides, but eventually you had agreed to it, and you’d sat down with him and the members of his family who he kept in contact with.

His father hadn’t been invited for obvious reasons.

The medical staff had allowed him out of his normal room so he could meet with you and his mother and siblings in one of the spacious sitting rooms normally reserved for guests. A row of floor to ceiling windows lined the far wall, allowing him to get a view of the outside gardens. He remembered the outside weather was slightly overcast that day but warm rays of sunshine would occasionally stream through the gray clouds, as you and his family slowly met with one another under his watchful gaze.

His mother had taken to you almost immediately, as well as Natsuo – both seemingly happy he’d bonded with someone who was relatively normal – Fuyumi and Shoto had taken a little more convincing. Shoto was more curious of you, while Fuyumi had been downright distrustful. She’d asked you right off the bat what your intensions were with him, but he’d seen right through her: she was concerned that you were somehow affiliated with the now disbanded League, or maybe even the Paranormal Liberation Front.

Thankfully, you weren’t so easily put off by her upfront questioning. You had been calm, almost amused, as you answered her questions; reassuring her that you were in no way affiliated with any criminal organizations, and how you were someone who’d been presented with an opportunity to help with his rehabilitation, and had taken a leap of faith when no one else would.

“Why though?” he remembered his sister pressing you. “Why would you want to help him even after knowing everything he’s done?”

You and him had shared a look then, and he’d known what you were thinking before you said anything.

“I guess I wanted to understand why things went so wrong.” You’d told her honestly, your shoulder brushing with his as you spoke. “I wanted to get his side of the story – the unscripted one. When the chance to talk to him in person came up, I took it. Everyone deserves to have their story told, and I wanted to hear his.”

“You’re a lot closer than just a support person to him.” Fuyumi had countered, making him bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from snapping at her to back off with her invasive questioning, knowing that he’d only land himself in trouble with the medical staff overseeing their visit if he had any outbursts.

To your credit, you’d simply shrugged, totally unbothered by her statement. “Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you see someone basically every day for over a year. Same time, same place. For as clueless as he is at normal relationships, your brother can be pretty charming when he wants to be.”

He’d been pretty sure the only reason you were outright lying to his sister was to try and make him look better in her eyes, but he almost hadn’t been able to stop the laugh that threatened to escape past his lips. Almost.

His sister had almost deflated then. Whether it was from disappointment in being unable to shake you, or relief, she’d simply nodded; finally accepting your answers.

“Well… if he’s happy… then that’s all any of us really need, I guess.”

The rest of the visitation had gone incredibly well, not that he was complaining. Plans for future meetings had been put in place, and from there, you and him had gotten into a semi-regular routine of seeing his mother and siblings, or whoever was available to come.

He never wanted to admit it to you, but the visitations you helped arrange with his family made his transition from the psychiatric hospital to his eventually moving into his mother’s new house after he’d been cleared for release, far smoother than he thought it would’ve been.

Eventually though, he was proven right about his earlier assumptions on living with his family – or rather – his mother and his siblings, again after so long:

He couldn’t do it. It felt almost wrong.

He’d felt like a ghost, wandering up and down the halls, looking at the pictures that lined the hallways of his mother’s house; comprised largely of his younger siblings. He’d watched as they had slowly grown up in each one, filling him with sense of melancholy.  

He’d missed the opportunity to watch them grow up. They’d done that without him. That was time he couldn’t get back – memories that weren’t there.

He’d felt isolated, and no amount of comfort or reassurance from his mother could change that deep-rooted feeling in him. Not even Natsuo’s constant presence in the home made him feel better, much to his younger brother’s disappointment, though thankfully he understood. 

He’d lasted two months before he’d finally cracked and called your number which you’d given him immediately after he was released. You’d both stayed in contact, texting every day (under strict monetization from police tech sectors), but you hadn’t been able to see him in person since he’d gotten out, as you’d both agreed that it would be better if he focused on trying to settle into his new home. He’d missed you terribly during that period – not used to not seeing you for such a long period of time.

He'd called you in the dead of night, and asked if your offer to have him come stay with you was still open. From there, you’d gotten in contact with the authorities in charge of his release to try and gain permission for him to come live with you, while he had the difficult task of trying to explain to his family why he couldn’t stay with them any longer than he’d already had.

As expected, you’d been met with resistance on both sides, but eventually his overseers had come to an agreement: he would be allowed to live with you, but he always had to have a tracking monitor on at all times, he had to be on constant quirk suppressors, he couldn’t leave your building without you and a Pro hero escort of some kind, and finally, he had to attend mandatory therapy sessions at least once a week, as well as call his probation officer weekly and give them updates about what he was doing. If he failed to meet any of the rules set out for him; he’d earn himself a one-way ticket to Tartarus, no questions asked.

As much as he’d wanted to argue some of what they wanted from him, he’d agreed to their stipulations, knowing full-well unless he agreed to their terms, he’d be stuck at his mother’s for the rest of his life, and while he didn’t hate living with her and his siblings, it was too awkward for him to try and face them every day, knowing his past atrocities towards the rest of the country and even them, would continue to haunt him for the rest of his days.

He couldn’t pretend that he was still the same person he was when he’d burned up at the tender age of thirteen. He was different, older, harder. Things would never be able to go back to what they’d once been, and honestly: he didn’t want them to. He couldn’t go back to living with them after such a long time apart, because he had no idea how to co-exist with them normally.

Thankfully, as much as he knew it hurt his mother to hear him express his innermost thoughts, she seemed to understand how he felt the most, and had simply told him that he was always welcome in her home, and she still wanted him to come stay with her from time to time.

“You’re my son Touya. No matter how old you get or no matter what you do, you’ll always be my baby.” She’d told him gently just before he’d left her house, wrapping him into a tight hug.

Sometimes he found himself grateful he couldn’t cry anymore. He’d just wished this side of his mother had been more prominent over ten years ago. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if it had.

He’d seen you then for the first time in several months when you’d come to pick him up. He’d managed to keep himself calm while you spoke to his mother, but secretly he was elated to see you again after months apart. His excitement over seeing you again had probably shown on his face, since you’d made it a point to keep yourself close to him as his brothers had moved his important possessions into your car.

It was as you were talking to his mother; he’d learned that you had moved to a new apartment building some weeks ago, following the news that one of Japan’s former most wanted was coming to stay with you. Naturally, the people in your old building hadn’t been pleased, so you’d forced to switch buildings to an apartment located near several hero agencies, where the residents hadn’t been as concerned about an ex-super villain moving in, due to the multitude of patrolling heroes in the area. The change had been frustrating for you, but it was the only way he’d be able to stay with you without anyone kicking up too much of a fuss.

Eventually you’d both been on your way back to your apartment with Shoto in tow to help with moving his things into your apartment. Your new place wasn’t massive, but it had two bedrooms and a decently sized living room and kitchen. Shoto had helped him set his things up in the spare bedroom before departing, but not before giving you his number with instructions to call him if you ever needed help.

As soon as the door had shut, he’d been on you.

He’d slammed you up against the door, causing a started yelp to escape your lips, as he grinned down at you wolfishly.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? Nervous? It’s not like we haven’t been this close before.”

You’d turned beet red as you shyly traced your fingers up his chest. “No, but we certainly haven’t done this.”

He’d grinned as he dipped his head down so you and him were eye to eye. “Tell me no then. Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t feel the same as me.”

He’d listened to your breath hitch, watching with delight as the flush deepened on your cheeks. “You wanted me to talk right? To be open with you about how I’m feeling? Well, I want you, and I think you want me too.”  

You’d looked up at him through your lashes, reaching up to lace your hand around his neck. “I do.” You’d told him gently, and your simple admission had made up his mind.

“Fuck.” He’d muttered, just before he’d dipped down and captured your lips with his.

The effect had been instantiations. His lips molded with yours, breathing in your air, as his hand cupped your cheek, long fingers curling around the back of your neck to keep you close to him.

You’d slowly peeled yourself off the door and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him with you further into the apartment, and into your bedroom. You’d managed to slam your door shut, just before he’d pushed you onto your bed – his lips never leaving yours as he pressed you further into the mattress.

He couldn’t keep his hands off you as you helped him take your clothes off. He could touch you, really touch you the way he’d wanted to for so long now. Nothing was there to hold him back, no cameras, no guards, no medical staff dictating his every move. It was just you and him.

He’d almost froze when he’d seen you’d laid out bare beneath him, soft and glowing against the pale sunshine streaming in from your bedroom window, warming your frame. You’d beamed up at him, tracing your hands up his arms.

“You can touch me.” You’d told him gently. “I trust you. Just be gentle.”

Gentle. Now that was a word he was certain he didn’t have in his vocabulary – but for you, he’d try.

He’d traced your curves gently, listening intently as your breath hitched, or how a small moan would escape past your lips when he touched a particularly sensitive area. Finally, you’d reached up to tug at the hem of his shirt, but he’d grabbed at your hands, making you pause.

“It’s not… I’m not… the scars… aren’t much better under there.” He’d tried to warn you. You’d given him a gentle smile, cupping his cheeks with your hands.

“I don’t mind Touya. You know I don’t care about all that.” You’d smoothed your thumbs over the raised skin of his face. “I love you for you. Regardless of what you look like.”

Love. You… you loved him, didn’t you? Even after everything he’d done while he was an active criminal – you’d somehow grown to love him, while most of the world hated him.

He didn’t necessarily think he was deserving of your love, but hell if he was ever going to point that out to you. He’d almost been tempted to ask you if you were a little bit crazy yourself, but you’d even told him when you had first met that he’d have to find that out for himself.

Maybe you were – just a little bit – but that suited him fine.

A normal girl would never have been able to handle him anyways.

He’d allowed you to help him out of his clothes then, and to your credit, you hadn’t batted an eye at the less than perfect skin covering his body. He may not have been held together by surgical staples anymore, and his body may not have been a mess of burnt patchwork skin like it used to be, but the new skin grafts were raised and patchy – never fully settling properly. It wasn’t often that he got self-conscience about how he looked, but you were different.

You had run your hands up and down the length of his body and marveled him like he was some work of art. He didn’t think he was, but you clearly saw him differently. You’d kissed his marred skin, and if he’d been able to cry, he would have.

You had pulled him down onto your bed and climbed on top of him, much to his surprise. He’d tried to prop himself up, only for you to gently push him back down onto your mattress, giving him a knowing smile all the while.

“Let me take care of you.” You’d whispered to him softly. “We’ll go slow. Gentle. It’s just me and you now.”

It wasn’t like he’d never fucked someone before, but it had been a while, and it was just that: he’d fucked, never loved. He wasn’t sure if he knew any other way when it came to sex, but he knew that he didn’t want to be rough with you like he’d been with his past flings, and so he had relinquished control to you.

He had allowed himself to relax into the mattress as you’d hovered above him, lining him up with your entrance. He was already painfully hard, his body reacting to yours as soon as he’d kissed you. You’d bent down to kiss his throat, relishing how he’d let out a shuddering breath as you’d sunk down onto him. He’d cursed as your tight heat had enveloped him, leaving him boneless and shaking.

He’d brought your face down to his to kiss you as you started moving, moaning as you slowly moved up and down on his shaft. You’d knocked the breath out of his lungs as you whimpered against his lips, still moving your hips against his own.

“Shit.” He’d growled as he’d reached up to wrap an arm around your hips. “Fuck baby. You feel so good. You’re so good for me.”

“You feel so good.” You’d sobbed. “I want you – want to make you feel good.”

“You do. Fuck you do. I want you. I need you.” He’d grunted as he planted his feet into your bed, pistoning his hips up into your body.

“Fuck.” You’d cried out, as you continued to bounce on his cock. “Touya!”

“I’m here. Fuck I’m here, with you. I love you.”

He’d remembered your eyes blowing wide at his confession, just before your body had stiffened up, and your mouth had opened up into a silent scream, as your orgasm had ripped through you – your end triggering his own.

You’d both stayed there for a moment, trying to regain your breath, before you’d slowly separated yourself from him. He hadn’t let you go far – pulling you down to lay beside him, and wrapping himself around you as you nestled into the broad expanse of his chest.

“Stay.” He had rasped as he held you close to him, curling around your smaller frame protectively. He’d known what he was saying was nonsensical – he was in your apartment, you weren’t going anywhere, not really – but thankfully, you seemed to understand what he was trying to say without him outright telling you. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere Touya.” You’d breathed, placing a kiss on the side of his temple. “You’re home now. With me.”

That simple sentence had brought him more comfort than he’d experienced in recent memory. He’d passed out sometime after with you still nude and curled into him, sharing in his warmth.

That had been the best sleep he’d had in years.

After that, he’d fallen into a steady routine of normalcy with you. You’d go to work, while he’d keep himself entertained during the day. Normally, he’d open up the windows in your living room and perch himself on the couch near them, soaking up the feeling of gentle sunbeams on his face, and watching the outside world go by as he waited for you to return later in the evening. You had set up therapy appointments for him every Thursday, and either you or Shoto would take him depending on your schedules. Life settled down, and the outside world continued on around him, even though his world now consisted of your apartment and what he could see outside from your windows.

It wasn’t a coincidence that three pro heroes moved into the building roughly a month after he had moved the last of his menial things into your apartment.

He couldn’t say that he was surprised by the less then subtle way the newly reformed hero commission chose to keep an annoyingly close watch on him, but he was still allowed some freedoms with you, so he figured he could keep his jabs to himself for the time being. 

All and all, life with you was simple easy. For the first time in his life, he could say he was appreciating the little things he never could’ve before his life had turned into a living hell.

For the first time in a very long time, he had hope – something he’d never allowed himself to have before, because what had been the point? He had fully planned on taking himself out in the final fight against Endeavor… but life was strange, and it turned out that it had different plans for him.

While he couldn’t be sure what those plans were yet, they had brought you to him, and that was enough.

He had you, and in the end, that’s all that really mattered—

-----

The sound of one of his skin care products hitting the floor snaps him out of his reprieve. He blinks, and once again, he is standing in your bathroom with the sink running, halfway through the skin maintenance routine that you forced on him once he came to live with you. 

He swears under his breath as he bends down to retrieve the plastic tube with his right arm, only to freeze as he suddenly remembers:

His right arm is gone. He tore it clean off in the brawl against his dad.

He finds it surprising how often he forgets he doesn’t have both his hands anymore. Half the time he swears that his right arm is still intact because he can feel the damn thing, only to look down and see it’s still gone from mid bicep down. You once called it a ‘phantom limb’ and he thinks you might be onto something with how often he’ll go to do something with his right, only to remind himself the arm doesn’t exist anymore.

It doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Natsuo had offered to set him up an appointment to get him fitted for a prosthetic, but he hadn’t made up his mind on it yet – finding most things pretty manageable even with the lack of his right arm – but he does have days where he wishes he had all of his limbs, and there are certain tasks were having two hands would be more useful than one.

His extensive skin care routine is one of those tasks.

Hilariously, it was one of the conditions of him coming to stay with you initially: for the first time in his life, he was being forced to look after himself.

He had protested initially when you had come back home one day with a plethora of different specialty products for sensitive skin – not seeing the point – but you had insisted that he use them to take care of the newer skin grafts, telling him that if he wanted to continue to stay with you, he’d have to start properly taking care of himself, or you would do it for him.

He had begrudgingly accepted, and he gradually incorporated it into his daily routine. Realistically, he knew he didn’t have much to complain about: he didn’t have many responsibilities as it was, and you had promised him if he kept up with it, you wouldn’t tell his parole officer that you weren’t forcing him take his quirk suppressor medication – one of the conditions of his release.

He grins inwardly to himself as he turns the sink off and pats his face dry. You hadn’t seen the need to enforce that particular rule, seeing how you were quite confident he wasn’t going to burn down your apartment building, and he didn’t have any plans to – lest he be forced to return back to his mother’s home.

Besides, after spending over a year feeling unnaturally cold without his quirk, he was in no rush to return to the weak, powerless state the psychiatric ward had left him in. Even if he couldn’t use his quirk to it’s full, destructive potential like he used to, just knowing that he still had use of his quirk intact was a comfort to him.

He makes his way out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him and, pads over to his side of your shared closet, stripping out of his sleep clothes and pulling on a loose shirt and baggy sweats, before heading out into the small living room.

If his younger self could see how he lives now, he’s sure he would’ve turned his nose up in disgust before calling him a sell-out, and a gnarled part of him still thinks that to some level, however; when he thinks back to how he used to live on the streets for close to a decade, he’ll take the easy, comfy life-style you allow him to live in your home in a heart-beat.

He used to wonder about where he would get his next meal – now his biggest inconvenience is that he’s bored whenever you’re not at home. How the times change.

He turns on the T.V. and sets it to a low volume as he moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out a few miscellaneous items and setting them on the counter, before getting to work on prepping the food.

He doesn’t eat much, even now his metabolism is still messed up from the years of cumulative damage his body sustained, but he found himself making food for you when he first moved into your apartment as a way to keep himself occupied while you were at work. Most of his cooking attempts consist of cup noodles, and whatever else was easy to make, but every once in a while, he’d put a bit more effort into what he made, so long as you had the ingredients for it.

He curses to himself as he painstakingly prepares an easy meal of miso soup and yaki, his lack of a right arm slowing down his progress. Eventually he finishes his meal prep and puts his creation away as he waits for you to come home, moving to his usual spot by the window on your living room couch, before sitting down and indulging in some mindless reality T.V. show.

He watches the show absentmindedly, barely paying attention to what’s playing on the screen as he basks in the warm sunlight streaming in from outside. He glances over to his left to see his reflection staring back at him from a hanging mirror across the room, and has to fight the urge to flinch at what’s staring back at him.

Even after all of the love and tenderness you allowed him to experience while living with you, he still looked rough, and there were days where he felt it more than others. He may not have been able to feel pain in the normal sense, but his body aches constantly and there are additional issues he deals with daily. 

He’s painfully aware that he probably doesn’t have a lot of time on the earth. He’s in his late twenties, too damn early to be faced with his own mortality, but he knows there’s no use in trying to dance around the subject. With his body being what it is, he’d be surprised if he made it to fifty, but he knows better than to voice that out loud. The one-time he had confessed his inner thoughts to you, you had damn near burst into tears, and he found that he couldn’t stand to see you like that, so he keeps his morbid thoughts to himself.

The sound of the apartment door opening snaps him out of his depressing reprieve. He looks up, only to see you closing the door to the apartment, hanging your keys up and kicking your shoes off.  He gets up off the couch and pads over to you, greeting you with a little smile.

“You’re home early.”

You turn around to face him, smiling. “Yeah, I finished early today. Figured I’d come back and see what you were up to.”

He snorts as he takes your bag from you, setting it down on the small bench you had set up near your front door. “Not much, you know that. S’not like I can leave the building without you or Shoto escorting me.”

You roll your eyes, gracing him with a teasing smile. “How is he anyways? You talked to your family at all recently?”

He shrugs. “Not really. You know my phone usage is heavily monitored anyways.”

“I told them that – your mom reached out to me recently – she was hoping to meet up with you for lunch soon, and she hadn’t heard from you in a bit.”

“Ah. I don’t look at my phone very often. Tell her that I’m down. I’ll reach out at some point.” He nods towards the kitchen. “I made dinner.”

You beam at him. “You didn’t have to do that.” You lean in to press a kiss to the rough skin of his cheek, and he feels his heart speed up in his chest. Even though the physical affection you gave him isn’t anything new, it’s still amazing how much of an effect you had on him.

The fire that he keeps buried in his chest flares to life as you turned away from him briefly, but he doesn’t let you go far. He snakes an arm around your middle, pulling you back to him, causing you to look up at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles quietly into your hair. You simply wrap your arms around his torso and snuggle into his chest.

“Missed you too.” You tell him quietly. He swallowed thickly, as he allowed his hand to splay further down your back.

“I really missed you; I mean.”

You smile up at him gently, wiggling your eyebrows. “Did you now?”

“Mmmm.”

His hummed response causes your grin to grow wider. “Wanna show me?”

He doesn’t humor you with a response – instead opting to take you by the hand and lead you towards your shared bedroom with teasing grin of his own. He allows you to kick the door closed behind you, before dipping down to bite on the skin of your neck, causing a giggle to escape your lips as his hands wander up and down your frame.

“Off.” He grunts, tugging on your clothes. You smirk at his demand, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck to get him to look at you.

“I think you could ask me a bit nicer, right?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “Please.”

“That’s better.” You smile sweetly at him, separating yourself from him long enough to shimmy out of your pants and strip out of your shirt, leaving you in your bra and panties before him.

He kisses the back of his teeth as he closes the distance between you, wrapping a muscular arm around you as he captures your lips with his rough ones. He feels you sigh into the kiss as you wrap your arms around his neck.

It wasn’t often that he initiated physical contact like this – he not shy by any means, but he’s not used to having such close relations with another person. He’d been a loner for such a long time after escaping the hospital, and any physical contact he somehow managed to receive from woman he’d met in sketchy bars during those miserable years had never been meaningful or fulfilling. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

But you wanted him, and you weren’t shy about letting him know just that.

He had no problems letting you remind him of the latter.

He feels your hands travel down from around his neck to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. “Off please.” You murmur against his lips, and he separates from you long enough to yank his shirt off, before coming back to embrace your soft body with his own hot one.

He presses you back against the bed, gently pushing you down to lay on the mattress as he hovered above you. He dips back down to seal his lips with yours, as he feels your fingertips trail down the rough skin of his stomach until they reached the waistband of his sweats. He smirks as he feels you undo the drawstrings and push them down his slender hips, pushing them down low enough for his cock to spring free.

“Seems like you’re just as eager as me.” He sniggers as he sits up long enough to shuck them off, giving you a moment to unhook your bra and toss it across the room.

You don’t humor him with a response as you sit up to stroke his cock, causing him to hiss as your fingers wrap around his shaft. He lets you have your way for a moment before gently pushing you back down onto the mattress, causing you to look up at him quizzically as he shakes his head.

“Not today babe, let me do the work.”

He feels his heart pound in his ribcage, as a look of realization passes over your pretty features. A smile pulls at your lips as you open your arms and beckons him down to you, which he eagerly accepts. He nips and kisses the skin of your neck as he makes quick work of your panties, causing you to moan softly as he runs his fingers up the length of your dripping slit.

“God.” He groans as he attacks your lips again. “So, fucking wet for me. You want me, right?”

“Yes Touya.” You breathe against his lips, allowing your fingers to trace patterns into the scarred expanse of his back. “Always. Always you.”

He feels his destroyed tear ducts sting slightly at the sincerity of your confession. Even though you’ve assured him you only want him countless times before, it was something he never quite got used to hearing.

The entirety of his life before you was spent in fire and hardship. Kindness was something foreign to him, and being allowed to be vulnerable with another person was something he never even considered. He never thought he’d live long enough to be able to do so regardless – accepting that he destined to spend what was left of his life alone – and so the thought had never crossed his mind.

But he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Not since you had unexpectedly come into his life.

He had you. Body, mind and soul, he belonged to you. He knew there was no way he would ever have the words to tell you that, so he hoped that he could convey his message clearly enough by showing you just how much you meant to him.

He taps your leg, getting you to wrap your legs around his lean waist, as he lines himself up with your opening. You thread your fingers through his soft white spikes as he slowly begins to push himself into your pussy, causing you to whimper as he begins to stretch your walls out.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He growls as he bullies his way into your tight heat. “You’re perfect for me. Just you – you’re the only one I want.”

“Me too.” You gasp as you dig your nails into his shoulder to ground yourself. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. S-so glad you’re here with me—”

Your eyes open impossibly, as he suddenly snaps his hips forward and drives himself home deep inside your walls, causing you both to moan. He barely gives you any time to recover before he starts moving. He fists his hand in the sheets beside your head as he focuses his energy into keeping his thrusts deep and strong, just how he knows you like it.

He grins down at you almost sadistically, watching as your eyes roll back from the force of his thrusts. “S’matter? Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?”

“N-no.” you moan as he gives you a particularly hard thrust. “I just—oh, fuck!” you wail as you feel him hit a practically sensitive spot inside you, causing him to grin wickedly.

“Eyes on me gorgeous.”

“You’re mean.” You huff, but center your attention on him regardless, causing him to chuckle, and reward you with another harsh thrust.

“I know.” He practically purrs as he shifts his weight to his knees. He grabs the meat of your hip, and starts pounding you harder than before, making you keen and fist your hands into the sheets as his pelvis brushes up against your clit deliciously.

“Fuck, Touya! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!” you cry out, warning him of your impending release, but it only makes him double down and fuck you harder, determined to see you climax before him.

“Yeah? Well, go ahead sweetheart: come on this cock. C’mon, c’mon; I know you’re going to, I can feel you squeezing me just right, so do it. Let go for me pretty girl, just let go.”

He feels your walls convulse around him and your back arches slightly off the bed as you climax with a desperate cry at his words. The sight of you coming undone beneath him is so hot it does him in a few strokes later, spilling deep inside your walls with a feral growl of his own.

You both stay like that for a few minutes, fighting to catch your breaths, before you unlock your legs from around his waist, allowing him to pull out of you. He pulls back to grin at the combination of your fluids that leak out from in between your legs, and you roll your eyes. He makes a move to the bathroom to grab you a towel, only for you to shake your head.

“Later.” You murmur, as you pat the spot on the bed next to you. “Come lie with me for a few minutes.”

He laughs quietly at your antics, but obliges your request, and climbs over you to collapse into the vacant space on the bed next to you, and you don’t hesitate to move over to him. 

“God, you can be relentless sometimes.” You pant as you curl up into his side. He simply snorts at your assessment as he drapes his arm around you protectively.

“Maybe. I am a villain after all sweetheart.”

“You were.” You manage to grumble as you make yourself comfortable, eventually settling on resting your head on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat. “You’re not now.”

“Yeah, well. Attitude never changed. Surprised you put up with me for as long as you did.”

“You weren’t so bad.” You murmur softly, tracing shapes into the rough skin of his stomach. “If I thought you were, I wouldn’t have come back after we first met.”

“Why did you come back after the first time anyways? I can’t remember if you ever told me.” He suddenly raises his head so he’s looking at you. You meet his blazing turquoise irises with a calm gaze of your own and wink at him teasingly.

“I’m crazy remember?”

“Must be, if you came to see one of Japan’s most wanted almost every day for damn near two years straight. But seriously, why?”

You’re quiet for a moment before you answer him. When you do, you shift your head slightly on his chest so you can see his face better.

“I suppose it’s because all your rage… all your anger towards the injustice of everything you’d gone through up until that point… it reminded me of myself, in a way.” You admit softly, causing him to quirk a snowy brow at your confession.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things you said on your initial broadcast—" you continue on before he can ask. “—like how there were a lot of shitty things about hero society you weren’t wrong about. Honestly, for a long time there, I felt just as pissed off with some of those so-called “Pro’s” as you. Some of them were only doing it for the money and fame, you could tell.” You exhale through your nose.

“But, on the other hand, there were so many good things happening to change those problems that you didn’t see because you were on the outsider.” You fall silent for a moment before adding:

“You just seemed so hurt, so raw with everything you were saying. I told myself there and then, if I ever got the opportunity to meet you, I’d show you not everything is as bad as it seemed. Never thought I’d get the chance honestly, and yet, one day, the opportunity to meet you face to face practically dropped into my lap. How could I not take the offer?”

“Was I what you’d thought I’d be?” he finds himself asking you, not completely sure if he wants to know the answer. You simply send him one of your glowing smiles that sends tingles down to his stomach.

“No, you were better.”

He snorts, shifting his arm so he’s tracing his warm fingertips up and down your nude body. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m serious. Even now, you’re doing so much better with handling everything then I thought you would. You’re resilient, and you adapt when you need to, but you’ve definitely changed… in a good way. You’re not as hateful anymore… you’re calmer, more accepting.”

“Yeah well, the shrinks have you to thank for that. Far as I’m concerned, they don’t do anything. I just see them so I can stay with you.” He grumbles, prompting you to giggle, before shifting you so you’re lying on your sides, facing each other.

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, inwardly softening as he watches you lean into his warm touch, before dropping his hand back down in between your bodies.

“I know I’m not very good at these sorts of things, but… you know I love you, right?”

He’s hopeful that you understand. He doesn’t say it often to you, and he knows he probably should, but even after all the time he’s spent with you, that involves you showing him what a healthy relationship looks like, it’s still not an easy thing for him to say. Hell, he has a hard enough time saying it to his own mother, let alone anyone else.

He’ll probably always have a difficult time admitting it. Love is an emotion he’s never had a good understanding of, seeing how it was so sked for him a s a child. Even now, the concept is a foreign one for him to understand, but thankfully, you seem to be more aware of this than anyone else.

You find his hand with one of your own and lace your fingers together, squeezing it tightly.

“I know Touya. I’ve always known.”

FIN

[aliceintheworld]

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

Summary: "I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: Angst 🥺 conversation about suicide, depression, uncertainty about oneself, Misuk being the best character of all 🫶 Namjoon finally makes an appearance (he appears a little, but then a little more, I promise) Jungkook being an idiot – forgive him, for he doesn't know what he's doing.

A/N: I'm back!! First, I wanted to thank you all for the affection I've been receiving. Thank you so much for the messages and interactions! If you want to send non-anonymous messages, I even prefer it, because I can follow you 🥰 Pure Attraction is a not very elaborate story, I know, but it has become an important part of my life, so I thank you for reading all these chapters, you don't know how much this means. Without further ado, here is the chapter.

P.S.: Later, still today, I will post the next chapter 🤌

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 10

The journey back home has never felt so long. Minutes pass, yet it feels as if the clock's hands are stuck. I try to take a deep breath, but I can't. My head is filled with memories, occasions when I could have done something different. I was so foolish, so stupid. Filled with regret, I can't even look at myself in the reflection of the window. I remember my father, my mother, and I wonder what they would say if they knew I made a mistake with no way to turn back. My eyes fill with tears, almost instantly, for the fourth time today alone. Mrs. Jeon remains silent, looking through the coffee table of her house.

She sighs and gaze at her own hands before locking eyes with me, as if she understands me in some way. But I don’t know if anyone could comprehend what I’m going through at this moment. I feel... used. As if, even with my consent, Jungkook took advantage of me, of my innocence and of my inexperience. At the same time, I can't place all the blame on him. I made a mistake, I should have been more cautious and I let him inside of my life.

"Are you okay?" Misuk asks, almost in a whisper. I try to shake my head and force a smile, but I can't. She sways her hair and clicks her tongue nervously. "I can't believe Jungkook did this to you, dear. He’s my son, but I don’t agree with any of this."

"He’s not the only one to blame," I deny; I barely recognize my own voice, weak and trembling.

The last time I saw myself this way was when, during a difficult year, I didn't want to visit my father's grave, and my mother opposed it. The anguish is different, but equally overwhelming.

"Can you explain how you two got so… close?" she questions. "I mean, it hasn’t been long since he came to Busan. Did you have many opportunities to talk?"

"A few." I shrug. That doesn’t matter now. I’m angry and don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to lock myself in my room and pretend everything was a terrible nightmare. "Sorry, I don't even know where to begin. I feel awful."

"You can talk to me."

"You’re his mother."

"I am." She smiles, placing a hand on mine, gently caressing my skin. I immediately feel a maternal love and care I haven’t experince in years. My crying intensifies as I realize that the person I need right now isn’t with me—my mother. Even if she were here, she wouldn’t help. She would judge me, make me feel bad about my mistakes, just as she has done in the past, and I don't need this right now. "Y/N, I’m Jungkook’s mother, but I understand what you’re going through. You have no idea."

"What do you mean?" I frown, confused. Her dark eyes fill with tears, just like mine.

"When I was around your age, I fell in love with a man. He was two years older, and so handsome. He seemed like a dream, someone so different from me, yet so similar—almost like he was a part of me." She tells me looking ahead, as if she could see the memories playing out before her. "He is Jungkook’s father. He was my first love."

"What do you mean?" I whisper. "Mr. Jeon isn’t Jungkook’s father?"

"He isn’t." She shakes her head. "That’s why I say I understand you. It was the first time I fell in love with someone. It was also the first time my trust was broken. When he found out I was pregnant, he left. I was alone, working a part-time job I didn’t even like, that paid poorly and had no support. Those were the worst years of my life."

"Misuk, I don’t know what to say," I respond, with a knot in my throat. She had never shared this while we talked about the past. But I understand her, in a way. It must be hard to relive those memories, and even harder to confide them to someone.

"You don’t have to say anything. I, after all this time, have moved on. The fear of being abandoned, however, still hasn’t healed, even with twenty-six years gone by." She smiles again, but I know she’s more hurt than she wants to show. "Dear, I care about you. I love you like a daughter, even. You’ve been with me during these days, and we’ve grown so close. I see parts of myself in you. The way my mother treated me, the absence of my father. It’s all so similar. That’s why I say I understand you."

"It all happened so… suddenly." I comment to myself, looking down. The shame of crying, and the shame of what I did, prevent me from looking her in the eyes. "I know I should have been more careful, but I was so happy... I don't get it."

"Jungkook, being more experienced than you, should have talked to you, asked what your expectations were, and told you what his intentions were. If he didn’t want something serious, a commitment, he should have warned you." She argues, not letting me continue. It’s as if she wants to lift the guilt I’m feeling, and I'm really thankful for that.

"Yes, but I was so naive. I was a fool to think he could like me the same way I like him." I groan, covering my face as more tears come. My chest hurts just remembering him. His kisses, his touches. He was so gentle with me, treating me like no one else ever had. He listened to me, and that was enough for me.

"Did you... did you have sex?" Misuk asks, running her hand along my back in a comforting gesture that soothes my pain, at least a little.

"I-I... Misuk..."

"It’s okay. You can trust me. You can open up and tell me." She smiles, without judgment. I just shake my head embarrassed, exposed, somewhat humiliated.

"We did it last night. It was very sudden." I try to explain, even if I don’t have many words to do it.

"Was it your first time? Is that why Eunji thinks you slept at my house? She said that yesterday, and I didn’t understand."

"Yes, but that night was the first time I slept at his apartament and we hadn’t done... you know."

"You hadn’t had sex, just other things." She concludes with a smile, tucking my hair behind my ear.

My cheeks burn, even when I try not to. It’s very difficult to talk about this kind of subject, even with Misuk, because I never had anyone to talk to when I was a teenager. My view of sex always came from books, whether educational or romantic.

"That’s it." I confirm, shaking my head.

"Are you in love?" Mrs. Jeon asks me when a silence falls between us.

I take a moment, reflecting about the question as if it were the most difficult one of my life. What does it mean to be in love? Is it feeling a flutter in your chest every time you see the person? Is it having a wild rush of energy that courses through your body uncontrollably? Is it standing still and feeling your heart race a thousand miles an hour? Is it missing that person and wanting to hear from them every day? If that’s the case, then yes, I’m in love. The realization of this fact hurts me even more. It makes me feel weaker. How could I be so foolish? How could I think someone would be interested in me when no one else had?

A flood of memories overwhelms me. If I had known I’d feel this pain, I would have never gotten close to Jungkook. I would have shut my window the first time I saw him, and never opened up again.

"It’s okay." She reassures me, hugging me. I hug her back, trying to purge the feeling of rejection that’s almost lodged in my chest.

"He just turned his back on me. He didn’t even see me when I left. It’s as if he got what he wanted and then I wasn’t worth the effort anymore." I vent, hurt, too wounded to stop the words pouring out.

"Jungkook is a fool." She shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "At the same time, he’s stuck in this messed-up relationship. I’ve told him millions of times that they’re not good for each other. I told him that true love doesn’t hurt, doesn’t deceive, but he’s stubborn like no one else."

"Does he really talk to his ex?" I ask, hoping it’s not as I imagine. That maybe they talk, but not as much as I’ve put in my head.

"The last time we talked about this was two days ago. He told me Namjoon called him, and they had a conversation for twenty minutes. He’s very deluded." She shakes her head, angry. Two days ago we were texting. I know we had no commitment and hadn’t established anything, but to me it’s worse to know he didn’t respect this moment. That it didn’t mean anything to him. While I melted over our messages and smiled like a fool for his attention, he was with his ex, doing the same with someone else.

"Did Namjoon really cheat on Jungkook? Why does he still try? Why does he still talk to him?"

"Namjoon was his first boyfriend. They were together for almost five years, and at one point, they practically lived together. When Jungkook was alone in Seoul, working in a tattoo studio, he met Namjoon and fell in love almost at first sight. He was very shy, introverted, with few friends in the new city. I think that helped them form a strong connection." Misuk explains. She seems to know a lot about the situation, as if she followed everything in detail, even from a distance.

"Have you ever met him... I mean, have you met Namjoon?" I ask, hesitant. My heart races for some reason. My hands feel cold with anxiety.

"Yes." She nods, sighing. "He’s a great guy, I can’t deny that. He works at a book publishing company, very intelligent and kind. I think that’s why Jungkook fell for him. At the same time, Namjoon is someone who wants more. He wants to achieve other things, and when the relationship got in the way of his goals, he didn’t think twice before stepping on everything they built together. Jungkook was devastated."

"How long ago was that?"

"About three months." She says; her body suddenly tenses. "That’s when I tried to take my own life."

"Mrs. Jeon... Jungkook told me what happened." I say, not really knowing if it’s right to tell her the truth. But it’s the first time she’s opened up about the subject, and I don’t think it’s fair, especially now that she told me so much about her past, to hide this from her. Her eyes widen, and then she smiles awkwardly.

"He really is an idiot. He must have told you to keep an eye on me." She says, shaking her head as if recalling her son’s actions, however she doesn't seen to hold any resentment towards him, regarding this. "He’s always been very careful. Always very protective. Jungkook has his flaws, but I think I understand why you fell for him. He’s stubborn but takes care of those he loves. I feel guilty for, even unknowingly, adding this weight to his shoulders. I’ve been feeling better now."

"Are you really okay?" I ask, somewhat uncertain.

"I am. I’m taking my medication, going to therapy, and visiting support groups once a week. Sometimes when I feel bad, I seek comfort. I know that ending my life isn’t an option. I don’t want to leave my son alone." She states. I search her eyes for any hint of untruth, anything that tells me she’s not okay, but I find nothing. I’m glad to know that, at least she, is evolving and improving. "But you know what’s making me feel better, Y/N?"

"What?" I ask, eager to know the answer. Whatever it is, I need an urgent dose of what is making her feel better.

"You." She smiles; more tears appear in her eyes, this time from happiness. "You’ve made my days better. I want you to know you can count on me. For everything." She confesses. Her voice deepens as I break down again.

"Thank you so much." I say sincerely. I have a friend. I have someone I can count on, and that brings me such a great relief that it feels like I could die.

"It’s okay. No more crying Y/N." She gets up from the couch, smiling. She raises her arms and wipes her face with her shirt. "Dear, tell me. Did you use protection? Did you take precautions?"

"No." I flush at the confession, feeling like a child who has no idea of the consequences of her actions. "He went out to buy a morning-after pill, but you arrived and..."

"It’s fine. Don’t worry." She holds her hands up, as if all of this doesn’t matter. "You don’t need to explain. I know that in the heat of the moment, you don’t think about anything. That’s why I had Jungkook when I was twenty." She laughs, making me feel even more embarrassed. "I’ll buy you a pill. Don’t worry; everything will be fine."

"Mrs. Jeon, you don’t have to. I'm going to do it."

"I don’t want to be a grandma so young, Y/N." She jokes, making me laugh too. "And it’s not a problem at all. I want to see you well, and that’s what matters."

"Thank you." I express my gratitude. Not just for the pill, but for everything. Even though it hurts, being here with her alleviates, at least a little, the torment I’m feeling.

"You don’t need to thank me. Everything will be okay." She assures me, and I accept it. I pray to God that all of this I’m feeling will soon come to an end.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?" I hear a voice behind me. I don’t look right away, afraid to fall.

Since the library shelves are very high, I usually use a mobile ladder to organize the books, so before I make sure who it is, I carefully step down the rungs. When I finally reach the ground, I regret coming down. It’s Hayun, Jungkook’s friend. Not because of her, of course, as I enjoyed meeting her, but because of him, who has kept me awake for the past three days.

"Are you okay? It’s been a while since we last saw each other." She smiles. She approaches and kisses my cheek suddenly. She seems to genuinely like me, and I’m grateful for that. Her outgoing personality couldn’t be better right now. My energy, ever since that argument happened, has been dwindling.

"I’m okay." I say, putting on my best smile. "And you? How have you been?"

"Busier every day. With the move and everything."

"You’re moving?" I ask, curious.

"Yes, didn’t Jungkook tell you?" She asks, and just the mention of his name makes my chest ache. The crying and tears have passed, but I’m far from normal with everything that happened. He hasn’t sent me any messages, and I can’t stop thinking that somehow, I was just a conquest for him. A night of sex that is already forgotten.

"No, he didn’t tell me. We haven’t... talked."

"Seriously? He’s been talking a lot about you." I raise an eyebrow, startled.

"What do you mean? What has he said?" The words fly out of my mouth before I can control myself. Hayun laughs, as if she notices my sudden interest.

"He says random things. That you like to read, or that you’re in college and you cook well. Random stuff like that." She comments, approaching one of the shelves to take a look at a book. "Anyway, I’m moving soon. Me and the guys, we’re all going to Seoul."

"With Jungkook?" I bite my lower lip, intrigued.

"Yeah, I’m from Seoul and wanted to go anyway, but we’ve been talking about everyone moving there for years. We were just waiting for Bora and Taehyung to finish college." She closes the book and puts it back, shrugging. I nod in agreement. Good for them. It feels like I’ll be the only one stuck here, stagnant for the rest of my life. I feel bad. I should make a list of topics I can’t discuss without feeling like a fraud. Damn it.

"That’s great... Hayun, I have to go now. I’m working. But it was nice to see you again." I say sincerely. It’s like seeing her again makes me a little closer to Jungkook. I don’t want to think about him, yet simultaneously, I can’t get enough of him. I’m going to go crazy.

"It was nice to see you too, really." She says, smiling. "I don’t want to bother you or anything, but before you go... I wanted to ask, are you going to the party tonight?"

"What party?" I frown, confused.

"The celebration. The studio opened, and we’re having a party at Yoongi’s house. It’ll be the last one before we move to Seoul. What do you think?" She grabs my arm, full of excitement. I shake my head immediately, flustered. Jungkook probably hasn’t told his friends what happened between us, and I don’t know if I should be sad or happy about that.

"I can’t, really." I respond, trying my best expression.

"Come on! Let’s go, Y/N, it’ll be fun. It’s for Jungkook. It’s important to him."

"It’s precisely because of him I’m not going." I whisper to her, softly. Hayun stops smiling and glares at me intently.

"Did something happen? You can tell me. Did the idiot do something to you?"

"He didn’t do anything." I half-lie, half-try to hide. Him sleeping with me while still talking to his ex isn’t exactly a huge thing. We hadn’t established anything serious yet. Though, in my head, he is wrong in any case.

"If he didn’t do anything, you should go. He’s really happy about the studio. He worked for about four years to save the money he needed."

"Hayun..." I sigh, embarrassed. "Actually, something did happen. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go. It’s to avoid ruining his night that I’m saying no." I finish, somewhat nervously. My body trembles with sadness and bitterness.

"Hey, you can count on me. I won’t tell the idiot anything you say. I’m a jerk, but not a bad friend." She rolls her eyes, clapping her hands together. I chuckle helplessly. She’s funny. I had forgotten this little detail.

"Alright, but I’ll be brief. I really need to get to work." I say. Hayun nods silently in agreement. "Jungkook and I did have a thing."

"I knew it!" She exclaims, in the middle of the hallway. Since it’s a library, her loud voice echoes throughout the place, drawing the attention of the few customers to us. I laugh in despair, covering my mouth with my hand. "Sorry, I spoke too loud. But I knew it! the way he talks about you... he likes you."

"I don’t think he likes me that much." I whisper, losing my smile. "He doesn’t want commitment, and that’s why we drifted apart. He still seems to care a lot about his ex."

"Namjoon." Hayun grunts his name without enthusiasm, rolling her eyes. Her once cheerful face, suddenly tightens. "I know. I liked him until I found out what he did to Jungkook. No one has spoken to him since."

"Yeah. Well. That’s why I think it’s better not to go. I want this to be a good moment for him, anyway. I don’t want to cause any discomfort." I vent, gathering my hands that get sweaty, every time I think about this topic. I have to swallow hard to avoid more tears and appearing like a fool in front of his friend.

"I still think you should go. You won’t ruin anyone’s night; I’m sure of that. And it's Yoongi’s house, it’s not like you can’t go." The brunette argues.

"Even so, the party is for him."

"Y/N, Jungkook won’t be in Busan for long. Don’t you think it’s better for you to talk, whether to end whatever it is you have, so you can both move on without resentment?" She suggests, making me think.

I shake my head for the tenth time in this conversation. I don’t know if it would be a good idea. It’s the first time I’ve ever had feelings for someone, and I don’t know if to end what I feel, I should talk to him. My romantic experiences are based on books, and in books, the heroines are never rejected. Just imagining even for a second, if I go to this party Jungkook will show discomfort or indifference, makes me panic. A strong shiver runs through my whole body with the thought.

"I don’t know if it’s a good idea." I reply, shrugging. Hayun sighs, tapping her boot on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Let’s do this: you’ll go. Stay for five minutes. If you see it’s better not to force things and forget all of this, I’ll take you home myself." She says, putting her hands together as if in prayer.

"You’re quite persistent, huh." I murmur, laughing. I roll my eyes, reflecting. Should I talk to him? Should I give myself a chance to hear him out and maybe understand his side? Even if we don’t end up together, and I end up sad, wouldn’t it be better to finish whatever it is we had, so I can move on?

For the past three days, all I could think about was him. There hasn’t been a single hour where I could relax, read, or watch something like I always did. I sigh, groaning. Then I nod my head, still unsure. My mother is still out of town, and that gives me a little more freedom than usual. Hayun lets out a high-pitched scream and bounces around, hugging me. It’s as if with my decision alone, I’ve made her day happier.

"You’re going to love it! Yoongi’s parties are always so much fun." She assures me with a confidence I don’t have. I went to a party once, and I remember hating everything. Both the music and the people.

"I hope so." I laugh, not very sure about what I’m doing. I want to give up on this idea because it makes no sense, and at the same time, I want to show that I’m brave. That I can face my fears. I don’t want to run away of everything forever.

I can do this!

I can’t do this. I can’t do this!

I look at my outfit and feel like going back outside, running after the taxi I took to get here. My long dress, made of thick fabric, has nothing to do with what these people wear. It’s as if I live on another planet, literally. The music is upbeat, playing from two speakers in the middle of the room. It’s good, considering the bizarre things I’ve heard out there. The lights are all purple, giving the place a sensual and enigmatic look. There are many people, and none of them I know. On one hand, I thank God for not running into Jungkook. On the other, I wish he’d appear before me out of nowhere, just so I could put an end to all of this, once and for all.

But what would I say? You’re a bastard, Jungkook. You didn’t promise me anything, but actions speak louder than words. Your actions didn’t show me you still loved your ex. I could say all of that, but how would it help me? Being honest with myself, I came because I felt afraid that, that morning, three days ago, would be the last time I would see him. The last time I could look into his eyes and feel his presence. I am truly in love, and I don’t want to hold onto another regret in my life.

I look side to side, trying to find Hayun, but in the middle of so many people, it’s hard to recognize anyone. I walk through the room, bumping into a few women. They don’t mind, though. I don’t know the environment very well, but the further I get from the crowd, the more I can enter the open backyard, which has a huge pool. Hayun sent me the address an hour ago; maybe if I called her, I could find her more easily. When I take my phone out of my small bag, determined to complete the call, I spot a red-haired figure that catches my attention. Yoongi. It must be him. I walk slowly towards his group of friends, feeling apprehensive, afraid of accidentally colliding into Jungkook.

"Y/N! Over here!" I confirm my suspicions when Hayun waves her arms in the air, as she recognizes me despite the low light. I smile faintly, walking closer to everyone. They all seem unbelievably beautiful, well-dressed, with an air of excitement that I don’t possess. "You made it! I thought you got lost."

"I took a taxi. It’s just far from where I live." I apologize, shrugging.

"Don’t worry. I haven’t had anything to drink. If you need anything, I’ll take you home, okay?" She smiles, placing her sunglasses on the top of her head. Hayun looks prettier when she does that. "Guys, look who’s here. Y/N!"

I shake my head, greeting them. They seem happy to see me, which relieves 50% of my worries. My stiff and tense shoulders, from imagining scenarios where none of them wanted to see me. I’m relieved to realize that this isn’t happening in reality.

"Y/N, how are you?" Bora kisses my cheek, just like the other girls. Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung nod, sipping something from their cups.

"I’m good." I smile, feeling awkward. I look around for Jungkook, but he’s nowhere in sight. At least not as far as I can see. "It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other."

"Right? What have you been up to, Y/N?" Yoori, Taehyung’s girlfriend, asks. I open my mouth to respond, but I don’t have much to say.

"I’ve been working a lot." I say, honestly. Partly because it’s true, and partly because I don’t know how far I can tell. Do Yoongi, Jimin or Taehyung know that I was with Jungkook? I’m so paranoid about this I can hardly look them in their eyes.

"She works at the Dongseo University bookstore. When I went to pick up some books, I found her there." Hayun circles her arm around my shoulder, smiling. I nod in agreement. "Y/N, Jungkook is around here; he went to get something to drink." She whispers the last part in my ear, trying to keep everyone else from hearing, and with all this noise, it’s not too hard.

My breath catches when I think I might run into him at any moment. My heart beats like it’s going to burst out of my chest, and my legs feel like jelly from so much nervousness. When I think of a mantra to calm me down and finally face things like a normal person, head held high, I see him coming toward his friends, not really seeing them. It’s as if he’s so lost in thought that he can’t see anyone a foot in front of him. Hayun beside me suddenly gasps. She mutters something near me, and I only feel her tense body, because she is pressed against mine. Everyone looks at Jungkook with expressions of discomfort that I can't quite understand.

"Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know." She says, shaking her head. I frown, confused. What’s happening?

"What’s wrong? Is everything okay?" I ask, anxious, feeling all kinds of emotions at once.

"That guy next to Jungkook." She says, discreetly pointing to a very handsome man, just a few inches taller than him. "That guy is..."

"Namjoon? What’s he doing here?" Jimin questions, crossing his arms over his chest, interrupting his friend. My eyes widen as they approach. My whole body pulls back, and I want to disappear. To be swallowed by the earth and never inhabit this world again. But it’s too late. Jungkook is already here. And his dark, big eyes grow wider when they see me.

"Y/N?" He asks, confused.

Fuck.

"J-Jungkook. Hi." I nod my head. The fear of making any move and embarrassing myself in front of everyone, is overwhelming. The fear that he might just ignore me and pretend I don’t exist, is even greater. I swallow hard, frozen in place. I can’t even greet him properly.

Jungkook doesn’t move either. He stares at me in a static way, and everyone in the group seems to notice. Even Namjoon, his ex-boyfriend. He’s handsome. With his black hair, lean strong body, and a masculine perfume that exudes confidence. My insecurities about myself intensifies. If I had known he would be here, I would have never come. I was a fool to think this would be a good closure. Jungkook hasn’t wanted to talk to me for the past three days. Why would he want to talk to me now? The urge to cry returns, and I’m tired of this situation.

"I didn’t know you’d come, Namjoon." Hayun says beside me, still with her arms around my shoulders. I lower my head, embarrassed.

"I decided at the last minute. I had to come to support Jungkook." He smiles, and he’s even more attractive when he does, forming charming dimples on his cheeks.

"Wonderful." Yoongi grins, but I have the feeling it’s not very sincere. His dark eyes show feelings far from happiness. "I hope you came to stay for a short time. I don’t want certain people in my house."

"Yoongi!" Jungkook scolds his friend, and my throat tightens. Is he defending his ex-boyfriend? Doesn’t he realize the gravity of what Namjoon did? He cheated on him!

"Don’t worry." He places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes it with an intimacy that makes me extremely uncomfortable. "I came just to see you; I won’t stay long, anyway."

"He was kidding." Jungkook clarifies to him, his voice somewhat hoarse. Then he lowers his head and looks at me again. His eyes are so intense that I have to take a deep breath, struggling to breathe normally. "Actually, I need to talk to Y/N."

"What?" I ask, surprised. My body tenses up again, stiff. Hayun lets out a small smile that everyone notices, and shakes her hair, almost as if the whole situation were a movie, and she’s the spectator.

"I told you it would be a good idea for you to come." She says, and her voice is so loud that it’s as if she wants everyone to hear, especially Namjoon, who bites his lips and watches me. His gaze is enigmatic. I can’t tell if he feels anger or discomfort. Or neither.

"Hayun, please..." I whisper. "And Jungkook, I was actually leaving."

"You weren’t." Hayun argues, furrowing her brow. "You just got here, and you’re staying. You’re welcome here."

"I don’t know..."

"Please, Y/N, I wanted to talk to you. Stay a little longer." Jungkook whispers, biting his rosy lips. His face looks sad, but I can’t believe it’s because of me. If he liked me, even a little, he wouldn’t be standing next to his ex with almost an intimate proximity. I can’t understand him. Not at all.

"Okay." I agree, uncomfortable with everyone watching us, as if we’re animals in a zoo. I don’t want to imagine what they’re thinking.

"Namjoon, I’ll talk to Y/N. I’ll be back soon." He smiles faintly, looking at the dark-haired man. Namjoon just nods and gaze at me one more time.

"Okay. No problem. I’ll stay here with your friends." He says, and I catch a glimpse of Jimin sighing as he takes a large gulp of his drink.

We move away from the group in silence. His hand approaches the end of my back, but he doesn’t touch me. My brain feels like it’s going to fry. There’s so much I want to say, and at the same time, so much that isn’t worth saying. I feel so bad. The way he said he would return to his ex is one of those reasons. Why does he stay in this relationship? Doesn’t he realize he would be happier if he just distanced himself from Namjoon? But that’s my opinion, and he clearly doesn’t think that way. We approach a tree, further away from the party, in the backyard. I lean my back against it, fearing I won’t have strength in my legs. I can’t even look him in the eyes. I don’t have the courage for that. We stand in silence for a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity.

"Are you okay?" He asks me quietly. If he weren’t so close and we weren’t so far from the music, I wouldn’t be able to hear him.

"I am." I respond, trying to form a smile that isn’t real. "And you?"

"Yeah." He smiles too; he tosses his hair back, closes his eyes and sighs, watching me. "You look very beautiful."

"Thank you." I say, feeling awkward. I don’t feel beautiful; I feel terrible.

"Y/N, I don’t know what to say." He says, placing his hand on the trunk of the tree, behind me. His scent invades my nose whether I like it or not. I have to use all my self-control not to respond to any of his movements. "I haven’t been well since that morning. I don’t feel good."

"You don’t feel good." I repeat his words, finding it amusing. He doesn’t feel good? Seriously?

"You may not believe it, but I had to hold myself back from calling you."

"You could have called." I shrug, speaking. My voice sounds ironic, but I can’t be any different. I’m angry. So angry and sad. It’s as if all the bad feelings are inside my chest right now.

"I could, but I shouldn’t. I wanted to take some time to think, and you needed that too." He argues, furrowing his brow. "I want you to know that Namjoon is here, but I didn’t know he would come. It was a surprise to me too."

"You must have been thrilled." I respond with a not-so-happy smile. Jungkook runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, and tightens his jaw, irritated.

"I wasn’t thrilled. I’m not happy, if that’s what you're saying."

"Jungkook... I get it. You want to be with him. I may be inexperienced, but I can read the situation. You don’t need to explain yourself to me. There’s nothing to explain. I just came because I wanted to say I’m happy for you. To congratulate you. Just that."

"You didn’t come just for that." He says in denial. "I can see it in your eyes."

"You know me so well, don’t you?" I respond ironically, trying to hide the extent to which I’m affected. I want to leave. I shouldn’t have come to this party. I shouldn’t be here with him.

"Y/N, please..."

"Jungkook, what are you doing here with me?" I lose my patience, finally reaching my limit. I push away from the tree, my stomach churning. "Why aren’t you with him? With Namjoon? I’m not important to you, so why are you pretending like I am?!"

"I already told you to stop acting like you know me better than I know myself." He grunts, his face reddening with anger.

"It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ve already told you: actions speak louder than words, and you’ve proven that to me since that morning. You didn’t call me for three days simply because you didn’t want to!"

"Y/N..."

"You don’t want to be with me, and that’s fine. You don’t have to be. I already understand where your limits are; just... just don’t pretend to like me if you don’t care about me!" I finish, trembling. My eyes fill with tears, and I feel so vulnerable, anxious. Jungkook has always brought out the best in me, and now I don’t even recognize myself.

"I care about you." He moves closer, furrowing his brows. His dark eyes grow bright. If it weren’t for the lack of light, I could swear he’s about to cry too. He gets even closer and touches my cheek with his hand, gently caressing my skin, sending chills down my spine. I want to pull away from him, but I can’t. "Y/N, I really like you. I didn’t call because I needed some time."

"Stop..." I plead, in a whisper. Both for his words and for his touches. I wrap my hand around his wrist, but I don’t halt him from continuing. I don’t move, half weak, half uncertain, afraid he’ll stop and nervous he’ll keep going.

"I missed you." Jungkook says softly in my ear. His body almost fully pressed against mine. His breath hits my neck; his strong chest touching my breasts. And I don’t know if it’s his heart or mine, racing a thousand miles an hour, so fast and strong.

"Jungkook, stop." I beg, but I can’t pull away myself. He takes his face away from my neck and looks at me once more. His pupils dilate, and they go straight to my mouth. A shiver runs through my entire body as he moistens his lips with his tongue, with a desire so exposed that I can’t mistake it for anything else. And I let him come closer, so damn slowly, as if we’re in slow motion. When I finally close my eyes, surrendered, hypnotized, I hear someone calling him.

"Jungkook?"

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments

@joonwater @ane102 @ttipa @kookienooki

[7ndipity]

Matching Costumes

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi realizes he likes your costume idea more thank he thought he would.

Warnings: Yoongi’s dressed as a vampire(yes, I think that requires a warning), suggestive, joke about biting, reader wears a dress(?) not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! It’s a little short, and a lil self-indulgent, but I hope you’ll still like it!

Masterlist Spooktober m.list

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Truthfully, Yoongi wasn’t really the biggest fan of Halloween, but he knew that you were, so when he mentioned that the company was having their annual Halloween party and asked if you wanted to go as his date, he knew perfectly well what he was getting himself into, but he couldn’t resist. He loved seeing the way your eyes lit up in excitement, immediately beginning to brainstorm costume ideas for the two of you.

“What do you want to go as?” You’d asked as you scrolled through ideas online.

“Eh, whatever you want to pick is fine,” He’d said easily. “I trust your judgment.”

“Really?” You quirked a brow at him.

“Mmm, to an extent,” He clarified, grinning. “But I’m reserving the right to veto if you choose something too weird.”

“So, no gender swap Mario and Princess Peach?” You teased.

“Definitely not.”

“Damn, back to square one then.” You pouted as you turned your attention back to your phone, making him snicker.

In truth, you’d known what you wanted to get as soon as he’d asked you, but you wanted to browse around a bit before you bought them, just to be sure. You knew it was a lil bit of a cop out and cliche, but you couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Yoongi a bit, getting you matching costumes in the theme of ‘Dracula and his bride’.

It’d been a running joke between the two of you since before you had even started dating that you thought he was secretly a vampire, due to things ranging from his primarily nocturnal work schedule to his consistently cold hands.

Yoongi had rolled his eyes when you showed him the costumes, but hadn’t said no, much to your delight, so you’d quickly ordered the outfits and waited impatiently for the night of the party.

…

“I don’t have to actually wear the fake fangs, do I?” Yoongi asked as he finished buttoning his dress shirt.

“Not unless you want to.” You called from the bathroom, where you were putting on the final touches to your own look.

“I don’t.” He replied, fidgeting with the long, black cape as it refused to hang right over his shoulders.

It wasn’t a bad look on him, he had to admit as he studied his black clad reflection, reminding him faintly of the suit he’d worn for a photoshoot with one of his friends last year.

“You know, we don’t have to actually go to this thing, we could just go to din-?” His suggestion died on his lips as he caught sight of you in the mirror as you entered the room, turning around quickly to see you properly.

The main costume was just a long black dress, cinched in at the waist to emphasize your figure before the skirts flowed down over your hips, your hair styled and pinned back so it showed off your neck, including the carefully painted bite marks you’d placed just above you collarbone. It wasn’t the most elaborate costume, but it had still managed to make his mouth go dry as he took you in, unable to tear his gaze away.

“You’re staring.” Your voice snapped him back to attention.

“No, I wasn’t.” He denied instantly, despite the faint rosy hue that was creeping up his face. “I was just admiring my partner.”

“Mhm.” You nodded.

“I was!”

“I’m not arguing with you.” You laughed, raising a brow at him. “Sheesh, you’re acting like this the first time you’ve seen me in a dress.”

“I have, just not like this.” He said, pulling you in by the waist.

“Like what?” You asked.

“Matching.”

“Really?” You looked up at him in amusement. “You like this?”

“A little.” He admitted.

“Should I get us matching hoodies or sweatsuits too?” You grinned, making him scowl at you.

“Don’t tease me, I’m trying to have a moment here.” He complained, tightening his grip on you.

“Alright, I’m sorry.“ You chuckled, pushing up on your tiptoes to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes, studying his face. “You look really handsome, by the way.”

“You haven’t seen the whole costume.” He said.

“I wasn’t talking about the costume.” You said, grinning as you lightly pecked his lips.

That did it. He quickly ducked his head, chasing your mouth with his, letting out a deep, contented sigh as he caught you in another, longer kiss.

His lips moved slowly against yours at first, before quickly growing more needy and trailing down, latching onto a spot just under your jaw, eliciting a gasp from you when you felt his teeth scrape lightly over the skin.

“Yoongi.” You whined, but not trying to pull away.

“What? You’re the bride of Dracula, it only makes sense that you’d have a few bite marks.” He chuckled, lightly sucking another spot before switching to the other side of your neck to make it match.

“We’re gonna be late.” You stammered, trying to keep focused, but he wasn’t making it easy.

Reluctantly, he pulled back, making your eyes widen at the red that was smudged around his mouth before reaching up to touch your neck.

“Agh, you smudged my makeup!” You realized, your brief alarm shifting to annoyance.

“Like I care.” He smirked, trying to lean back in, but you pulled back just out of his reach.

“Nu-uh, we’ve got a party to go to, Dracula, remember?”

“Do we have to though?” He asked. “I mean, we could just stay here and-”

“Nope,” You stopped him. “I told the other’s we’d be there, we have to at least make an appearance.”

“What if I convince you to stay home?” He questioned lowly.

“And how do you plan to do that?” You asked, foolishly letting him catch you in another kiss.

You never made it to the party.

[unofficial-writing]

Promise

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest ounce of angst, so much fluff I’m sick

Summary: After the battle you two stumble upon the mirror of Erised and now’s a good time as any to propose.

Word count: 856, short and sweet

༺═────────────═༻

You stood back by the doorway, gazing out the slim hole in the stone. Dirt and blood painted your face, likely covering smaller wounds that hadn’t been tended to yet. Even with your current appearance, Fred was completely taken by you.

His lips turned into a smile, allowing his eyes to move drift away from his girl to scan the room. “As surprising as it is, I’ve never been here before.” He announced, his green eyes landing on the object in the center of the room. A tall golden mirror. It shined as if it were new, yet had a weathered look to it at the same time.

“I haven’t either.” You responded, turning on your heels to catch up with Fred, who moved around to the front of the mirror. He fumbled with the ring in his pocket— which was surprisingly still on his person after all that had happened. It seemed so long ago that he was at his desk, engraving “I promise” onto the inside of it.

Fred stood before the mirror, seeing both you and him in horrible shape. You were both bruised, bloody and exhausted. But despite all that, your smile never failed. Smaller but never gone. The sight of it summoned a warm feeling to his chest.

He turned away from the mirror, glancing at you just in time to see your expression completely change. Your mouth fell open, staring at your reflection in awe.

Confused, he followed your eyes and his heart jumped at the picture. It had completely changed. Where you both were looking practically homeless, you now stood completely cleaned up. Fred was in a sleek black suit staring down at you— you. Oh my god, you were breathtaking. You were in a flowing white dress, a vale draped over your h/c hair and the biggest smile he had ever seen.

His lungs failed him. Seeing you in a wedding dress sparked thoughts. Just the thought of getting to marry you made his head spin.

“Are you seeing this?” The real you took his focus back, but he could only nod. “They’re beautiful! Are they ours?” His brows furrowed and your question and he pulled his eyes back down to you.

“Who?”

“Well, probably the little ginger you’re carrying! And the one George has over his shoulder.” You went on describing the scene and it sunk in what you saw. Both of you saw the perfect future together. it made his mind drift to the ring he carried.

He slipped his hand back into his pocket for it, hesitant. You smiled up at him, making up his mind for him. Throwing his big plans out the window, he pulled the ring out gently, as if it could break under his touch. “Y/n.” He started, glancing from the ring to its future wearer.

“This is less extravagant than I had hoped it would be.” He was aware that his tone gave away how nervous he was but you didn’t care. You were shocked and through your face, that was given away too.

“Since we’ve met, we’ve probably been through more than most couples, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. During these past few years, I’ve fallen in love with you in every way possible.” Your smile was brighter than the one in the mirror.

“I want to be yours as long as I’m alive, if you’ll have me.” Fred beamed. “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?”

You were pretty much in tears now, which immediately prompted him to copy you. “R-really?” You got out. You didn’t even wait for a response before dropping to your knees with him and throwing your arms around him.

Fred managed to get out an emotional laugh, as your shaking body settled into his arms. You lifted your head to meet his eyes but he interrupted and pressed close to a thousand kisses all over your face, finishing with a sweet kiss to your lips.

To you, this was all you wanted. Whatever Fred’s elaborate plans were didn’t matter at all to you. You were overjoyed to be able to marry him. After all the jokes and teasing, it was finally real.

“Looks like I’m finally going to be a Weasley.” You smiled at your new fiancé, who pulled you back to him, wrapping his arms around you.

He exaggerated a sigh. “We’re gonna have to dye your hair now.”

“Absolutely not.” You replied while Fred slid the ring onto your finger.

“We’ll see, love.” He teased, running his fingers through your hair. You kissed the spot just under his ear and buried your face there.

There were a few moments of silence as both of you processed. Fred breathed deeply, holding you tightly. “I’m yours, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling when you melted into his embrace.

“Forever?” Your voice sounded like music in his ears.

“Forever.” Fred responded, brushing his thumb over the ring, which was now occupied by your delicate finger. “I promise.”

[petew21-blog]

Could you do an Andrew Garfield and Tom Holland body swap

Friendly neighborhood Peter

Andrew P.OV.

We have just finished the last of the promon pictures for our new upcoming movie for Marvel. What a great and nostalgic ride that was. It has been years since I last wore this costume on set and I have to say I miss it. It makes me sad that some stupid conflict many years ago ended our third movie, which could've been amazing.

Tobey has left to meet with Kirsten. Me and Tom were left alone together to chat about our lives. What a great kid, he's so talented. It's hard for me to admit that, but I envy him. The attention is nice, I won't deny that, but I just loved making those movies. I would do anything to trade with him. Does that sound mad? Sorry. Another daydreaming episode. I have to think about my own life again now.

Tom's P.O.V.

I want to stay here and talk to Andrew about acting and working as an actor for the role of Spider-man. I truly do. But I am already nervous about all the paparazzi out there. Recently they have made my life horrible. I haven't had privacy for years. I am proud for the movies and the work we all have put into them, but the other side of this is just exhausting. Andrew says, that I should enjoy it while it last, that fame fades out and the work eventually gets finished. Maybe it's too selfish at this point, but I would like it to end. I would do anything to trade with Andrew and have a kind of life he has.

The two "Peter Parkers" had no idea what it meant for them that night. Just a stupid simple wish at the back of their head. Well, someone is lucky today.

Tom's P.O.V.

Either this is a very bizarre dream or someone did a very elaborate prank on me. I am looking at Andrew. But I am looking in the mirror, where usually my reflection stares back at me. How is this even possible?

I calm down and after a while I get out of bed. I am in Andrew's apartement. His place looks nice, neat, surprisingly. I take off a shirt and put it on. While sliding it on my new torso. I notice my new biceps. Damn, Andrew, you're not so bad. I thought you gave up body-building. But this is quite nice.

The exploring didn't stop there. I dropped my or (Andrew's?) boxers to get a nice view. I was welcomed by a hairy co 7 inch long dick. Not bad again Andrew. I started to jerk it. While enjoying the body of a 40 year old in a great shape, some woman came into the room and with no expression just said:"If you wanna come to the premiere you gotta speed up and get dressed. Be ready in 30"

Oh shit. Was that his girlfriend? Or maybe a manager. I don't know what is worse. The indifference or the fact she saw me like this.

I might have some explaining to do when I see Andrew in my body at the premiere.

Andrew's P.O.V.

What was weirder, I didn't recognize my body. I had bigger muscles, lean chest and nice 6 pack. I could even feel the stench of a younger body. Even my skin was visible younger.

I got up from the bed to find out that this body sleeps naked in bed.

I went to the nearest mirror. Holy shit. It's Tom

I was shocked at first, but then I remembered what I thought about last night. Maybe, this is a way from the universe to show me if I truly hate my life or if this is the life for me.

I went back to bed to rest. Well... maybe not rest, but whatever. It's nobody's bussiness how many times I have jerked off Tom's dick. It's also nobody's bussiness to ask how long was I in the shower afterwards and if the scream were of pain or pleasure

Shit. I love Tom's style. His wardrobe is filled with such nice clothes. I don't even know what to pick. Even showing of his abs looks amazingly stylish

Andrew and Tom bumped into each other right in front of the journalists.

"How you feeling man?"

"Young! And the best I have felt in years. Your body was a nice surprise. How are you holding on?"

"Well, I have to say that I can't complain either. I mean, you have a much more calmer life than I do. Wouldn't mind if we had this for a few weeks."

"Oh, I don't think I would mind either. It would be an honor for me to take care of your life Tom"

"Don't call me like that now, TOM! People might think you're on drugs. Haha. And yeah, let's make it a deal. We don't even know how to swap back, but when we do find out we swap back on our own terms. Deal?"

"Deal!"

The two of them embraced each other in a hug and laughed about it

This couldn't have worked out better for the two of them

[domwitch]

Thank you to everyone interested in reading my story!

I've been writing a tiny bit and I want to post it on ao3, but it'll take about a week for my invitation to come in. I copy pasted a snippet of the first chapter here, I hope you like it!

“Stop fidgeting, Master Hwan. I’ll mess up your hair.” Despite the warm spring breeze blowing through the open window, Hwan felt cold. He sat on the floor in front of a large bronze mirror, looking nervously into his servant’s concentrated face. Sparrow was nearly ten years older than him, a tall, wiry man with high cheekbones who hid his chopped hair under a rag. He was like a second father to Hwan, caring for him since his childhood. Hwan let out a breath.

“How can I not? It is my marriage day, after all. Can a boy not- ah!” Sparrow pulled a lock of hair taut, using an oiled comb to smooth out any knots and leave it shining. “You are no longer a boy, Master Hwan,” he replied, not without warmth. “Today you become a true man.” He catches Hwan’s eye in the mirror and gives him a small smile. He forces himself to smile back, but his stomach is twisted into knots. At 21 years old, Hwan is an old groom. His father had jumped for joy when they received Lady Tan’s proposal, practically running around to get everything ready for his only son’s marriage. “Finally, you will fulfill your purpose as a son and a man. Lady Tan is in her fifties, so you cannot give her children, but you can still fulfill your husband duties.” Hwan remembers his father smiling down at him from his high seat in the tea room, where he delivered the good news. Hwan bowed low, his forehead nearly brushing the floor. “I am most grateful, Revered Father. It brings me great joy to finally be of use.” While Hwan’s voice trembled, his father was practically beaming. “Recite to me the first tenet of Our Guiding Principles, won’t you?” his father asks. Hwan pauses a moment before responding. “As a son, obey your mother. As a husband, obey your wife. As a widower, obey your daughter.” His father’s crow's feet eyes crinkled. “Never forget these rules, my son,” he said in a soft voice. “They will lead you to ultimate happiness.”

Sparrow had finished doing Hwan’s hair and was now applying makeup. The white powder made his nose tickle. Looking across from him, Hwan caught his reflection in the mirror. His ebony hair had been pulled back from his face and pinned up in an elaborate twisting style, with many colorful pins and baubles hanging off the branches of hair. It made him look a bit like a tree covered in bejeweled birds. Hwan felt ridiculous. “Close your eyes now, I’m almost done,” Sparrow said. A brush swiped delicately across his eyelids, trailing something cold and wet. “There we go. All done.” Sparrow sat back on his heels to check his work. After a satisfied nod, he gestures to the mirror. Hwan turns, and despite himself, he gasps. He’s always been told he was a beauty, but Sparrow’s work had elevated him to something out of a legend. The powder had smoothed his pale skin to a milky white, and the black kohl sharpened his soft brown eyes. The red paint made his lips look full and plump. He thought looked like a flower spirit. Turning, he took Sparrow’s hand. “You’ve made me beautiful, Sparrow. Thank you.” Sparrow lowers his head respectfully. “You treat me too kindly, Young Master.” He rises, helping Hwan stand up. “We must hurry, the feast will begin soon,” he says. “We mustn't keep your bride waiting.” At the mention of his bride, Hwan stills. Will she like him? What if he wasn’t good enough? What if he’s too young for her? His thoughts swirl, making his palms sweat. “Worrying is one of men’s many faults,” his father recites solemnly in his memory. Hwan forces himself to take a deep breath, and leans forward so Sparrow can fix his veil to his head. As Sparrow drapes the heavy cloth over his face, more of his father’s words echo in his mind: “Marriage is a man’s ultimate happiness.”

[hotpinkrathian]

Ahhhh so I have to admit I have been working on something, it's a very big project for me.

It's 30 000 words long as of now, and I estimate to be about 1/2 - 2/3 of the way through the story. I'm super excited about it, however I don't want to get to a point where I'm almost done and don't finish, which is why I am writing it so much.

I want everyone in the kyalin Fandom to be right there with me when it's ready. So I'm going to do my best to finish it before I start posting.

How would I describe it???

A Kyalin mystery slowburn

Here's a snippet from Chapter 3 (spoilers ahead)

“Here,” Tenzin said, passing Lin a notice.

“So secretive,” Kya joked, pretending to lean over.

“It's not that secret,” Tenzin said, “two more came forward getting letters, bringing the total to-”

“Forty-nine.” Lin finished. The names added to the list weren't familiar to her. An Earth Republic mayor, and a fire nation general. “Something tells me there's one more out there,” Lin said.

“You think? An even 50?”

“Stopping at forty-nine would be good thinking on their end,” Kya said, “I mean, it would have everyone worried over the 50th letter, which doesn't exist.” She elaborated.

Lin raised an eyebrow, shrugging it off.

“What are the odds they get out anyway?” Kya asked.

“You mean the dirt?” Lin clarified.

“Yeah. Are the threats… real? Do you think they actually know something, or is it… broad enough to make yo- people think they did something.”

“Well we've bounced around that idea for a while,” Lin said, “but I think the general consensus was that… they were a little too close for comfort.” She looked to Tenzin, whose harrowing eyes reflected the anxieties of her own.

Her own letter bounced around in the back of brain, waiting to be unpacked. She had divulged so much into dealing with the case, and worrying about Suyin, she hadn't put much thought into how she would deal with the information revealed by her letter.

What she would do.

What she would say.

She didn't inherently think she had anything to be ashamed of, but there were plenty others who wouldn't see it that way.

It would be career ending, perhaps enough to chase her out of town in search of a fresh start.

If Suyin was still alive, Zaofu could make for a nice retirement place.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said, getting up. She made for the bathroom down the hall, but instead opened the window at the end of the hall.

Delicately, and with precision, even in her wine-induced stupor, she climbed outside, hanging onto the ledge.

She'd done it a thousand times in her teen years. Scaling the air temple had been a right of passage, and a necessity, when she was with Tenzin.

It was second nature to her as she hauled herself to the upper floor.

Luckily, the window wasn't locked and she got back inside with ease.

She walked quietly down the hall, praying she didn't wake the kids. It was as she remembered. Almost nothing had changed, and a strange wave of deja vu overcame her.

It ended when she entered the left door, and not the right.

Kya's room was one she hadn't been in much, especially as she got older. It looked as she had envisioned. It was tasteful and colorful. Lin envied her ability to pick out pictures and tapestries of varied colors, still managing to make them go together.

First she checked the nightstand, which had a lot of interesting things, but nothing she was looking for.

She checked the duffle bag on the chair, nothing but clothes and towels.

She sighed, looking around.

She noticed the bed was lifted slightly off the floor. Tenzin used to keep… stuff under his bed.

Perhaps these airhead all thought alike.

She got on her knees before laying herself gently onto her stomach.

She outstretched an arm under the bed, feeling around until her palm landed on a box.

She pulled it out, and allowed herself to stand up before setting it on the bed and opening it.

The unmistakable waxy green seal.

The inky handwriting on the back with a clear name designation.

The clear indication that it had been open and removed multiple times.

She held it in her hand, her fingers frozen.

Fifty

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not refusing to have my picture taken?

I (18NB) really hate taking pictures. It's a combination of privacy concerns (big social media gets me really paranoid), not udnerstanding the point, and, admittedly, a self-image problem. To elaborate on the latter two, I don't really understand the point of taking photos, no matter how much it's explained to me, maybe because I'm not a sentimental person. The concept of "having a memory immortalized" feels unnecessary (what's wrong with forgetting?), and posting it on social media... see point number one.

When it comes to self-image, that's a lot more touchy. I'll be honest: I really hate how I look, especially in photos. I guess I'm just not a photogenic person, but I always come out looking unideal, for lack of better term, to the point that even seeing a picture of myself makes me incredibly uncomfortable.

Here's where I think I might be TA.

Last school year was my senior year in high school, so naturally, my friends and I made lots of memories together. But no matter where we went, if we took a picture, I adamantly refused to be in it, even if they pleaded with me. A lot of the time, it'd turn into a huge, often public, debacle: my friends, frantically waving or shouting at me to get into frame, or reshuffling to get me into frame, or dragging me into line to take a photo (we're touchy-feely people, so this isn't weird for us), and me, walking away as fast as possible.

Reflecting on it, I feel like I did them a disservice. A lot of people like looking back at pictures (and one of my friends also really loves photography), and I think it wasn't right of me to refuse them that, especially since I wouldn't even be looking at those photos. I'm also a private person who hates airing out dirty laundry. For that reason, I framed my argument as more of a philosophical one than one on personal comfort, so to them, I just act the way I do because of some weird moral high ground. I also feel like it made them feel like I don't want to remember them, and that now that we're separated, I'll happily forget them. And, since this would happen when we were doing fun things together, I really feel like I kept ruining everyone's days or lowering the mood for the sake of my personal comfort.

I don't know. I really feel like I keep blowing up a normal, small thing, but at the same time, I can't help feeling the way I do. Please tell me: AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[whitexwolfxx310]

New Years Eve 2/2

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: You spend New Years Eve with Bucky at a big event which your ex happens to also be attending.

Warnings: Y/N, 18+, Cursing, **Graphic sexual content**, Smut, Oral (M to F), sexual asphyxiation, slightly physical encounter with ex, jealousy, edging.

Word Count: 4895

Gif: Credit goes to buck-n-cap & lowkeysebastianstan

A/Ns: This is the second part to my New Years Eve post. Thank you all so much for reading! If you want to be added to the Taglist, just let me know!

Previous Part

Masterlist

Today has been kind of a big deal and it’s far from over. It’s a declaration of your relationship with Bucky going public, even in front of your own father who has made it very clear that he disapproves.

Standing in the lobby of the elaborate hotel, you catch of glimpse of your reflection in the glass door. You smooth the sides of your long, simple, burgundy dress. Turning from side to side slowly seeing how the gown accentuates your hourglass figure. A coolness on your bare lower back causes you to suck in a breath through your teeth.

"You look beautiful." Bucky reassures as his warm breath grazes against your ear. Your cheeks instantly blush from the embarrassment. "Also," He starts, "I got us a room." Pulling back slightly from him, smirking and raising an eyebrow at the forwardness, his nose scrunches with an amused laugh. "Not what I meant. But I like your thinking." He says, planting a gentle kiss on your temple.

"Hey, Buck!" Both of you become aware of Steve and Peggy. "Wow, you guys look great!" Steve says energetically. God, it's like night and day with Bucky and Steve. The men greet each other with a small hug and firm pat on the back. Stepping forward, you acknowledge Peggy with a small kiss on the cheek.

"You look...wow. Peggy, you look fantastic!" You say, astonished by her classic, yet sophisticated, look. The bright red lipstick matches her dress, which accents her pale skin and dark brown pin curled hair.

“Likewise.” Peggy smiles “Good to see you, Y/N.”

“And Steve… handsome as always.” You say as you reach up to give him a friendly hug. He smiles, taking Peggy’s hand.

“Let’s head in, don’t want to be late.” As the couple starts to walk off, Bucky smirks and rolls his eyes.

“With out without the suit, he’s always Captain America.” He laughs, placing his hand around your waist, bringing you in nice and close as you walk into the party room.

The night is still young and reserved. Everyone is being cordial and polite. Give it about an hour or so when they’re all a few drinks in and it will be a different story.

It’s not a traditional party with decorations, it’s very organized and structured with speeches and awards, etc. The only type of display to distinguish what type of event you’re attending is the memorial board on an easel with the stone faced, uniformed pictures of those who have died. While you’re trying to actively avoid looking at it, you keep side eyeing it looking for your brother Luke’s picture.

For once, you’re the one who has the tight jawline. A gentle rub on your upper arm reminds you to try and relax, that you aren’t alone. You glance up at Bucky, attempting to smile. “Thank you.” You say softly.

“I know this isn’t easy for you. I appreciate you being here with me. ‘Till the end of the line, sunshine.” He says, giving a small wink along with a smile. And just like that you feel as though you could just melt onto the floor. For more reasons than one…

As soon as you feel the uneasiness drift away, it comes crashing back full force as you spot your parents talking with someone. Already knowing where they were, Bucky plants a small kiss on the top of your head. “You can’t avoid them forever. C’mon.” He gently encourages but waits for you to make a move. Taking a determined, deep breath you make your way over to them. If it weren’t for Bucky by your side, you wouldn’t have the courage to confront them.

Your steps become smaller the closer that you get, but he’s with you every single step along the way. Clearing your throat to get their attention, you give them a polite smile. Moms eyes instantly light up at the sight of you, reaching down to match the big smile from the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, honey!” Taking a few quick steps forward she quickly embraces you. Awkwardly, you hug her back, not letting go of Bucky. Not even for a second. The notion grabs your fathers attention, but it doesn’t seem to phase him. He nods slightly in acknowledgement, but nothing more. A part of you feels instantly crushed, knowing that he is still holding onto the last conversation the two of you had. About your life. About your choices. About Bucky.

“Dad.” You give him a small hello in return. His lips are a tight, thin line as he glances Bucky over.

“Sir.” Bucky says, holding his right black gloves hand out for a hand shake. Dad indulges, but most likely for appearances sake. A flash of amusement crosses Dads face, instantaneously making you feel as though you’re going to be sick.

“James.” He greets, his attention drawn to behind the both of you. “We were actually just catching up with Christopher.”

Christopher. You have to remind yourself to breathe as you turn around. And there he is. Fuck. Tall, dirty blonde hair, tan, green eyes that stand out even more so with his olive green class A’s and the obligatory Army crew cut.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s been a long time.” Chris steps in to hug you and your body goes completely stiff, not moving an inch, holding your breath. Bucky is looking between you and Chris, instantly understanding that this isn’t necessarily a happy reunion. Bucky’s eyes narrow as Chris steps back into his place, also putting his hand out to shake his as well.

“Nice to meet you, Christopher.” Bucky practically spits out as he looks him dead in the eyes.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Chris returns the same slender gaze along with a smirk as he puts his hands into Bucky’s. After an extended moment, Chris goes to pull away his hand but is met with Bucky’s gloved left hand closing over both their fists. Right away Chris flinches, the vibranium hand enclosing their hands just a little too hard.

“Hey guys!” Steve gets everyone’s attention as he walks up. Bucky and Chris hands fall to their side, looking like two children that were caught fighting over a toy. “How’s everyone doing tonight?” Steve smiles. Always the peacekeeper. He places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “I was just about to head to the bar. Would you two like to join Peggy and I for a round?”

“Sounds great!” You chime in, locking arms with Bucky and follow Steve to the bar where Peggy is sitting with a round of drinks. Grabbing the one that looks the strongest, you slam it back instantly. Everyone is quiet, looking between themselves extremely confused. You then feel a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Are you alright, Y/N?” Steve asks, concerned.

“I’m fine! Totally and completely fine!” Your voice comes out way too high pitched and is utter bullshit. Bucky and Steve exchange a nervous look between each other as you finish another one of the drinks. You can feel the tension, so much so that you could cut through it with a knife.

“So… are you going to tell me what is going on?” Bucky asks, his tone flat. His concern comes out in the form of resorting back to shutting down. The fact he hasn’t been dragged out of here kicking and screaming is already progress. In the words of Bucky: ‘Fight first, questions later…. Maybe.’

“So um-“ you start, taking in a deep breath. “Chris is, I mean… was, my brothers best friend.” There seems to be a collective understanding nod within the group. “He made it back and Luke just… didn’t.”

Bucky’s face softens at the realization, now knowing that Chris is a constant reminder of your older brother who is gone.

“But…he’s also my ex.” You’re holding your breath as Bucky continues to look into your eyes, no reaction whatsoever. Peggy’s fire engine red lips purse out as she stands up from the bar.

“Looks like we’re in need of more drinks. Steve?” She beacons for him to come with her, leaving you two alone to talk.

“What?” Bucky asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. He still hasn’t blinked. Or moved. Or even fucking breathed.

“It just didn’t work out between us. We all knew each other since we were kids. Him and my brother grew up together, enlisted together, deployed together-“

“And had you in common as well.” He says, matter of factly as he still remains calm. Which actually is the scariest part. Is he… jealous?

“Bucky…” You start, placing your hand over his. “I don’t care about him. He is nothing to me. His presence just brings back painful memories.”

He just sits, staring into your eyes, looking for a glimmer of lies. But, it won’t be found. Because this is, in fact, the truth. This is it. This is the moment where Bucky’s growth is put to the test. His reaction is everything. His jaw shifts slightly as his tongue runs across his top teeth, his lips still firmly pressed closed. He’s trying. He’s trying his best to keep his cool. You’re still holding your breath as you wait. Wait for him to explode. Wait for him to say that you two are done. Wait for him to walk out of this building, go under the radar as the Winter Soldier and never be heard from again. You’re mind is already racing at the thought of possibly losing him over something so trivial- but he takes a deep breath in through his nose.

“It’s in the past.” He murmurs. And, as if a lightbulb turned on, it suddenly makes sense. Bucky has tried now for many years to let go of what was, it would be hypocritical to hold something against you. A sigh of relief escapes from your mouth.

“But-“ he starts, making you hold your breath again. “I’m not above kicking his ass.” He’s smirking, but the truth of the matter is… he would and not think twice.

“Bucky!” You lightly slap his hand in a playful gesture. Suddenly, Steve and Peggy are back with more than just a few appreciated drinks.

“How about we find our seats.” Steve suggests “Ladies first.” He steps to the side, allowing you to walk side by side with Peggy. You give him a thankful smile as you get up from your seat at the bar. Bucky and Steve hang back for just a moment, talking low to one another so that they can only hear the conversation. Steve grips and ruffles Bucky’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging nudge.

After getting to your assigned table, the award ceremonies and long speeches start to blend together. Thankfully, there’s a never ending circling of servers so the drinks never stay too empty for long. Your attention gets drawn to your left thigh, where there is a warm hand gently caressing. You look to the left where Bucky is sitting next to you, being met with a small smile trying to disguise his concern. In return you mimic his smile to hide your uneasiness.

A familiar voice starts to ring through the speakers strategically placed through out the room so everyone is able to hear the person speaking. Dad. Swallowing down what feels like a rock in your throat as you watch him start to address the crowd for the next award, you look between your father and Bucky. Suddenly feeling antsy and unable to sit any longer, your hands smooth down your dress on your thighs.

"I'll um- I'll be right back." You say as you quickly get up from the table.

"Y/N..." Bucky says sympathetically as he moves to get up as well.

"It's fine." He stops midway, frozen in a squat position, as he struggles internally to be there for you but also respect your boundaries.

"Really..." You lean down, planting a small kiss on his lips. "I'm just going to freshen up." He places his hand on yours, reluctant to let go as you go to move away.

Walking out of the ballroom and into the main corridor to catch your breath, you feel a slight pull on your hand from behind.

"I said I was fi-..." Turning around expecting Bucky to have followed you, but instead you're now standing face to face with your ex. "Chris?" You say in repulsion.

"I know, I know. I just wanted to see how you're doing with everything." His tone is soft, concerned even. You scoff as you try to pull your hand away.

"How I'm doing? W-What? Let go of me!" You insist, trying to pull back, but he doesn't let go.

"Listen, Y/N. I know we didn't end on the best of terms, and I'm sorry I didn't reach out to you after Luke died-"

"Don't you dare talk to me about my brother!" You spit out, still trying to get your wrist out from his grasp. "I said...Let g-"

"I just want you to understand…" Christopher's grip is now getting firmer around your wrist to hold you in place. "It was hard for me too and I just didn't know what to say-"

"What part of 'let fucking go' are you not understanding?!" You yell, struggling to get out of his grasp.

"I'm here now! We can honor his memory…together! It’s what he would have wan-" Chris stops mid-sentence, realizing that a third person has placed their hand over his. He looks away from you to be met eye to eye with Bucky, who's vibranium hand is now clasped over his. This is probably the only time you'll be thankful for how stealth-like he can be.

"You heard her.” Bucky says, with an eerily calm tone which is met with no response. “Let her…the fuck…go.” He enunciates.

Christopher’s eyes narrow, not blinking as he grinds his teeth, thinking about how he wants to handle the situation. Your eyes dart between the two men, your wrist still held in place. Chris’s brows furrow as the grip around your wrist tighter, causing you to suck in a sharp breath between your teeth.

“Okay then.” Bucky says, matter of factly. Within what seems to be a blink of an eye, you’re free and now standing behind Bucky who has placed himself between you and Chris.

“Look, Barnes. I don’t want any trouble…” Christopher says, his tone less confident than before.

“Trouble will follow any man that puts his unwanted hand on a woman. Now go. I’m sure you’re next in line for some bullshit speech or medal.” Bucky says, assertively.

The air is thick and tense as the stare down between Bucky and Chris continues, knowing that even the slightest twitch would send them into a brawl. The question is, would Christopher be stupid enough to go toe to toe with a super soldier? Chris’s eyes move passed Bucky to make eye contact with you, which instantly makes you look away from how uncomfortable it feels.

Suddenly, Chris turns on his heels and heads back into the main ballroom. He has always been more concerned with appearances and will not do anything to jeopardize his career. Bucky doesn’t move until he’s out of sight, turning around and looking you up and down concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks, not getting closer but gently takes your wrist, inspecting it.

“I’ll be fine.” You mutter, unable to look at him, your stomach still tied up in an enormous knot from the encounter. Bucky continuously looks you up and down, letting out a long sigh.

“Let’s find somewhere quiet. Somewhere private?” He suggests, and you nod slightly in agreement.

Bucky’s hand gently wraps around your waist, pulling you softly into his side as he leads you down the hall. You can’t but help but notice out of the corner of your eye, Steve had been standing there the entire time. Ready to have Bucky’s back, just as he always has.

Your head is spinning. What would have happened if Bucky didn’t intervene? Why did Chris want to have this conversation now, of all places? Was my father somehow behind this because of his dislike for Bucky? Would he really go that far? This is so embarra-

“This is us.” Bucky’s soft voice interrupts the never ending questions running through your mind. He takes out a plastic card, swiping it into the door. A small light beeps and turns green, allowing access. Opening the door, Bucky allows you to go into the room first, following closely behind and locks the door. The hotel room. You didn’t realize where he was leading you due to the rapid thinking.

Taking a few steps into the room, you glance around. On the king sized bed is two carryall bags; one for you and one for Bucky. He must have packed for both of us ahead of time, prepared for what was supposed to be a romantic night, turned into this. Looking out the large window at the dark city scenery, you smooth your dress down along your thighs; a nervous habit you’ve developed over time. Turning around, you find Bucky still standing close to the door, arms crossed and looking you over. You let out a long sigh as you take a few steps forward, unsure of what to say.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His tone is soft and slightly confused. Talking isn’t something that he is necessarily used to. The only person he has ever been willing to put everything on the line for, is Steve. This is new territory. For him. For you. For us.

“Not really.” You reply, honestly. Taking a few small steps forward, Bucky mirrors the motion. You place the side of your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around him as you do so. He returns the notion, placing his chin on top of your head as his arms wrap around you entirely. The warmth, comfort, and protection is more than welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world.

Pulling your head back to look up into his eyes, you still need to stand on your tippy toes to plant your lips on his. His tall frame leans down to meet yours. The soft kiss starts as a way of saying thank you, showing gratitude for him being there for you. But it quickly turns into necessity, needing Bucky in every sense of the word. Your arms unwrap from around his torso, reaching gently to cup each side of his face as you pull him more to you. His hands on the small, bare part of your lower back, pressing you slightly more into his body.

“Get me out of this dress.” You demand between kisses. He pulls back a bit in surprise.

“Y/N… I don’t know if-“

“Shut up. And get me out of this dress, Bucky.” You say, sternly. Taking his right hand in yours, and placing it right at the zipper. Giving in, he pulls it down slowly. You shimmy slightly to shake the dress onto the floor, you’re now left in a black lace bra, and a matching black lace garter belt g-string clipped down to black thigh highs.

“You’re killing me here…” Bucky says, eyeing your body in the lingerie.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say, confidently. You’ve reached that level in your relationship that you can be crystal clear about what each of you want.

“I-“ He strains. Also hungry the same desire, but at the same time not wanting to feel as though he is taking advantage of your vulnerability. In return, you aggressively unbutton his fitted black suit jacket, bringing it down his shoulders and arms and it falls to the floor. You take his right hand and sensually remove the glove, also discarding it to the floor. When you take his left hand, he is more reluctant. Still self conscious of his vibranium arm when not using it for its original intention. Lightly sterner this time, you take his hand and also take off that glove. The coolness to the touch instantly gives your body goosebumps. You once again take his right hand, gently kissing the pad of each finger while looking up into his eyes. The flicker of more than usual craving ignited in his eyes.

You pull him closer by the buckle of his belt, eagerly undoing it along with his dress pants, leaving them to collapse to the floor. Bucky’s hands instantly find your waist, pulling you in to show his lust through kissing. Firmly, you unbutton his dress shirt, leaving him in only in a gray undershirt and matching boxer briefs. Your hand slips down between the heat of your bodies, cupping his growing bulge. He releases a deep breath, moan combination at your touch.

His reaction causes a surge of frenzied dopamine to be released. Your hand grips him just a little harder, moving it forward and back in rhythm with the aching throbbing deep in your core. Sensing the growing intensity, Bucky lifts you up into his arms, coaxing your legs to wrap around the trunk of his body. You oblige, your arms wrapping around his neck as well. Maintaining the fierce kiss, he pulls your body more into his own. Feeling your body’s press more into each other forces the urgency of him being inside you grow exponentially.

Taking a few steps towards the bed, Bucky lays you down, now hovering over you. His hips compress down into yours, causing your back to arch up into his chest and a small whimper to escape. Propped up on his left arm, his right hand grazes the curves of your body, leaving an anguished trail behind. Bucky's lips migrate from yours and down your neck. His deep breathing in your ear pulsates through your body, syncing with the gnawing, and growing, passion. He sits back on his knees, between your legs with an astonished look on his face.

"What?" You ask, laughing. He shakes his head, rubbing the palms of his hands on top of your knees, moving them up your thigh slightly on both sides, his fingers flicking against the straps against the thigh highs.

"You are just..." His eyes ricochet between different areas of your body. "So fucking beautiful." The statement makes you blush, gently biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

Bucky's tongue brushes across the front of his lips. He then takes hold of your hips, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His hands only leave your body for a moment, pulling off his shirt and tossing it onto the floor. Staring up into his eyes, you start to become more restless, grinding your hips down into the cotton comforter. He leans over your body, meshing his lips eagerly into yours. While face to face, Bucky pulls down his briefs half way, allowing them to remain on his thighs.

Standing up, his chest is already rising and falling rapidly. Using his pointer finger, he hooks it into the bottom of your panties, pulling them to the side. While keeping the fabric in place, he bends down, his metal arm gripping your thigh as he places his tongue flat against your opening. Just pressing the wet warmth against you send a lightening bolt through your body. He drags his tongue up...and then down. Once, twice, and then pulls away. The instant chill and lack of stimulation leave you disgruntled. But he quickly rips the fabric he had been holding to the side, exposing you to him fully.

He brings his hand up to his mouth, spitting onto his fingers before rubbing the head of himself. He presses against you, only a few millimeters in, and you both suck in a sharp breath, already being able to tell just how narrow you are.

"Oh god..." Bucky's head tilts back slightly in gratification. "You're so tight..." He acknowledges, slowly pressing into you, deeper and deeper.

When pleasure is this fierce, it can cause your body to spasm. Almost as if it's too much to handle and tries to escape. But he doesn't let you. Tenderly, he takes your legs and rests them against his shoulders, kissing the inside of your ankle as you writhe softly underneath him. It doesn't take long to conform around him. He draws himself almost all the way out and then presses back in. Your body squirms in response, moaning as your way of demanding more. Bucky's hips glide in and out, also putting an extra thrust against your g-spot once he's fully in.

"Mmm..." You moan into a deep breath as your eyes slightly roll back. Once you make eye contact with Bucky again, he's smiling. Knowing that he can satisfy you in every meaning of the word.

Letting go of your legs, he falls forward, bracing himself on the bed, hovering while still inside you. He presses his forehead into yours, looking into your eyes as his hips collide into your own.

"Say it." He requests, but your slightly confused. No need for you to say anything, because as if he can read your mind, he responds:

"Tell me I'm the only one..." He breathes. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours." You indulge, truthfully. "Always." It comes out as a whisper. Within that moment, you press your lips up into his. He hungerly kisses you in return.

Pulling back slightly, but not pulling out, he continues to hover. His cool, metal fingertips outlining your collarbone. Bucky raises his eyebrows, not needing to say what he's thinking out loud. Without hesitation, you nod in approval. He's slightly taken aback by your answer but eager to indulge.

"Let me know if it's too much." Bucky holds your gaze as the palm of his left hand flattens at the base of your neck.

"I trust you."

And with that he slides his hand slightly forward, placing your neck between his thumb and pointer finger. Gradually, the grip gets tighter. But Bucky continually searches your face, looking for any sort of discomfort. The additional pressure along with his quickening rhythm, put you into a state of euphoria. The most perfect, metallic ice necklace. Each stroke ripples through your body, intensifying with each passing second. You've been holding your climax off, edging yourself intentionally so that you can orgasm together. Although, it is apparent that it is becoming more and more difficult for you both.

"Do you want me to come?" He asks, loudly enough to be heard over the sounds of body slapping intertwined with moaning and heavy breathing.

"I'm ready." It comes out as a plead.

"How much?" He grins.

“As much as you can.” You whisper, giving him a small smirk in return.

He let's go of your neck, bracing himself on the bed with both arms now. His dewy chest creating friction against yours as he quickens his pace just a little more. Your nails dig into his back, scratching down a little harder than you care to admit. But, something tells you that he really doesn't mind all that much. Bucky is moaning into your ear, the most gratifying sound, as you feel warmth start to fill inside of you. It instantly sends you over the edge, contracting around him in quick intervals of pure ecstasy. The world stops when the two of you are together. This just feels so right, so perfect. Regardless of what some people say, it's meant to be.

Laying together in bed, coming down from cloud nine, your leg is draped over his. Your fingers slowly trace the damp, defined lines of his muscles. His chin rests gently on the top of your head, breathing deeply as he resonates in the moment. In the distance, you can hear loud voices. You and Bucky look at each other, and then at the phone on the nightstand, laughing in understanding. Even across the hotel and away from the ballroom, you can hear the collective

Ten....Nine....Eight....Seven....Six....Five....Four....Three....Two....One. Happy New Year!

Using his pointer finger, Bucky lifts your chin up to give you a kiss.

"That is one hell of a way to bring in the new year." He laughs.

"Yeah..." You giggle a little. Looking at him, in this moment, this beautiful moment, it slips out. "Would it be super cliché if I said 'I love you'?"

His eyes widen. Oh no.

"I-" You sit up, scrambling for a bed sheet to cover yourself so that you aren't exposed physically. Just emotionally. "I'm sorry. It-It's too much." Shaking your head in embarrassment, clinging to the sheet that is masking your chest, unable to look anywhere aside from down at the bed.

"Hey..." Bucky says, tenderly as he sits up in the bed. His hand palms your face gently, coaxing you to look at him. "It may be the first time that you're saying 'I love you' to me, but just know that I will never grow tired of hearing it." He's smiling affectionately as his thumb grazes against the side of your mouth. "Would it be completely predictable to say 'I love you too'? Because I do, Y/N. You have made this old man the happiest he has ever been and ever expected to be. You are everything I could have dreamed of and more."

Squealing in excitement, you drop the sheet and quickly hop into his lap. Kissing him once again behind teary eyes.

Tag list: @peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead

Next part

[mirai1269]

Guardian Angel AU (Leon x [MC])

[MC] has a peculiar friend. An angel. The two grew up together, looking out for one another. The angel claimed that he was there to protect him, in exchange, [MC] showed him friendship (and unknowingly even more). 

But this angel is a little bit more than meets the eye... 

Words: 2652  

Fluff, a bit of angst, Leon x [MC], supernatural elements, slight yandere themes 

*Pink words in the fic are whispered*

Stuck in a Yandere Visual Novel...HELP!! is the game of @pumpkin-spike18

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

One warm February day, on the school’s courtyard, [MC] was peacefully eating his lunch. When suddenly... 

"FOR THE LAST TIME!" The echo of a distressed shout rang throughout the building. "I. DON'T. WANT. YOUR. CUPCAKES!!!" 

"So, it begins." [MC] thought.  

Ah, yes. Valentine's Day is just around the corner (meaning the start of the attack of the Drama Club's Valentine's Day Sale).  

A day [MC] could not resonate with. Romance has always avoided him somehow (unlike the Drama Club's salesmen). 

"Wow, they're getting more persistent this year, eh?" 

[MC] turned to where the voice came from. "Like always. But they won't get me this time!" He announced proudly, a sly smile drawing on his face.  

His companion stood up to stretch, his eyes not leaving [MC].  

"How about you let me handle them this time? That's pretty much my job, you know." 

Looking up to keep the eye contact, [MC] could feel his neck cracking. Were it not for his bangs hanging in front of his eyes, the light reflected by his companion's white suit and pinkish hair would've made him go blind. 

"Leon, they're not 'demons'. Your job is to protect me only from those." [MC] answered. The other rolled his eyes, dropping himself back next to the brunet. 

"You're not wrong. But you see, I'm special~." 

Wrapping an arm and a feathery wing around [MC]'s shoulder, the pink haired boy continued in a more determined tone.  

"I'm tasked to protect you from anything and everything that may cause you harm. Demons, spirits, ghouls, sketchy salesmen, vampires and other monstrosities of the dark side. Whatever it is, I shall protect you with my (immortal) life." 

Letting out a chuckle, [MC] shook his head, sighing in defeat.  

"Well, they do fit one of those categories..." He mumbled. In an instant, Leon jumped up from his seat, his wings spread wide, his eyes shot open. 

"So can I-" 

"No." [MC] shot him off, going back to finishing his lunch. 

The taller boy crossed his arms, plopped back next to the brunet and started to pout. [MC] didn’t pay much attention to it. He knew the angel's tricks too well to fall for them. Finally, Leon decided to try another approach. 

“I’ve done an excellent job for the past 8 or so years- “ 

“And I’m ever so grateful for it.” [MC] cut him off, patting Leon’s back gently. “What would I even do without you?” 

As a response, Leon quietly growled, puffing up his cheeks bigger. 

“...do you at least have a plan?” He asked after a few moments of silence. [MC] chuckled with a smug look on his face. 

"Well, do I~? Want me to elaborate~?" He asked, feeling like a villain mastermind. Leon hopped off from his seat and started floating in the air, laying on his stomach, his eyes at the same level as [MC]'s. Supported by his elbows, his rested his head in his hands. 

"Oh, I 'cannot' wait to hear it." He said, mockingly. But before [MC] could even take a breath, the bell rang. 

"Ah shoot! You made me forget about the time." [MC] scolded Leon, while he picked up his backpack. Leon, shocked from the accusation, grabbed at his heart. 

"Me? Make you forget? How could you say that [MC]?" He whined, as the other bolted into the building. Chuckling to himself, the angel flew up to the window of the classroom in two flaps of his wings. Sitting on the edge, he loyally waited for his companion, until... 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" [MC] cried out, as he tried to get away from the "demons", the sound of his running ringing into Leon's ears like music. 

"Ehe~" He smirked to himself. "There goes Mr. 'I have a plan'!" 

After some time, [MC] crashed in the room, panting and sweating. 

"So~...how did that plan of yours work out?" Leon asked. [MC] glared at him as he dragged himself to his seat and plopped onto the chair. 

"They..." One huff.  

"...didn't sell..." A quick swallow. 

"...me..." Another huff. 

"...anything...justsoyouknow-" With one final huff, [MC] face planted onto his desk. Leon hopped into the room and slowly made his way to the poor guy. Too exhausted from the chase, he didn't give any mind to the angel stroking his raven locks. Leon cooed the youth with a gentle whisper. 

"Rest, my dear! I'll keep watch." 

After school, the two best friends decided to take a break at the café by the train station. Though eating wasn't essential for Leon, [MC] found that it might be fair to the angel to receive an occasional reward for his services. So, twice a week, on Monday and Friday, [MC] would treat his 'personal celestial bodyguard' to a pastry. Even though Leon wasn't picky, he sure took long to choose. 

"Ugh, there's even more things to choose from today. [MC], help me!" The angel wept. Unfortunately, his cry has landed on deaf ears, as the brunet was looking out the shop's window. 

Their town has always been oddly ecstatic about the day of love. Heck, even every other day, the streets were decorated with hearts, roses, anything pink and/or red. [MC] could never figure out the reasons of it, so in time, he gave up and accepted it. It's better than the dull, grey depression holes he saw when his class went on trips anyway. Plus, he liked pink. 

The streets were flooded with the decorations and the main stars of the holiday, couples. Pairs and small groups of 3 or more passed by, displaying affection. To his right, on the other side of the street, a small group of girls were buying flowers at the flower shop, chatting to themselves. Opposite to them, to his left, two guys were passing by, holding hands. Near that pair, a girl and a boy were checking out the shops' displays. 

The sight gave [MC] mixed feelings. On one hand, the display of romance made him feel warm and comfortable. Like he was at home, safe. On the other, he felt... a bit jealous. 

Why is it, that all his life, this magical feeling has avoided him? Heck, he’s never even had any celebrity crushes! Sure, he could tell if someone looked handsome or pretty (or outright hot), but other than that, nothing.  

In the end, he figured it doesn't matter. It's not like he'll die if he won't fall in love. Maybe he'll never fall in love.  

Maybe...it's just not meant to be for him. 

"[MC]?" The sound of him being called made him snap back to reality. Leon was standing right behind him. "I know what I want." 

In the end, [MC] choose for him. They got two slices of strawberry shortcakes and for Newt, a pastry that looked like the head of a teddy bear. At home, [MC] discovered that his brother was still away. 

"Oh right, he's out with his friends." He reminded himself. 

Leon was waiting for him on the couch, his eyes twinkling, and his wings flapping impatiently. He was eager for his 'salary'.  

"Leon... we'll eat these on the 'dinner' table." [MC] called out to him. 

"But it's so comfortable on the couch. Hurry up instead!" The angel protested. In defeat, [MC] sighed and carried on. 

Once in his 'at home attire', [MC] put the shortcakes onto two separate plates, and put Newt's dessert into the fridge. He wrote a note for him about it. Back by the couch, Leon took the first bite. 

"Mmm~, sweet and soft! I knew you'd choose well. Thank you for the dessert!" The angel said, licking his fork. At first, [MC] wondered how Leon could eat if he wasn't able to be perceived by others, but, like other things, he didn't delve too much on it. In between bites, the two exchanged some light conversation. 

"So... Valentine's Day, huh?" [MC] said, munching on a bite of cake. Leon swallowed before answering. 

"It's next week. What about it?" 

The boy in front of him was playing with a strawberry, rolling it around with his fork. "I don't know." [MC] replied. "It's just..." With a heavy sigh, he set the utensil on the table. "I was just thinking about...uhm..." 

Leon's gaze on him started to become more and more curious. "About what?" The angel asked. 

"About...cupids?" [MC] answered, sounding unsure. For a short moment, his 'answer' was met with silence. 

"...what about them?" Leon asked, putting the last bite of his dessert into his mouth, his ruby eyes never leaving [MC]'s face. 

"Well...are they real? I mean, since you're an angel, a 'specialized' angel, I was just wondering, what other 'professions' you guys do." After saying this, [MC] defensively put his hands up. "You don't have to give an answer, it's more of a-" 

Leon lightly waved his hand. "It's okay. It's not a secret." He stood up to put his dishes in the sink. "There's a wide variety of angels. In terms of power, I'm on the lower ranks. In fact, most of the 'specialized' angels are lower rank. Other than guardian angels, some of us work for Death, some of us deal with human souls in the afterlife, and..." 

[MC] walked up to Leon's back. "There's cupids?" He asked. The taller male turned to face him, nodding in silence. "Do you not like them?" The brunet asked. 

"What makes you say that?" Leon asked back. 

"You obviously don't want to talk about them. I guess you're not a fan of romance, huh?" [MC] added, putting his dishes on top of Leon's. The other shook his head. 

"I do like romance. We've even watched movies like that before, remember?" 

[MC] did remember. Leon's eyes were glued to the Tv screen for the whole duration of those movies, in complete silence. He always thought Leon was just not used to the technology. 

"Then I suppose it's for another reason. Are they annoying to work with?" 

Leon started to look more and more uncomfortable. "...well, some of them are..." 

"Hm?" [MC] tilted his head. The angel put his hands up. 

"I-I wouldn't know. I've...barely met any." 

[MC] looked down, feeling a bit dejected. "Yeah, makes sense." Leon gave him a look that he's rarely seen. It was...apologetic? 

"Welp, want to do something before calling it a day?" [MC] clapped his hand together, then went back into the living room, with Leon tagging along.  

They decided to watch a crappy horror movie. At first, they just laughed at the terrible costumes and effects, but the plot was so boring, [MC]'s eyes began to wonder off. His gaze shifted to Leon instead. Like every other time, the angel's red irises were fixated on the screen.  

A curious feeling started to bloom in the brunet's chest. As sneakily as he could, he snooped closer to Leon, until their hips touched. The other didn't give any reaction, so [MC] shifted his gaze back to the Tv. In that moment, a jump-scare occurred, making him shiver a little. Behind him, the shifting sound of fabric made him more antsy, until he felt soft feathers tickle the side of his face. Looking back up at Leon, he found the other doing the same, with a soft smile of his face. 

"I noticed you got a bit scared there." The angel whispered, wrapping his wings around the boy a bit more tightly. To avoid the pesky stray feathers tickling his face, [MC] rested his head on Leon's shoulder, until the end of the movie. If he would've let his eyes wander again, he would've seen Leon blush, and fight the urge to let his smile grow bigger. 

Once the movie ended, they both agreed to never watch anything like this ever again (Leon suggested watching something scarier next time). [MC] carried out his bedtime routine, and since Newt has messaged him that he'd spend the night at a friend's house, went straight to bed. 

"Good night, [MC]!" Leon said, sitting on the edge of his best friend's bed. 

"See you tomorrow, Leon!" And with that, [MC] wandered into the land of dreams.  

The angel carefully swiped the bangs away from [MC]'s face. With a soft smile, he carefully bent down, making sure not to disturb the youth's sleep. Before his lips could touch [MC]'s forehead, the sound of wings' flapping snapped him out of his moment. 

"...f*ck." 

In mere seconds, as quietly as he could, he was roaring up in the night sky. By the roof of the building, 3 winged figures were waiting for him. One of them looked particularly angry, as they crossed their arms when Leon came into view. 

"So, did you finally find him someone?" The angry angel asked. Leon remained silent. His eyes were fixated on the ground. The angel to his right approached him. 

"Leon, you were asked a question. Answer!" They ordered. 

"...I... I'm still working on it." Leon replied, shaking. The 3rd angel huffed. 

"What does that entail pray tell? Last time I checked, eating desserts is not part of it." They mocked. Leon huffed to relieve the anger that started to build up. 

"It's just hard to find-" But before Leon could finish, the 3rd angel cut him off. 

" 'Hard to find'? Well of course! It is hard to find something, when you weren't even looking for it!" The other angels frowned at them, making the mocking angel shut their mouth. 

"They have point, you know." The angel near Leon said. "You can't keep playing around, Leon. We have overlooked your misbehaviour for too long. Impersonating as a guardian angel, sabotaging your co-workers, you, avoiding your responsibilities! Enough is enough!" 

Leon averted his gaze, getting more and more irritated. "I still bring couples together. So technically-" 

The angry angel appeared right before him in a blink of an eye. They grabbed his chin, making it impossible to look away. Leon’s irises glowed, an act of defence. 

"Don't you dare talk back! Do your job, you imbecile! After that, you can pretend to be the guard dog of whoever you want. I don't care. This human's soul needs love. If his heart is not on fire, a demon could easily take control over him. Do you want that?" Finishing the speech, they let Leon go. 

Upon the reminder of what's at stake, the pink haired boy froze. Right... making [MC] fall in love is for his own good. He must stop being selfish. He must... 

"I think Leon here is just jealous." The mocking angel cut in. Everyone looked at them. In Leon's eyes, fury flamed. "He doesn't want the human to fall in love, because he's 'in love' with him. Aww, how romantic!" 

"SHUT UP!" Leon shouted. "What do you know about how I feel?" 

The other two angels huffed. "Oh please. Leon doesn't even know what he's feeling. Cupids don't fall in love, after all." 

Leon shut his eyes. His anger was bubbling so hot, he could feel... 

"You have until Valentine's Day. Either you find someone for him... or someone more competent will." 

The 3 angels left so fast it was like they were never there. They left Leon frozen in place by the 'threat'. 

Back in [MC]'s room, he carefully approached the bed, laying his head on the edge. The brunet's hands were laying by his side, out of the blanket. Gently, Leon grabbed the one closest to him and gave it a tender kiss. Looking at the boy's sleeping figure, his heart couldn't take it anymore. 

His tears were flowing like a river. His legs felt so weak, he knew he couldn't stand up to leave the room. With his remaining strength, he fought to keep his voice down, covering his figure with his wings. 

"It's not fair." He mumbled between sobs. "I can love him. I do love him..."  

After crying for long, he mumbled one last thing, before passing out on the floor. 

"I won't give him up..." 

[ghostpajamas]

DUUUUUUUUUUDE your alcohol marker works r SO sick i saw that sequence of process pics u had and my mind was just Blown . can you elaborate more on ur process ?!?!? /nf

hello ! thank you for your kind words. i apologize for taking a while to answer this. the process of coloring the drawing i did as an example was rocky, and ive been busy with school.

i'll preface this by saying that i have a few posts with process pictures on twitter (i treat it as a wip dump when i remember to post). heres one of the few where the pics are all together, but my media tab has a fair amount scattered around.

this is going to be long, so i'm putting the 'read more' here.

step 0 : sketch. i start with blue erasable pencil, lighten it, and do my lineart with a mechanical pencil.

step 1 : base color. half frivolously chosen as a neutral color to set it off from the white of the paper, half "whats the color of the light / the lightest color being reflected by the material its cast on"

im going to stop numbering the steps. i immediately went too dark with the hair and failed to consider the strength of the light in the setting / how reflective hair is. also i colored the basic color of the eyes and the rough shadow under the jaw. dont get attached to any of this.

broke out the "ph. martin's bleed proof white paint" my mom gave me a jar of years ago. it does well enough at bringing back light, but the texture youre left with is not ideal. lightly shaded the face skin with a similar color. i also blocked in the rough color for the suit jacket and tie here. the marker doesnt have to be evenly applied because you'll be going back over in enough layers that it'll even out.

i wish i stopped here.

things start to go off the rails. painted over his eyes because "why did i give him double eyelids" tried to paint over just the eyelids. didnt go well. scorched earth. reshaded the hair, deepened shading on the face and neck, started on the shirt, and applied a cursory pass of shadow on the jacket. the light angle does not remain consistent with this.

redrew the eyes. the angle feels uncanny. i wish he was still looking at his phone but the paint is not taking ink well and i doubt another layer would make it better. at some point i applied rough shadow to the hands. dont worry about the inconsistent lighting.

darkened the eyes so they were less creepy. didnt work. i assume the ink bled (alcohol ink soaks into paper, but since this is now on top of white paint, it just sits on top and pools out), so i embellished with posca marker to cover it up.

realized that with the length of the shadow the brow ridge was casting, the hair should cast a shadow too. light source starting to be established.

im really sorry. i didnt realize there was such a drastic jump between this one and the prior photo. basically, i started defining edges and areas of deepest shadow. fine edge definition was done with the cheapest ballpoint pen i own. dark marker blends fairly well, but only put it where you WANT it to be that dark, and blend outward from there to darken surrounding areas. many, many layers of grey and light blue, brown and darker brown for the jacket. now that i had a vague idea of the light source, i just had to place the shadows and follow the folds. hitting the points of shadow with brown (base color but darker + warm tinge to suit base color) and blue (reflected light).

this also wouldve been a fine stopping point.

used posca to outline the edge of the face + sharpen edges. added more pupil-spots. messed up the mouth some more. whatever. calling it done here because the jacket looks good and the face is freaking me out.

overall, i treat alcohol marker like watercolor. a big wash of color, rough base colors. roughly block in shadows, gradually add washes of deeper shadow. define edges. etc.

its harder to blend colors directly than with watercolor but thats nothing more layering cant fix. and then white paint if layering doesnt work. and then more layering.

[beekeeperspicnic]

What a nice day to reconceptualise my entire game

Last night I reblogged this lovely post from @inkonice-main talking about Holmes and Watson's relationship as a great love story (whether romantic or platonic), and it's been clanging around in my brain ever since.

Just in case you stumbled across this post randomly, I'm currently making a cosy mystery Sherlock Holmes game set in Sussex, which has Holmes trying to put together a picnic for Watson. My plan is to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership because that interpretation means a lot to me, but to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The problem I've been toying over for the entire six months of development so far is WHY Holmes has decided to drop everything and make this ultimate picnic for Watson. What's his motivation, dah-ling?

And I've cycled through a few ideas:

He doesn't need a reason, elaborate theatre is how he shows affection. Perhaps true, but that doesn't give much of an emotional base for the game.

It's all sparked off by Watson writing and publishing the Creeping Man, the story with all the "The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar" content. But it never quite flowed for me. If Watson is happy with Holmes in Sussex, why is he writing so discontentedly? It also felt like telling-not-showing for players.

I thought perhaps it could be spurred on by Holmes having a nightmare where he's back on a case everything goes wrong. He realises that both he and Watson are in the twilight of their lives and if he doesn't tell Watson plainly how he feels, he may lose the chance. This is closer to working for me, but I think a dream being a character's primary motivation is silly and lazy, and this anxiety Holmes has doesn't seem reflected in the fact that they're living together happily. To the player it's obvious Watson already knows Holmes loves him, so there's no tension.

Then I read that post, and it all clicked. Because let's look at the Canon: it is a love story, but like most love stories of glorious intensity, things have not always run smoothly.

Holmes has withheld truths. He pretended to be dead for years. He constantly toys with his health and causes Watson pain and anxiety. All the paths Watson laid out for his life have been disrupted by his adoration of this brilliant but challenging man. Years of living together at this frantic, breakneck, head-over-heels pace seem to have taken their toll: Holmes suddenly wants to retreat from the world and take up his beekeeping, and Watson remarries and doesn't follow him, as he needs to live his own life. By His Last Bow, it seems they haven't seen each other for years.

"We heard of you as living the life of a hermit among your bees and your books in a small farm upon the South Downs," says Watson, suggesting he's never visited. But they reconnect, and thankfully the spark between them is still there. War is looming on the horizon, and both fear it may take their lives - "Stand with me here upon the terrace, for it may be the last quiet talk that we shall ever have," says Holmes.

That's where we leave them, looking out over a moonlit sea waiting for the dawn, exchanging words that they fear will be parting ones.

But the reader is left with the hope that perhaps they won't be parted again this time. War can't separate these two, surely? Nothing can.

So. That's where the picnic comes in, as a last coda in this great love story.

The War is over. Holmes and Watson have reunited. Perhaps Watson visits Holmes more often now, widowed once again. And Holmes realises that what both of them need now is to be together.

Except how does he say that, as someone who does not share his innermost thoughts easily?

The picnic represents the one chance that Holmes feels he has to say, I've treated you badly. I've made mistakes. But we can get through them, because we love each other. Let's not be parted ever again. Come and stay with me here.

The picnic isn't just a picnic.

It's a proposal.

So like, no pressure, players. :P

EDIT:

Just to clarify because I think my wording confused some folks - My plan is still to write them in a close platonic friendship or queerplatonic partnership and to keep it shipper friendly and leave the possibility open that they are a romantic couple.

The change is just that in my original storyline Watson had been living with Holmes for years, and now I'm playing with the idea of exploring the picnic being the moment when they commit to living together for the rest of their lives.

[eemcintyre]

Thirty Minutes (Tom Cruise)

TW- some saucy dialogue and innuendos; some hot vampire moments ™️

Summary- You're making last-minute preparations for the Halloween gathering that you and Tom are hosting. Since you have a tendency to go overboard with these kinds of events, Tom has to remind you to have some fun.

Y'all gave me the go-ahead to post an autumn-themed one-shot in June, and who am I to deny the voice of the people? 😆 But, in honor of the fact that I've already bought my first autumn decorations of the year, here ya go and there will definitely be more where this came from 🙃

To commemorate the upcoming Halloween and bring some life into the spacious Colorado house, Y/N had suggested to and pleaded with Tom to host a Halloween party.

Tom wasn’t as enthusiastic about the idea- not because he didn’t think it would be fun to catch up with friends for a few hours, but because he knew Y/N’s tendency to get way too wrapped up in projects like this. Events that were supposed to be lowkey could quickly turn into absolute ordeals that occupied her every thought. Then, each time, she would inevitably get overstressed, and Tom had to talk her down and provide copious amounts of Advil and tea.

He knew it was probably just the production designer in her that wanted everything to be aesthetically pleasing; his motivation and risk-taking as an actor also frequently emerged in real life. Still. He would be just as happy skipping it all for a quiet, romantic evening with Y/N alone.

He loved his wife.

And because he loved his wife, here he was, studying his costumed reflection in the bathroom mirror, outfitted in a black button-up shirt, vest and pants with a silver cross hanging by a red ribbon. His face was covered in a faint dusting of white powder, and a small amount of fake blood stained one corner of his mouth.

He opened his mouth and made a face at himself in the mirror, revealing a pair of fangs, and then shrugged, resigned to his fate. After “Interview with the Vampire,” he figured that would have been the end of his time in plastic fangs and red corn syrup. But he figured that, since he was all decked out, he might as well have some fun with it.

Tom crossed from the bathroom mirror, dotted with leaf and pumpkin-shaped window clings, into the hallway, where the accent table was decorated with an arrangement of festive knickknacks. Y/N was in the kitchen, in the middle of crafting a pumpkin pie for their guests.

He treaded silently to the kitchen entryway, watching from around the corner as she worked intently on shaping the crust. She too was sporting an elaborate vampire look, in a form-fitting black mini dress, red capelet, white powder, and dark red lips with fake blood dripping from the corners. Tom enjoyed admiring this outfit, to say the least, and for a few moments he just watched her work.

But then, he crept up behind Y/N and lunged at her with a roar, throwing his arms around her. She jumped and screamed, hands flying from the pie crust up to Tom’s arms that were looped around her shoulders. As soon as she realized it was him, she stopped screaming but continued to struggle against him.

“Fuck, Tom! You almost ruined the pie,” she said irritably. It was too close to the long-awaited party for her to put up with any kind of shenanigans.

The pie was especially important to her- she wanted it to be perfectly smooth and still warm from the oven when their guests arrived, so she was cutting it close time-wise with less than an hour to go. But Tom was not to be dismissed; he was determined to remind Y/N that this was all supposed to be fun.

“Didn’t Ashlee say she would bring a storebought pie?” he murmured, playfully swaying the two of them back and forth.

“I will purposely crash my own car before I serve a storebought pie to my guests…”

Tom chuckled and shook his head. His wife truly was an all-or-nothing kind of person, just like him. He dipped his head and brushed his fangs across her neck.

“Tom…” Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Later, okay? I really have to hurry. Please?” She craned her head to glance back at him flirtatiously.

“How long does this thing bake for?” he inquired, gesturing to the pie dish in front of them.

“About an hour. Why?”

“An hour?” Tom exclaimed, bewildered. “Baby, we’ve pulled fast ones before that were, like, fifteen minutes...”

“I have to finish hanging the spiderwebs while the pie is baking,” Y/N pouted.

“Later?” he gazed at her hopefully and she nodded.

“Now, down, boy,” she whispered, kissing him on the nose, and his face broke into a boyish grin. “You’re going to ruin both of our makeup.”

As he let go of her and circled to the opposite side of the counter, she added “Y’know, you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Maybe not, but I can still make you scream.”

Y/N turned bright red as she tried to return her attention to the pie crust. “If you keep hanging around here, I’m going to make you help with the cooking.” She was trying so hard to look and sound serious and keep her voice from wavering into a giggle.

“Oh, I mean…” Tom was about to reply when a thought occurred to him. “Wait, now, hear me out on this… what if I hang the spiderwebs while you’re wrapping this up… I mean, that would give us at least… thirty minutes?” He shrugged, tilting his head, not breaking their intense eye contact all the while.

After some thoughtful contemplation, Y/N decided that this was indeed a good way to kill two birds with one stone- and who was she to stand in the way of efficiency and productivity? She flashed Tom a knowing smirk, giving him all the confirmation he needed to head in the direction of the living room and the bags of fake spiderwebs.

“Now, if I come in there and you just threw them all around…” she warned. “Don’t make me regret inviting you to participate in my creative process!”

“Yes, ma’am,” his voice sounded from the other room, slightly muffled by laughter, and she grinned to herself. She had never finished shaping a pie crust so quickly.

[pinketine]

My #1 fear is probably Kendrick going out sad like Kanye

Isn't that anyone's fear with their fave lol? Luckily I don't think that'll happen because Kanye's downfall is the result of many different traits and circumstances that Kendrick simply doesn't have/hasn't experienced. They both started from relatively similar backgrounds but they have different attitudes to life and shit.

More under the cut because I really got into psychoanalysing these grown men I don't know

The biggest reason for Kanye's downfall is his own ego. He's an unbelievably talented person who's influenced other equally talented people, and his name is permanently cemented in music history, and he knows this all too well. And he's never taken the time to properly humble himself. Kendrick Lamar is equally aware of his own talent and skill, but he's introspective, and takes time to check himself. Kendrick "Kendrick is not your savior" Lamar would not make I Am A God. Like I do love Kanye's introspective songs but he never takes a good long hard look at himself for too long. He just assumes he's right, and surrounds himself with people who think the same, pushing away practically everyone who criticises him. This circle of yesmen and sycophants is how we got Vultures 1 and 2. Literally nobody says "no" to that man anymore. Hell, his own fanbase even contributes to this effect. Kanye fans can be damn near brainless sometimes with how much they don't want to criticise him because he made music they like or something. (Or because they're neo nazis.)

They also have incredibly different public personas. Tying into his aforementioned ego, Kanye is brash, and loud, and never hesitates to say what he's thinking for better ("George Bush doesn't care about black people") or worse ("There's A LOTTT of things I love about Hitler"). And this ego makes it so he's stubborn to a fault, never backs down properly even when he's wrong because he thinks he's enlightened or some shit. Kendrick, in heavy contrast, is more reserved. That isn't to say he hasn't had his controversial moments (the one I can think of best is when he brought up that white girl to rap with him), but even then, he clearly reflects and learns on it. Part of Kanye's downfall is his various controversies over 20 years, as they prompted many people to distance themselves from him, and Kendrick just wouldn't do even close to half of them. When Kendrick feels like someone's been snubbed, he talks about it on a song (Killer Mike mention on Hood Politics). When Kanye feels like someone's been snubbed, he storms the stage and takes the mic from the winner.

Speaking of controversies. I should probably elaborate on Kanye's worst controversy. They obviously have VERY different political beliefs. Kendrick Lamar talks about watching the daily news and hoping the 2016 election results weren't true on LUST. Kanye wore a MAGA hat. That alone pretty much tells you everything about where their heads are at. While Kendrick is very much a leftist, Kanye had been spending several years going down the alt right pipeline (I once heard someone say he'd actually been on the antisemitism shit since Yeezus era, but don't quote me on that. Would explain the New World Order mention on New Slaves). So while Kanye's views used to be more left leaning, they definitely no longer are. That isn't to say there isn't antisemitism in leftist spaces, like there absolutely is, and that isn't to say Kendrick hasn't said questionable things before (him calling himself an israelite on YAH.) but definitely not to the extent Kanye took it. He recognises that his own bigotry can't slide just because he's black, like on Auntie Diaries. And of course, Kanye hasn't really properly backed down. Hence, the several questionable Jewish lines on Vultures. He's so convinced he's right.

So PR wise. Kanye clearly doesn't have a PR team otherwise they would've killed themselves a long time ago. And Kendrick is at an all time high right now, in a way Kanye never was really.

So let's talk music. On his AMERICA HAS A PROBLEM remix feature, Kendrick criticises AI, and it's clear he isn't fond of it at all. This is to be expected, this man doesn't even like rappers having ghostwriters. He's passionate about his music, and he wants it to be his, and from him. I think Kanye's lost pretty much most of his passion for music. Like don't get me wrong, he's delayed albums before (several albums have been delayed by either close to, or over, a year!) but it was clear he had a vision, and he put a lot into them. And even the ones that were imperfect upon released he went back and tweaked (The Life of Pablo and Donda). He cared deeply, constantly experimenting and pushing his sound to its limits. Vultures 1 was... simply bad. For a Kanye album. It might've been alright for another artist but put it up against the rest of his work. Does that shit sound My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy quality to you? Or I guess, Kids See Ghosts since it was also a collab album. Either way, incredibly lackluster.

And Vultures 2... WELL. I've mentioned it before but I'm on a Kanye discord server and the day it dropped people begged me to not even bother listening to it. On. A Kanye server. Made up of fans of his music. People begged me to not listen to Vultures 2. And there's like no surprise, the album sucks shit. It's badly mixed, and Sky City got dug out of Yandhi's desecrated corpse and had AI slapped on it. Ye-I (or KanAI) has pretty much been haunting Vultures 2 because the album is already sloppy but using AI is an incredibly cheap trick, especially when it's of Kanye himself. Like what? Are you too lazy to rap your own shit now? Like yesterday 530 (a song that was half fucking mumble upon release) got """updated""" to have AI in it as well when there was already a finished version he performed at an LP. It's genuinely just pathetic, and not something Kendrick would do without serious compromise of years long established values.

I should probably also mention Kanye's... instability. For lack of a better word. I'm gonna preface by saying this clearly his mental health isn't making him do this shit like some evil puppeteer, but it has an incredibly strong influence on him. As we all know at this point, Kanye has been diagnosed with bipolar (although he has gone on record to say it was a misdiagnosis fabricated by "them" (guess who "they" are...) to silence him, and actually he has autism. Not sure to make of the autism thing.). And while Kendrick has talked about struggling with mental health, Kanye's been fighting a pretty depressing to watch war against his (he's literally had a mental break live on stage before). His life is basically ruled by instability thanks to it (and his grief due to him losing his mother way too early) in a way that Kendrick's simply isn't. Not to mention his several addictions. None of those things make Kanye a bad person, or the sole cause of why he does the shit he does, but mixed with his already egotistical personality, it causes a lot of his beliefs to be compromised (for such a devout Christian he ain't very Christ-like) a lot of the time.

And I just don't think Kendrick would spiral in a similar way. If I had to guess, he'll just bow out gracefully by retiring.

TL;DR They're two incredibly different people with incredibly different artistic visions. Kendrick's probably gonna end up with a damn near flawless discography by the end, which Kanye could've also done if he retired at Donda the way God intended.

[asirensrage]

East of the Sun, West of the Moon

Title: East of the Sun, West of the Moon Fandom: Tokyo Revengers Rating: Uhh...Teen? Pairing: Kokonoi Hajime x Inui Seishu, mentioned!Koko x Akane Word count: 1629 Warnings: Merpeople? Off-screen canon character death. Dubious Consent for a kiss? Non-human/Human relationship. Implied forced magic/species change? unbeta'd Summary: He had paid the price for the magic he desired. Coming to the surface to meet his prize does not go as expected.

Notes: This is my first thing done for Mermay! I wrote it all this morning after a friend of mine suggested this couple. This is my first time writing for them (and technically my first m/m oneshot lol). I hope you enjoy it.

It’s been too long since he’s had a chance to come back to the surface. He’s been busy, working to find the right witch with the right magic for his desires. There is a cost for everything and he had paid heavily, more with parts of his soul than his body. He was shrewd enough to keep the damage to others, not himself. Finally though, he had what he wanted. He was ready to make his courtship fully known and offer something intangible. A freedom from the life that bound her only to the surface. 

He hears the click of those shoes she wears on the wood, vibrating into the dark water and signalling him in the night. A siren’s call already and she’s still wearing legs.

Her hair glows in the moonlight when he finally breaks the surface with barely a ripple. He can’t resist playing, sneaking up on her as he flicks his tail and moves closer. Her silhouette is…different. Is she smaller? Can humans shrink? He didn’t think so but Merfolk can change at will so why can’t humans do the same in some way? They change as they age, he remembers, and he tries to think of how long he’s been gone in human years. The time is strange. 

He floats a little closer, just enough that he can almost make out the different hairstyle that accompanies the shift in her, and he calls out in the grating human speech. “Miss me?” 

She turns quickly, eyes skimming the horizon behind before finally looking down for the voice. He reels back, tail flicking in agitation and fear that he tries to hide. “You’re not Akane.” 

They look like her, similar in features but sharper. Less happy. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like this male version of her. Akane the human was bright like the sun or the coral in the reef that the fish liked to hide in. This person felt more like the moon. A pale reflection of the warmth he sought. 

“So you’re the reason she kept coming here,” they say. Their voice is lower than hers, smoother. “I knew she had a secret but I didn’t think… you’re not human, are you?”

He sneers at the stranger, sharp teeth displayed in warning. “Where is she?”

“Dead.”

He sinks for a moment in shock. Dead? She can’t be dead. He has his magic. He was going to bring her with him finally. She can’t- “Lies!” he hisses. 

They sit down on the wooden platform, heels removed and tucked into the side as they dip their feet into his water. He moves to see them clearer and one side of their face glistenes with the fresh skin of a scar. “There was a fire. She didn’t…” they cut themselves off. “She wanted to bring me here before and I always said no. I…I should have-”

“Fire?” The concept is strange to him. There is no such thing in the water, not outside of the volcanoes and eruptions that sometimes quake under, sprouting heat and pain if one gets too close. 

“Yeah,” the familiar stranger nods. He does not elaborate.

“How do I know it’s not a trick? I will pay for her return.” Humans like gold and shiny things, don’t they? Kokonoi can travel and dig up a treasure for her. 

“I would pay anything for her return,” the stranger says looking towards the moon. Kokonoi pauses. They are pretty, like Akane but different. As the moon is different from the sun. He decides he likes the sharpness of their jaw and the apathy in their eyes. He is stunned by the desire to see if he feels as soft as he looks or if Kokonoi will cut himself on the jagged edges he sees. Akane was bright and soft and kind. Kokonoi was prepared to fight for her in the deep, to keep her safe. He senses that this one would fight himself.

“Who are you?” he finally asks, pushing himself up to rest his arms on the dock and staring at him. He reaches out a long finger, careful with his claw as he touches the leg in the water. 

“Seishu.” The name is as familiar as an old current. “I’m her brother.” 

Brother. Another name for a hatchling. He remembers she said she had one in an old conversation when they first met. He had been intrigued by the figure sitting on the dock, much like Seishu sits tonight. “Koko,” he offers, pointing to himself. It’s the easier version of a name a human can pronounce. One Akane gifted him. 

“Koko…” 

The way he says his name makes him shiver, his spines flickering out. He reaches, trailing his claw over their skin. He’s tempted to make him bleed but Koko does not want competition in this moment, no matter how much he wants to taste. He drags his claw under Seishu’s foot, eyes flashing with pleasure at the way they flinch. 

“What are you?” Koko asks, looking up at her brother. “Akane said she was female. Are you?”

“What? No. I’m her brother. That means I’m male.”

He thinks about it and shrugs. Gender has no meaning, not really, not to a Mer who can change theirs on a whim. If he needs, he can adjust to suit them and the future he’s suddenly thinking of. He grieves for Akane, for his sun, but the moon controls the tides and Kokonoi is finding himself swept up in the current that Seishu pulls him to. 

Kokonoi hums softly, letting the sound verberate through the air. He could drag him down easily, but Kokonoi likes to take his time. He wants Seishu’s curiosity. He wants to be desired back. He is not lacking in courtships but there have been none that caught his interest until Akane. Until Seishu. “I’ll return. You wait.”

“You want me to wait for you?” 

Kokonoi nods. “I won’t be long this time. Next night.” 

Seishu looks at him before he nods. “Okay, I’ll come back. For Akane.”

“For you,” Kokonoi demands. 

He looks out at the horizon, at the moon that shines and is reflected by the water. “Akane loved coming here, thought is was an escape. Used to joke about not coming back.”

A promise Kokonoi made to her that she left unfulfilled. Promises were binding to beings like the Mer and the witches in the deep. He gives into the urge and licks the skin of the leg in the water. It makes Seishu yelp which causes Kokonoi to laugh. 

“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” he asks, leaning away now carefully. He looks ready to run. 

Koko shoves himself up higher, using his tail and his arms to heave himself for moment onto the wooden platform he sits on. It isn’t easy, but he’s strong. Seishu stares in awe at the dark colours of his tail and the white spines on his fins. Kokonoi flicks it, splashing him. 

The brother glares at him before flicking the water back. He grins at it, and the way Seishu’s eyes take in the differences between them. His gaze continues to linger on his tail and his hair and Kokonoi wants to preen in response.  

Koko leans closer. He needs to go back into the water but he wants to taste more. He wonders if Seishu will let him. He lets out a series of clicks, trilling slightly to lure him closer. It works because the human moves in without thinking and Koko is granted the chance to press his lips against his and nip, tasting blood. It’s sweet, but he thinks he prefers the taste of the man himself when he manages to lick inside his mouth. It stuns Seishu enough that Kokonoi can taste a little more, tongue moving against his gently, before he’s forced to jump into the water to breathe.

Seishu is in shock, staring down at the Mer who lowers himself further into the water. He can’t resist grinning at the moon above him, waiting for the response.

“You…kissed me.”

Kokonoi nods. “A human thing but enjoyable. You’re fragile though. Don’t want to break you.” There’s no revulsion that he can see in the human’s expression and it confirms his desire. It’s not only him. Not completely. 

Seishu touches his own mouth. “Are you allowed to do that?”

Kokonoi shrugs. “Why not?” he sticks out his tongue at the human and watches with pleasure as the human looks at it. “Do you have a clutch waiting for you? Your home?” he elaborates when he sees the confusion on his face.

“What? Oh…no. My parents died with Akane. It’s just me now.”

He grins, teeth flashing in the light. “The next night,” Kokonoi says. “Meet here. I had something for Akane but you…you will take it.”     

“I will?”

“Yes. Then her promise will be held.” 

“She made you a promise?” 

Kokonoi grins. “One made in blood. It will be worth the wait,” he says, more to himself than Seishu. “It’s a…gift,” he says, thinking of the closest proper human word. 

“Okay,” he nods. “Tomorrow night. Not like I have anything else waiting for me.” 

Kokonoi is not supposed to hear the last part but he does. “Next night, my moon.” He leaves before Seishu can question the term, swimming into the deep water. He has adjustments to make. Seishu’s taste is etched into his memory and he needs to add it to the magic that he’s paid for. He needs to adjust the home he’s created for a larger Mer than planned and more fortifications. Seishu, he knows, is going to be beautiful in the water. The moon belongs to the ocean and this one belongs to Kokonoi. He’ll make sure of it. 

everything taglist: @raith-way @zeleniafic @veetlegeuse  @chickensarentcheap @residentdormouse

@themaradwrites @kingsmakers @themagickjuju @sxrvivc

tr tag: @mitsuwuyaa @blackfire2013 @bleach-your-panties

network: @enchantedforest-network