#admittedly the circumstances im putting him in are. well.

[bornedbennys]

i love writing gordon. i go into it with an idea and then in the process of actually writing it he becomes at least 10% more pathetic than i originally intended. genuinely the saddest wettest dog conceivable. i need to kill him

[disneyprincemuke]

our spot * ls2

a text from you is the last thing logan expects when he's back home for the holidays especially when it's your first text in almost two years

pairings: logan sargeant x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of infidelity

notes: YOOO how is it that i've been screaming about oscar and sebastian for weeks yet i write about logan first anyway? hope u enjoy this bc i OFC enjoyed breaking my own heart while writing this <;/3

super long read btw, it's like 3.7k words

(f1 masterlist)

(part two)

logan isn't back home very often. he doesn't exactly have the chance to, given his circumstances. so when he is, it's typically a nice breath of fresh air. because that's where you are.

or at least, used to be.

he doesn’t hear from you often anymore. since he’d gotten busier with his promotion to f1, it’s been a lot harder to keep in touch with you.

admittedly, he does miss you. but what right does he have to tell you that outwardly?

the only way he knows what’s going on with you are whatever you let the public know of yourself. your instagram posts and stories don’t come often, so logan might as well consider you a stranger.

he only knows one thing, that his mother let slip over the phone during their call, that you’ve started seeing somebody recently. he doesn’t know if you’re still together — the man his mother speaks of doesn’t exist on any of your platforms.

perhaps it’s because it’s only hearsay? but you’ve always been sort of a private person yourself, so he’s not exactly surprised.

logan sighs to himself, rolling his chair over to the window that faces what used to be your bedroom. the window is shut with its curtains drawn.

you moved out the moment you turned 18. he once had your address when you gave it to him, and he kicks himself over the fact that he never got around to visiting you and seeing how you’ve come into your own.

he never got to see the apartment you would talk about growing up and all the decorations you planned on putting up.

he wonders, did you ever keep the framed picture with him when you went to disneyworld as kids? did you bring it with you?

logan huffs and pulls down his blinds. he turns to face his room, leaning back into his seat. it’s the holidays, but there’s nowhere to go and nothing to do with absolutely nobody.

his friends have all gone back to visit and spend time with family. he spent his first couple of days with his family, but even they’ve got better things to eventually.

all he can do is train for his next season.

he decides to finally get up to his feet, grabbing the gym bag that sits on the edge of his bed. he’s just about to drive to the gym when his phone lights up his dim bedroom.

a notification from you that makes his heart race and hands shake. a text from you is the last thing he expected out of his visit.

he hasn’t talked to you in nearly 2 years.

heard ur back home

he raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. he doesn’t write a reply immediately, so much hesitation and confusion mixing in his mind.

it’s taken him so off guard that he comes to a realisation that he doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore.

just for the holidays, im headed back to the uk after new year’s

your response is quick.

our spot

logan’s got no idea what you mean by that. until another text from you comes in.

10 minutes. see u

oh. you’re actually asking to see him.

suddenly he’s got no idea what to do. does he actually go?

he’s pacing around his room, frantically searching for the things he’d need to go and see you. which, wouldn’t actually be much. just his phone, his wallet, and

his gaze lands on the sad pile in the corner of his room, trinkets he’s collected from traveling the world in his first season. collected just for you, like you’d always talked about growing up.

now begs the question: does he bring it with him or does he just forget it ever existed?

doesn’t matter. he grabs his phone and wallet, heading out the door. his history with you is never spoken about.

maybe once, on a drunken night in australia with oscar. when he asked logan why he’s still visibly single, logan explained his situation.

how you kissed him the day he was leaving to stay in europe to fully commit to his junior career. how you’d called him every single night when you were teenagers, waiting around months at a time for him to come by for a short visit.

how you told him you loved him one evening when you were 19, in london when you were over for a visit. and how he had to put it on hold for his junior career, and never had the chance to get around to it because of his commitments to formula 1 now.

he had put it on hold, thinking you’d be around forever for him to come back to. he knows now that he’s never been more wrong in his life.

oscar never brought it up again after seeing the american choke on his words and laugh nervously as he retold the story.

when he found out you were seeing somebody, his heart broke. but he couldn't get himself to ask you about it. he knows it's his fault that you're in somebody else's arms now.

he quietly pads through his home, trying to pass his family members who have all resided in their individual bedrooms. even they've got no idea what's gone down between you two.

as far as they're concerned, you just simply drifted apart with time.

he parks his pickup truck right between the methodist building and what used to be the school you attended together growing up. he sits behind the wheel, eyes scanning the dark for any signs of you being here.

it's not a very far drive, only 5 minutes from his house and yours. just a playground that you used to hang at when you were growing up. when the world got too loud, this is where you'd come to regain composure.

he'd caught you one evening sitting here all alone when you were 8, and it's become your spot for late-night talks ever since. right on that green slide is where logan told you that he wanted to be an f1 driver when he was older.

it was on that blue swing that you admitted the crush you've had on him your entire life, and he reciprocated.

his heart races in his chest, unsure if you'd meant what you texted him. what if you bailed and this was all some sick twisted joke you're pulling on him?

and a random car pulls up in front of the methodist. he anticipates the moment you'd crawl out of the driver's seat, looking different from the last time he saw you - which was about 2 years ago when he last talked to you.

but after about a second, the backseat door opens, your leg poking out with your hair dishevelled in a ponytail. you close the door as you step onto the sidewalk, tugging down your dress that's hiked up your thighs as the car drives off.

logan finally turns off his engine, stepping out shortly after you. your eye roams the quiet street, locking into his as he watches you take a deep breath.

he nods, pointing towards the playground. you nod. he locks his truck and slowly makes his way to the brightly lit playground between the two establishments.

you make a beeline for the swing, dropping yourself down and bending forward to unstrap the heels that suffocate your feet. logan's not even going to ask where you'd come from all dolled up.

he occupies the empty swing next to you, clasping his hands together and placing them between his knees. it's a lot colder than he initially anticipated and his sweatpants are barely keeping him comfortable.

you sit in silence for the next couple of minutes. there's chatter from the methodist building next to you. you pick at your nails, trying to soften your breathing.

it's only then logan notices that your cheeks are flushed and the smell of alcohol in the air. which is obviously not coming from either place that surrounds both of you.

"are you drunk?" logan starts in a whisper, craning his neck down trying to get a look at you.

you look at him from the side of your eyes, lips pouted out in a frown. "tipsy," you correct him, "not drunk."

he nods to himself, rocking back and forth on the swing. he leans his head on the chain that holds his body up. he doesn't really know what to say.

in fact, he doesn't think there's much to say. you were the one who started ghosting him all those years ago. he's not upset or bitter about it, but he completely understands why you'd done it.

if he were in your position, he can almost guarantee that he would have taken the same measures.

"how long have you been back?" you ask, eyes tracing the design on the rubber playground floor. "why didn't you tell me?"

logan raises his eyebrows. "uh," he stutters, "i didn't know i had to. i'm sorry."

you shrug. "you didn't have to," you trail off, dropping your head low to avoid his gaze. "i just thought you would've told me when you'd come for a visit. we haven't seen each other in a while."

yeah, 2 years, he wanted to say.

"it's cause we haven't seen each other in a while that i didn't think to tell you i'm back home," logan admits solemnly, pressing his lips together. "i'm sorry, though. if i knew, you would've been the first person i told."

"i'm sorry i stopped picking up your calls," you suddenly say softly. "and answering your text messages. and telling my parents to tell you i'm away on vacation every time you came to visit."

he just nods. it hurt when you first started distancing yourself from him. but, what can he do?

he sort of caught on in the second week after you let him facetime call ring twice without an answer. that would’ve marked the fifth call you ignored, and the twentieth text you left him on delivered.

so he dropped it. he thought that maybe you would come around when he comes back to miami. apparently not, because you were ‘away’ on a trip with friends. which, now he knows, could possibly be just a lie.

logan smiles, mostly to himself as you’re looking straight ahead at the playground’s structure. “i get it. it’s alright.”

“no, really,” you adjust yourself to look at him with a sigh. “i feel horrible every single day about what i did. but i just didn’t know how to cope with the fact that you put me in the backseat when i was right there.”

“hey.” logan slumps his shoulders. suddenly he feels a tinge of guilt in his chest, and no amount of quick convincing makes it go away. “i understand why you did what you did. you deserve to be with someone who puts you first. i didn’t do that.”

you shake your head. a small smile creeps up on your face, looking up as your eyes start to glisten under the lights. “you don’t get it.”

“what do you mean?”

“i miss you,” you say in a sigh. “i thought you said you loved me too?”

“i did,” logan nods. then he corrects himself: “i do.”

“i still think of you,” you admit with a small smile. you laugh dryly to yourself before looking ahead at the playground. “sometimes i wonder how different our lives would be if i’d just never… stopped waiting.”

logan rests his head on the chain that holds the swing up. “sometimes i wonder how nice it’d be if i’d just,” he sighs, “chosen you.”

“same.”

he can see himself on the playground with you all those years ago. sitting in the structure, giggling with one another as you talk about your separate lives.

your lives seem to come together when you’re on that playground, though you walk separate paths that would prove to be more detrimental to your friendship.

you’d indulge one another in gossip the other had no idea about, but tried their hardest to relate and mirror frustrations. more often than not, a notebook is laid down on the ground between you while you try to draw out the situation of said gossips.

it always makes logan cringe thinking of how invested he’d gotten in your drama with your friends.

“i’m seeing somebody,” you whisper.

“i heard from mum.”

“yeah.”

logan takes a few breaths. “is he good to you?”

you nod. he just smiles then plants his feet into the ground. “that’s good. i’m so happy for you.”

“he’s not you, though, logan.”

he turns his head, looking at you in shock. “what?”

“i want you to tell me i’ve made a mistake,” you say flatly, turning your head to look at him with a frown. “tell me i shouldn’t be with him.”

“i can’t say that to you,” logan frowns, eyebrows furrowing at your sudden request. “i can’t decide that for you.”

you take a deep breath, shakily letting it out. “tell me you still want me, logan. and i’m all yours.” you sigh. “but i need you to say it to my face. cause i won’t wait for you if you don’t ask me to stay.”

logan searches your eyes for any sort of hesitation, or signs of backing off. but he doesn’t. you’ve got that same glimmer in your eye that he’s seen over and over again.

“i do,” he sighs, shaking his head. “i really do. but i can’t promise you anything. i’ll only break your heart. you know this. we lead two very different lives.”

you shrug, dropping your head again. “we could make it work. you’ll never really know.”

“please don’t do this. you’re with somebody else who gives you the world, i’m sure,” he tried to explain to you. “better than i can. you know at least that for a fact.”

you finally stand up, fists clenched by your side. “i can see it in your eyes, logan. you don’t want things to be this way — i’m giving you a chance to change the course of things.”

he looks up at you, lips parted and mind running with thoughts that all contradicted one another.

not talking to you took a while to get used to. especially when he moved up to formula 1, it was hard to find someone to talk to who would listen to him talk without judgement.

he needed your presence the most when he felt so out of place in his environment; like he was an imposter who didn’t deserve to be where he did.

your sudden departure from his life took a harder hit than he cares to admit. he thought about you every single day: the one person who can tell which smiles he fakes on the daily.

the ultimatum you’re giving him is too tough to make a decision on the spot. in hindsight, he’s not only breaking your heart, but also his.

logan sighs, standing up to tower over you. he hovers a hand over your shoulder. “let me drive you home.”

“no, come on, logan!” you shove his hand away from you and stumble a step back. “do something for once! risk something!”

“it’s not that easy.”

“but it is,” you say, matter-of-factly, giving him a stare of indifference. you hold your arms up by your side and raise your eyebrows. “i know my pain is such an imposition. but i’m tired of feeling like this when i know how you feel for me!

“when i know how to make this pain go away. work with me here, logan.”

“i can’t do that because there are more important things on the line for me right now!” logan spits at you, throwing his hands into the air. “i do, okay! i do love you! i think about you every single day, but i can’t throw away everything i’ve ever worked for just to be with you!”

“who says you’ve got to do that?” you shout back, shoving him slightly. “i’m asking you to choose me alongside everything you’ve got, not drop your entire career for me!”

“i’m a fucking laughing stock, do you not see what’s circulating the internet?” he asks exasperatedly with an eyeroll. “you don’t want that going for you. i’ve got bigger things to work on.”

he turns on his heel and walks towards his truck. when he doesn’t hear your footsteps following him, he stops halfway and turns to you. “get in the car, i’m driving you back.”

“so this is how it’s going to be?” you laugh dryly, gesturing at your surroundings with a finger point. “you’re just going to push me aside because you think you can’t give me what i need?”

“i don’t think it — i know so.”

“and what exactly is it that you think i need?”

“somebody to show up for you when it matters,” logan huffs, slowly making his way back over to you. “somebody who can love you even on his worst days; who can take you out on dates, love you on your bad days, and just be there for you.

“i can’t even do that for myself. what the hell makes you think i can do all of that for you?”

he stops right in front of you, chest heaving from frustration and eyebrows furrowed as he towers over you. “i won’t be the person who can give you what you need. not now, i’m still working to be better.”

“you don’t know that.”

“i’m done with this conversation, (y/n),” he sighs, taking a step back. the smell of your perfume increases his urge to just pull you into his arms, but he can’t do that to you, himself, or the guy you’re with. “get in the car, i’m driving you home.”

"fine, whatever," you snap, folding your arms over your chest and stomping towards him to reach the white pickup truck by the corner.

when he planned on coming home for the winter break, you reaching out was never one of his things to expect. he thought that you were absolutely done with him, given that you hadn't talked to him in nearly two years.

his brothers giving him flack for his formula 1 season, maybe, but you confessing your feelings for him all over again? he hadn't ever thought about it in a million years.

when he climbs into the driver's seat, you've already fastened your seatbelt. your legs are crossed, like your arms over your chest, and your body is tilted towards the window.

logan sighs. "(y/n). please understand it from my side. i don't want to hurt you any more than i already have. you don't deserve this."

you still don't meet his eyes. your eyes are trained on the dark scenery outside with a prominent frown on your face. "just take me back to my parents' house."

"what about your apartment?"

"i put it out on the market a month ago," you admit softly as logan turns on the engine. "i'm moving out of miami."

now, logan is typically a well-tempered person. growing up with brothers, it's definitely one way to train that aspect of yourself.

but the last time he had asked you to reconsider moving to the united kingdom with him after graduation, you had refused. because your life is here in miami: your family, your friends, and everything you've ever known.

all of a sudden, you're moving out of here?

he hadn't faulted you initially, but he might just start seeing a change of heart if it comes down to this.

logan shifts in his seat uncomfortably, lifting his foot from the gas pedal. suddenly he's curious to know more about what's going on in your life: moving out of the house is one thing for you, but moving to a completely different place is something else.

"where are you going?"

"new york for a couple months," you say, staring at the street ahead. "just for some training. after that, i'm off to germany. i got a job offer."

"what about your boyfriend?"

"i haven't told him about it yet," you shrug, "i've been thinking of you too much to consider what is to come of the relationship eventually."

"you shouldn't do that. i'm not your boyfriend."

a dry scoff passes your lips. "thanks, i actually know that."

he pulls up to the front yard of his home. pulling up the handbrake, he turns to you with a hand on the backrest of your seat. "i'm serious. don't sabotage whatever you've got going on for you. embrace it."

"really?" you scrunch your nose as you turn to face him. "life advice from someone who keeps sabotaging all of the lifelines i keep throwing out for him to save what we had going on for years?"

logan sighs. he raises his hands to surrender. "fine. do what you want. i only want the best for you and i know it's not me."

"whatever, logan," you scoff, taking off your seatbelt. you throw it back into place and unlock the car door, pushing it open. "i won't be around forever: remember that."

you crawl out and slam the door behind you. all logan can do is sink in his seat and watch you cross the road, walk up to your front door and shut that behind you as well. you don't spare him another look, which is when it all washes over him like tsunami waves.

but as much as he wants you, he will have to stand true to his words. because he knows his truth: he isn't the person you deserve to be with.

[dustykneed]

for context: star trek into darkness (specifically, my take on the implications of bones doing what he had to do and the emotional fallout of those missing scenes) (not that ive seen it!! but ive read enough fic to know the gist of it LMAO) (can you believe this started as an impulse draw to see if i could use pastels to convey heavy emotions and now im writing a very very long headcanon in my notes app.)

...

Leonard goes and he plays god, and injects Jim with that godforsaken blood, and then there is nothing left to do but wait.

He sinks into the chair at his desk, and steeples his fingers together. It occurs to him that these circumstances are the sort that would drive any religious man to bow his head and clasp his hands together, like so, and pray.

--but he is a doctor, and he has never been religious, and he has a duty to do, and he has broken his oath, and there is blood on his hands and flecking his shirt.

Leonard sits very still at his desk and weeps, and he does not pray.

...

sorry to all of y'all who had to find out i was an angst goblin this way <///3 but basically the hc/rough fic is an extension of the angst potential of that one scene where jim wakes up and fixates on spock (and his lack of response towards bones is never addressed afterwards i think? not sure but it's an interesting premise imo)

brief summary: bones never gets closure from jim after he wakes up because jim and spock get together immediately after and it just slips their minds, so bones is stuck in "oh god jim's dying" mode and feels absolutely terrible, but the bridge crew helps a bit by being there for him to hang out with, but still bones does overwork while trying to work through the sense of wrongness of not being able to have his emotional needs met after the whole jim dying fiasco and feeling like his best friend has forgotten him. he admittedly makes good progress (by which i mean he's able to take really big overwhelming feelings and put them away well enough in his daily life to function relatively normally) but the crushing grief is always in the background. about a month or so after spirk gets together, spock accidentally brushes bones' arm and is absolutely slammed by a wave of unexpected exhaustion and emotional pain and is like ??????!!!????????? long story short he drags bones to jim and bones cries for the first time since jim "died" and it is immensely cathartic and then jim blurts out a confession because he has horrible timing and asks bones to join him and spock and obviously bones cries harder and spock is about to smack jim upside the head lmao (bones says its way too much to process and he needs time but hes not exactly opposed, and they all start spending more time together, and then eventually bones is like fuck it and asks for a kiss and they finally get together !!!!!!)

as a treat for reading all of my mildly insane word vomit y'all get a soft bittersweet aos mcspirk scribble<33

gotta love aos jim's majestic eyebrows and aos spock's general sort of >:[ expression!! really growin on me tbh

[jakowskis]

Day 15 - Are there any ships you dislike?

alrighty so. there are only rlly four i ‘dislike’, and the first three… it’s more complicated than anything, it’s not entirely utter pure-n-simple disdain. it’s less about the ships themselves (in two of the cases, anyway) and more about how they seem to be perceived by the fandom + how much they dominate everything. other ships exist, guys! the other characters exist! anyway ill try not to be mean but i am gonna be petty, lol

so for starters, yeah, jack x ianto. i have a very specific view of it, that i do enjoy, but the fandom seems to be doing something else entirely and i've developed some resentment despite myself. especially bc it’s overrated as fuck. don’t get me wrong, it’s iconic, as far as being culturally significant gay rep, but if im honest idk how well they hold up in 2024? i thought their relationship in s1 and s2 of the show was lackluster at best. poorly written bread crumbs. and yeah i know it was big for 2006 but im just personally kind of offended that they could show them sucking face but not show the intricacies of why the hell ianto would fall for a guy who shot his girlfriend down?? like, their relationship is inherently dark and angsty to me and im interested in exploring that, bc the show certainly doesn’t (initially) bother to, and a lot of the fan content i see is either fluffy (??????????), or angsty in a Tragique way, or is just kind of… fetishy and whumpy? people slot them into a Specific Kind of Dynamic and it grosses me tf out. so the fandom culture rubs me wrong, and then it’s just… such a bummer to like owen and tosh and gwen in a fandom that only seems to prioritize this one ship. there are 22k fics in the torchwood ao3 tag, and 13k of them are janto. now, all that being said… they do intrigue me and endear me, just a bit. but it took the audios to make me give a fuck about them, which is sad. 

on that same note - i have the same relationship with tosh x owen, but i'm significantly less fond of it, cuz it just plain rubs me wrong. i like them in theory, so i spent months trying to figure out how to make them work and what other people are seeing that they think is so endearing and cute - i just can't find it. owen's treatment of tosh is just about the only thing i can't stand about him. he treats everyone poorly, but most of the rest of the cast defends themself (or even hit back, like ianto and gwen, and thats why i ship them with him! it’s spicy! i love balanced unhealthy dynamics in fiction hfdsjkf i can’t lie) - but tosh just lets him, creating an unhealthy power imbalance where she’s just getting hurt over and over again, and it makes me wanna fucking punch him cuz she does Not deserve that. i want him far away from her lmao. except under certain circumstances, cuz i have written fic about them, and i’ve read like three rlly good ones (and the main link between them is tosh stands up for herself and puts him in his place! i HATE how he walks all over her in canon ughhhhhhhhh). additionally, i do admittedly enjoy the angst of their canon arc. i just think fandom throwing them together and making it cutesy is lazy, uncreative, and an injustice to both characters. i think the SHOW throwing them together was an injustice to both characters, especially tosh’s. they're tragic and compelling, ill give them that, but theyre not sweet, and i don't think they'd be good for each other. 

(also worth noting on a show where everyone has tension w each other, imo barrowman & gareth and naoko & burn pull it off the least convincingly and have little to no chemistry. like every other duo just kind of sparks in some way or another, and neither of those duos do. which SUCKS bc they’re the canon ones. but it’s also heavily poor writing like they were doing the best w what they had. grr. like i still dont know what the fuck ianto likes about jack or what tosh likes about owen 😭 that’s ridiculous!)

the other ship i’m petty about is jack x john hart. i just think it’s far too popular for what it is. idek why that is, do we have a substantial amount of buffy fans in the fandom? don’t get me wrong, i liked john in the show + i liked their relationship as well, but i'll always be annoyed when a minor character gets more attention than the fascinating main ones. 

and lastly i hate john x ianto, because i respect ianto, lmao. i can’t lie, if he was my fav i’d probs ship it HJFKDSHFK i love putting my favs in awful situations. but as is it just grosses me out. get him outta there!! 

tldr: i don’t interact w the john hart side of the fandom, and if a fic is tagged 'jack/ianto tosh/owen gwen/rhys' i probably won’t read it 😷

[macncherries]

by the way, id like to thank everyone for all of the love on this; especially in regards to praising the body types here.

i work really hard generally, but especially on this, to portray characters I like in different lights than what the original media can give them. due to the manga creation process, and most definitely animation process, things are simplified. i have a worm in my brain that tells me to do the opposite, to extreme amounts. thank you all for indulging my schizo-posting. but more importantly, thank you to everyone who recognizes themselves or others in the body types here.

more below the cut, im going to ramble a lot.

my detail interest mostly applies to faces, as you can see, but Laios is very special to me. He has a BMI of 26, which by all technicality is "overweight". which is crazy to me because in his character art that literally serves the purpose of depicting his body type, he is nowhere near overweight.

you can obviously see hes more well-fed than other characters, but he has virtually no fat or muscle definition (other than those pecs, holy SHIT Kui. GAW DAMN.) anyways, my point here, is that if he's overweight, (which he should be, food is yummy :3) (and you know his whole characters purpose is to consume) then he should look adjacent to what his environment necessitates of him. i.e. he has a big appetite, has the motivation to consume a lot of things, has quite a bit of strength (but not so much as to out-do other races), and fights monsters daily. This says to me his body much match these circumstances.

im not dissing Kui for this decision, by the way. I think everyone has different interpretations of Laios, and what Kui puts out is definitely by all means canon. I try to apply circumstance, context and nuance to the existing canon. Its not me overwriting it entirely. Its the "parent" media after all, I've just taken it and made a sibling/child. I hope that makes sense.

anyways. a few comments on my OG post I want to highlight, cuz they mean a lot to me

thank you...... this means a lot... i want people to look like people, as silly as that is to say. Im really glad I seem to be (?) succeeding. I sometimes with my artstyle was a little bit more realism based, but its kind of difficult to find a balance. I don't know if what I do now is considered "semi realism" but I do want my bodies to look completely realistic. I gave them both scars, and yet I haven't had top surgery yet either. Im glad that you're able to see yourself nonetheless. I am a White Man so I do not feel comfortable identifying with Kabru too heavily (appearance-wise) but I am also slightly underweight, and generally have dark features, so I like to think his body type is also realistic. I'm really, really thankful for this comment. I don't know that I'm putting it into words very well, because its something I struggle with, but I do appreciate it.

just so you know, i read this comment in my notifications while I was at work, and genuinely started to tear up. I am very very happy to hear it. You already have a comment of mine stating this, but I really do appreciate it. Especially the line about seeing these bodies at waterparks. I know its not your intention, but it makes me happy to think about because it means the person with said body isn't ashamed of it; to be out in public and whatnot. Also, Man Studies is a dutifully coined term. i love it. I'm happy to have heard it. I draw men a lot, actually pretty much only men, admittedly. So I work extra hard on them. Thank you for the recognition, professor

anyways, i have news. this ref/HC sheet has some new editions coming to it. along with a google doc of all of the research/notes I've done while re-reading the manga. mmm... autism... she is a beaut. if you're wondering how I have this much time on my hands, its because I'm doing all of this while I'm at work. Autism-diving helps my 40 hour work week go by faster. so I'm glad you're all enjoying that.

no one gets it. this is waht autism does to a mf. welcome to macncherries schizo-posting :(

[sinistershepherd]

NEVER MISSING AN ANGSTY TUESDAY

How do the boyos react when there's one missing child, or a group of missing children? Like, they're not found in the daycare? :0

THIS JUST SHOWED UP IN MY ASKBOX IM SOBBING SCREAMING CRYING AND COMMITTING MASS GENOCIDE SO NOW IT’S ANGSTY WEDNESDAY

Anyways, great question!

Sun would panic. Where did that kid go??? They were just here, he could’ve sworn-

If others start to disappear too, he’d gather the remaining children in a secure corner (IE Nap corner or something of the like) and tell them all to stay where they are and shout if anything happens. He puts Gus on guard duty, as well as telling the security guards to be alert and ready in case something happens. He would then go around the daycare and search every nook and cranny there is for the missing kids/kid. Whenever a space comes up vacant, he would only become more nervous.

He always worries endlessly for the children, and, though there is a protocol for this, it wasn’t very clear on what to do if a kid was taken or just simply vanished from the daycare- let alone more than one. He would ask the security guards outside the front doors if they’ve seen any kids stray outside.

If they say yes, he asks where.

If they say no, he quietly excuses himself and pulls his head back into the daycare.

Following the yes route, Sun would become conflicted the moment that the guards suggest that the attendant should go and search for them, as big, armed men might not be as comforting as the child’s own caretaker. Sun is programmed not to leave the daycare, and only under dire circumstances may he overrun that code. Admittedly, this would be one of those circumstances.

The no route goes the same, the only difference is Sun leaves of his own accord instead of the guard’s recommendations.

Sun’s steps would be timid, and the eyes of patrons would feel like fire against his chassis. He isn’t supposed to be out here. This is Moon’s domain- out and about instead of confined to one room. Sun likes being confined. He’s fine with it. He has his space, and he takes care of it. It’s his safe spot.

Moon is the exact opposite. He can’t stand being in the same place for too long, aside from naptime, as he is happiest when around the children and wouldn’t leave them for the world. But at night? Free reign.

Which is why, despite the lighting and lack of darkness, Sun pulls back and lets Moon front. This does not please him. The bright fixtures above his head hurt his fragile light sensors, and the eyes as they switch seem to triple. They all know he isn’t supposed to be here.

Sun quickly explains the situation to his brother, and Moon eventually realizes that finding the kids is much more important than the lights or eyes around him.

He is the search party, per say.

Sun keeps him partially distracted to take Moon’s mind off the discomfort, and Moon keeps the rest of his focus on finding the kid/kids. He is much more calm about this than Sun is. Instead of becoming frantic or emotional, he applies himself fully to the task at hand and worries about emotional whiplash later.

If the search takes longer than twenty minutes, extra guards or S.T.A.F.F bots are assigned to help.

Once the kid/kids are found, Sun would switch back in, gently coaxing them out from wherever they are to check them over for injuries. If they are injured, he treats the wounds and asks what happened.

If the kid/kids were taken by someone from the daycare, both attendants will become livid and order the guards who helped them search to find the culprit after the child/children describe them.

“They what? Can you tell us what they look like, Sunspot?” His voice would remain gentle despite the fury within him.

If they left because they wanted to explore, Sun would scold them and say that they, “shouldn’t leave the daycare without a buddy! You know that, Starshine!”

They would be put in time out until naptime.

Either way, they will be taken back to the daycare and carefully watched over by both attendants.

Moon is the searcher, Sun is the comfort!

Also, please enjoy this auto fill moment I encountered

[hxseok-honee]

atlas heart || part 28

a/n : aha,,, ahaha,,,,, listen, i know this is a jimin au okay I KNOW -- but this chapter belongs to jung hoseok and thats that im sorry

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_______________________________

When Y/n finds Jimin down by the lake, she feels that every fiber of her being wants her to turn back, wants her to run and hide under her blankets -- as if she’s the one that needs protecting from him. He doesn’t see her until she’s a few feet away, approaching him from the shoreline. The smile he gives her when he turns is kind but reserved, like he’s preoccupied. She lets out an awkward laugh.

“Why did you want to meet down here in the middle of the night? Way to be weird, Jimin.” He rolls his eyes playfully, nudging her with his elbow before gesturing back toward the ground not far away, covered in grass instead of the sand here by the water. Y/n follows him there, taking a seat next to him with question marks in her eyes when he doesn’t answer her. He snickers at her confusion.

“You’re really stuck on this, huh? Maybe I just wanted to look at the stars with you.” Her features scrunch up cutely as she reacts to his admittedly cheesy one-liner, and he feels the tips of his ears go red. “Okay, I swear that sounded better in my head.” She grins before turning away, looking up at the sky in contemplation. Jimin thinks that maybe, in other circumstances, they really would have been able to sit here together in peaceful silence and watched the stars all night long. He hates that he has to ruin it.

“I actually… I have to talk to you.” She doesn’t pull her gaze from the sky, but he does notice that her expression has clouded over with something he can’t place. It looks a lot like resignation. Swallowing once and trying to shake out his nervous limbs as subtly as possible, he takes a single deep breath before turning his upper body to face her. She still won’t look at him.

“I know you’re probably going to hate my guts after this, and I completely deserve that because I’m selfish and stupid, and I’m too nosy for my own good, and I never should have pushed so much, but I--”

“I know.”

“Yeah, I know you know that I’m an idiot, and that I’m annoying, and that I ask too many questi--”

“Jimin, I know.” He stops then, and the look of pure confusion he gives her breaks her heart. She has no idea that the pained expression she’s giving him is breaking his. She can’t even keep her eyes on him when she continues. “I know that you know.”

Jimin jaw drops, and he gets the idea that he looks a bit like a dying fish, closing and opening his mouth as he tries to figure out how to continue. He hadn’t planned for this turn of events when he’d practiced the conversation in his head.

“You -- but how? Was I too obvious?” He sits up straight, terrified that his suspicious behavior had already gotten her into more danger. “Did I do something that risked your secret? What was it? Tell me so I can make sure never to do it again--” Y/n’s eyes shut as she sighs, and she quiets him with a shake of her head.

“Dumbledore told me, the day after you’d gone to see him. He wanted to warn me.” Jimin stares at the side of her head, processing that she’d known almost two weeks that he’d figured everything out, but she hadn’t confronted him about it. “I haven’t told the boys yet, but I’ve been freaking out about it. I wanted to talk to you right away, but… I decided to wait until you were ready to talk about it…” Her eyes flick to him, but at the sight of his gaze fixed completely on her, his attention fully hers, she looks away. “I was scared that you hated me. Even when you kept reaching out and talking to me, I felt like… maybe you hadn’t realized exactly what I am or what that means. I was waiting for you to leave me. Or expose me. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“I would never do that to you.” It falls out his mouth, feeling oddly like a confession when he says it without thinking and is immediately embarrassed. He clears his throat when she looks up at him with wide eyes, scratching awkwardly at his collarbone. “I needed time to process… not that you’re a werewolf, but that I had been such a fucking idiot the entire time. I should have listened to your friends and just let you be. I was nosy and selfish and objectively really annoying, and I hadn’t even realized that they were just trying to keep you safe by pushing me away. I’m really sorry, Y/n… for endangering you like that.”

He won’t look at her -- he can’t. But when a cold hand closes around his own, squeezing gently, he at least is able to look in her direction. She squeezes again, and, with as much courage as he’s ever had to gather at once, he lifts his eyes to meet her. She looks to be on the edge of tears, but she’s smiling at him, and it confuses him to no end.

“You’re not… mad? Because I completely understand if you are--”

“I’m not mad, Jimin. I’m kind of relieved that you know now, even if I am probably going to always be scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize that I’m a monster and run for your life.” He breathes out a laugh, knowing that she’s not joking. He just can’t imagine a version of himself, now or ever, that would look at her and see anything but the girl he’d been desperate to befriend all this time.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I want to help you, if that’s okay. I want to do anything I can to help keep you safe.” It’s then that she pulls away from him, her expression turning apprehensive. Jimin takes one look at her and assumes it must be about her friends. “I know that Hoseok and Jungkook don’t like me, but I can talk to them if you want me to! I can explain myself and make sure they know that I’m just trying to help--” She shakes her head suddenly, cutting him off with a wave of her hands. She can already tell how her conversation with them later tonight will go, dreading having to ask them to meet so she can break the news.

“No, it’s not them… I’ll handle the boys -- it’s probably better that you aren’t there when they lose their minds, so I’ll talk to them. It’s just… things are more complicated than you think. It’s not really as simple as helping me… there are things you still don’t know, and it’s not my place to tell you…” Jimin thinks back to the way Dumbledore had called the situation ‘infinitely more complicated’ than he knew, and the way Y/n’s talking right now has him going out on a limb.

“Is this… about Remus Lupin?” Y/n meets his eyes with alarm, her breath catching audibly in her throat, and Jimin knows he’s right. “He’s… like you, right? His friends are involved, too.” She gapes at him, unsure how to respond.

“How…” He looks away, rubbing at his neck uncomfortably.

“Well, the night I figured things out -- it was a few days before the full moon, so your symptoms were a little more apparent at the time. I saw him in the Great Hall the next day, and he was looking just like you… and his friends, they act a lot like Jungkook and Hoseok sometimes… it wasn’t hard to put it together.” Y/n sits there in silence, not certain if Jimin is just really observant and was hyper-aware of everything because he’d just realized such a monumental secret, or if she needs to talk to the Marauders and her own friends about being less conspicuous. Probably both. She barely hears Jimin when he starts talking again.

“Is… that what’s keeping you from letting me help? I swear I won’t say anything -- I’ll even pretend I don’t know about him. I’ll do anything.” She watches him as he starts to devolve into what’s probably the third rant in the last half hour alone, and she knows he’s desperate to prove himself to her. He doesn’t need to -- he’d made his innocence and kindness clear to her long before he’d had any idea of her affliction. It’s everything about him, really, that’s causing her so much pain. She’s scared for him.

“Jimin… are you sure this is what you want? We’re in the middle of a war… and you’re a muggleborn. If anyone were to find me out, and they link us… I don’t know what would happen to you. Everything’s so delicate and dangerous, I don’t know if I can put you in that kind of danger.” This time it’s Jimin that reaches out for her, slipping his fingers through her own and linking their hands once he has her in his hold. He looks entirely level-headed when he looks her in the eye and responds.

“I’m with you, Y/n. I’m with you.”

--

Y/n stares up at the entrance to Slytherin common room, a deep frown set into her features. She’d made what she’d believed to be the right choice by not having Jungkook and Hoseok in the same room when she told them about Jimin -- they have a habit of enabling each other’s worst characteristics, and the last thing she wants to deal with is two enraged boys in the middle of the night. But now that she’s here, having just left a furious Jungkook in the room of requirement, she’s not looking forward to having this conversation again.

Jungkook had been surprisingly calm when she’d broken to him that Jimin had discovered her secret, but if there’s only one thing in the world that Y/n can say with complete confidence, it’s that she knows Jeon Jungkook. The look of complete ease that he’d given her had terrified her far beyond any explosion of anger. She almost prefers that he had reacted. It had taken her the better half of an hour to calm him down, only feeling comfortable texting Hoseok that she was on her way to him when she’d seen an emotion cross Jungkook’s eyes other than blank detachment. Even then, it was only annoyance at the fact that she refused to let him “talk” to Jimin on his own.

Now, it’s almost 3am, and Y/n’s only brushing away her tragic attempt at reasoning with Jungkook when the door to the Slytherin common room slides open, revealing a sleepy-eyed, bedhead-ridden Hoseok. He’s only half-dressed, clearly unable to be bothered to care about his appearance this late at night. He scratches at his bare collarbone with one finger while he squints at her, his blatant concern hidden slightly by how disgruntled he looks.

“Do you have any idea what time it is? Why would you do this to me?” Y/n snorts, knowing from experience how objectively rude Hoseok can be in the first few minutes of being awake. She hopes he stays bogged down by his sleep-deprived mind long enough that he doesn’t completely lose it when she talks to him. She glances past him into the common room before responding.

“Is there somewhere we can talk in private? I have something to tell you.” Immediately, the sleep is gone from Hoseok’s eyes, and Y/n mourns the hope that he wouldn’t be clear-minded during their conversation. He nods once, pointing over his shoulder.

“My room’s fine.”

“Isn’t Yoongi there?” Hoseok shakes his head, a slight smile gracing his features while he explains.

“He got a call from Kim Seokjin not that long ago -- something about a late-night snack run and how eating alone is ‘a lonely habit’.” He shrugs, and Y/n guesses that Yoongi must get dragged out against his will by Kim Seokjin quite often if Hoseok is unbothered by it. Hoseok points again in the direction of his bedroom, and Y/n only follows with a nod.

By the time they return to his room, Hoseok’s awake enough to be self-conscious, so he’s searching for a shirt immediately, gesturing for Y/n to close the door behind her. Then he flops down onto his bed, crossing his legs and patting the spot at the end of his mattress for her. When she decides to remain standing, running her fingers along the edge of his bedpost awkwardly, Hoseok squints, suspicious.

“What happened?” Y/n closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, looking Hoseok head-on and ripping the metaphorical band-aid off.

“Jimin knows about me. He just told me. Before you say anything, we talked about it, and--”

“That little shit--” Hoseok’s standing from his bed, fists balled up in rage as he heaves out an enraged breath. “When I get my hands on that nosy, obnoxious fucking twerp--”

“Hoseok, wait! Wait.” Y/n holds her hands out in front of her, planting them on his chest while she stares up at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay! It’s fine, we talked! He’s not going to say anything to anyone, even about the stuff with Remus--” She’ll admit that saying that last part probably wasn’t her best idea, considering how Hoseok reacts, blind with fury.

“What do you mean? What does that mean?!” He’s growing louder now, and Y/n knows she has to calm him down before he wakes the entirety of Slytherin house. Taking his face in her hands, she tries to force him to focus solely on her, but it only results in Hoseok gripping at her wrists, desperation clear in the way his hold is shaking. He’s looking at her with wild eyes, demanding an explanation for something so wholly unacceptable, but Y/n can’t give that to him while he’s like this.

“Hoseok, I need you to breathe, okay? I’m okay. I will be okay. But I need you to lower your voice and breathe. Don’t think about anything else.” This display -- a total loss of control -- is what she’d expected from Jungkook, but the boy who’d been beside her their entire lives must have known better than to show his ruthless side and risk upsetting her. In this moment, Hoseok, who’s always so keen on hiding himself behind a mask, is seeing red the way he never has before, and that’s what scares Y/n most.

“Eyes on me, Hobi, hm? Look at me -- I’m right here, and I’m okay. Look at me. See? I’m perfectly fine. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, I promise.” She’d somehow managed to bring him down from his erratic high, keeping his face close until she could see in his eyes that he’s looking only at her. His breath is ragged, and if she thinks she’s caught the slightest tremble of his bottom lip when he opens his mouth, he’s hiding it well. But what he whispers to her breaks her heart clean in half.

“You can’t promise me that. The more people that know about you, the harder it is for me to trick myself into believing you.” Taking a breath to stop herself from tearing up, she releases him slowly, stepping back when he only moves to sit back down on the edge of his bed.

“Hobi… you can’t do anything to Jimin, okay? You can’t confront him or do anything rash. I mean it.” It takes a few moments, but finally Hoseok is lifting his eyes to meet hers. He nods, and Y/n knows that’s all she’ll be able to get out of him. She wishes it was enough, that weak agreement, but if there’s one other thing in the world she can say with complete confidence, it’s that she doesn’t know Hoseok quite as well as she knows Jungkook.

--

Jimin’s on his way to class the next morning, lost in his thoughts about Y/n -- he can’t seem to focus on anything else these days -- when he’s unceremoniously dragged by the back of his robes into an empty classroom and shoved against the nearest wall. Hissing at the pain, he barely has time to slump over and catch his breath before he’s being pinned back against the cold stone by a pair of very determined hands.

He stills completely when he finally lifts his gaze and meets the eyes of Jung Hoseok. The Slytherin is visibly furious, his glare almost manic as he pushes Jimin’s shoulders back into the wall. He only lets up when an involuntary cry of pain escapes Jimin, but he never lets the boy go.

“Now, you’re going to listen to what I have to say, and you’re going to listen closely. Yeah?” Jimin isn’t sure it’s a question that needs answering, considering that he’s literally trapped, but the increased pressure of Hoseok’s knuckles on his chest has him nodding frantically. Hoseok doesn’t release him when he leans down into his face.

“For some ungodly reason, Y/n has decided that you can be trusted, and I’m sure you loved that she said she’d talk to us so you wouldn’t have to do it yourself, huh? But I think that you deserve to have the whole picture, Park -- look at me when I’m talking to you.” Jimin had shut his eyes simply from the proximity of Hoseok’s hateful glare, unable to handle it, but when the older boy shakes him roughly, he opens his eyes so wide that he’s terrified to even blink.

“This game you’re playing? Using your obvious little crush on Y/n as an excuse to pry into her business and put her in danger just because you like sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? It needs to stop. Because you don’t know all the rules, Jimin. And you don’t get any do-overs.” Jimin can feel the grip on his shirt starting to tremble, and at first he thinks maybe Hoseok’s so enraged that he’s actually shaking, but the glint in his eye tells Jimin differently. It tells him that Hoseok is scared -- he’s terrified. The uncertainty of Jimin’s existence in Y/n’s life -- not knowing if this is going to end badly for them -- it’s scaring him, and Jimin gets the feeling that Hoseok’s someone who deals with fear by being angry. Taking a very big risk, he whispers out to the 7th year.

“I swear, I just want to hel--agh!” Squeezing his eyes shut when Hoseok lifts him away from the wall and promptly slams him back into it, he doesn’t finish his plea. He can feel Hoseok’s breath fanning angrily over his face, and he swears a low growl rumbles from deep within the Slytherin’s chest when he responds.

“Shut up! You don’t know what that even means. You don’t know how to help. All you’ve done is screw things up for us, so let me welcome you into our little group with a warning.” A hand clamps the sides of Jimin’s jaw, lifting his face and squeezing hard until Jimin opens his eyes to look at Hoseok.

“You get one chance, so if you even come close to screwing that up, Y/n is the last thing you’ll have to worry about. Clear?” Jimin nods again, the hand on his face making that incredibly difficult. Finally, Hoseok releases him and steps back, watching with unmasked annoyance as Jimin fixes his clothes and rubs at all the spots he’s sure will be bruised by morning. They stare at each other, Hoseok eventually rolling his eyes with a sigh.

“Y/n told me you want to help. She asked me to mentor you in potion-making. I only agreed to it because she’s very stubborn when she wants to be, and someone needs to take over her doses. I won’t go easy on you, so you better be ready for a summer of hell. I need to know she’ll be safe with you once I’m gone, and frankly, I don’t even trust you to boil a pot of fucking water, much less a dangerous, highly sensitive potion.” Jimin swallows hard but doesn’t comment on the blatant insult, only processing that Jung Hoseok has agreed to train him.

Hoseok’s eyes flicker to the door, and Jimin takes that as his cue that the conversation -- if that’s what this was -- is finished, so he wanders out of the room in a slight daze, Hoseok following closely. As if the universe is telling him that this moment can, in fact, get much worse, Jimin meets the eyes of one Jeon Jungkook as the Gryffindor happens to be passing on the way to class. Where Hoseok’s glare was unbridled fire and rage, Jungkook’s gaze is turning to pure ice, and Jimin can’t decide which is worse. Jungkook doesn’t even acknowledge him as he passes, breaking eye contact and going on his way as if Jimin doesn’t even exist. Hoseok chuckles darkly behind him.

“I almost feel bad for you, Jimin. If you think you have it bad with me, you’re in for a real treat with Jungkook.”

[vs-redemption]

Aaa im so sorry for bothering you! Can uou do my request from before (homeless kid) but now with hawks, shigaraki, and fatgum please? Im so sorry if its any trouble but your writing isFANTASTIC!!!!!!!!!

A/N: Phew! Sorry for the wait, but I wanted to make sure I gave you something I was proud of. And don’t worry! You aren’t bothering me. I was actually kind of wishing you’d included Hawks in the first request, and Shigaraki was a fun challenge to write! I really hope these meet your expectations.

A Surprise Meeting (Hawks, Fat Gum, and Shigaraki meet their abused child)

Warning:⚠️Mentions of child abuse and homelessness.⚠️

You can read the same scenario but with Bakugo, Iida, and Aizawa HERE You can read the same scenario but with Todoroki and Dabi HERE

Hawks

Hawks knew his patience would be put to the test whenever the Hero Commission called him in for a face-to-face meeting. He’d opened up his agency as far away from the head office as possible for the sole purpose of avoiding their overbearing attempts to control not only his career, but his personal life as well. He appreciated everything the Commission had done for him to an extent. After all, he never would’ve ended up as such a successful hero if they hadn’t taken him in as a child and given him intensive training to perfect his quirk. There were a lot of things he’d hated about living under the Commission’s thumb though. Because of that, he really hated whenever he had to go back there.

“Thanks for coming today, Hawks.” The president of the organization herself had come to greet him. He gave her a roguish grin despite the fact he wanted to role his eyes. He hated when they thanked him for obeying when it wasn’t like he had a choice anyway. “There’s someone we’d like you to meet.”

Hawks followed the president as she led him deeper into the facility than he’d been in a long time. His wings twitched behind him as unpleasant memories began to surface in his mind. He felt confused and uncomfortable when he was brought into a small observation room that had a view of one of the commission’s training spaces behind a large two way mirror. “Are you going to explain what this is all about?” Hawks jokes to try and ease his own tension, “Or are you keeping me in suspense on purpose?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” The president’s face remains stoic as she turns away and speaks into an intercom. “Bring her in.” Hawks looks into the training room on the other side of the glass and sees a random agent of the commission step through the door with a tiny little girl following closely behind. She looked to be around two years old. Hawks’ jaw drops in disbelief when he sees the two fluffy wings sprouting from the child’s back. He’d seen other people with wing quirks before, but this kid’s resemblance to him was uncanny. Her hair was darker than his, but the black markings around her golden eyes had his mind reeling.

“Of course we did a DNA test,” the president says flatly. “She’s definitely your child.”

Hawks steps away from the glass and runs a hand over his face, letting the information sink in. The commission had so much influence over his personal life that he’d mostly stayed away from any sort of relationship, knowing that there’d be too much drama over maintaining his image and reputation for him to actually enjoy having that kind of connection with someone. Admittedly, he had bent his own rules and caved into pressure once or twice after graduating the commission’s program. He wasn’t proud of it, but he’d mostly done it out of spite for all the years he’d spent being micromanaged.

“A woman dropped her off a few days ago,” the president’s voice turns sharp. “How could you let this happen?” Hawks wasn’t interested in a lecture at the moment, so he ignores the question in favor of moving closer to the glass and looking at his daughter more intently. She was cleaned up and wearing a standard uniform provided by the commission, but Hawks didn’t miss the painful looking scratches on her face or the raggedy, burned up ends of the feathers on her wings.

“What happened to her?” he asks, surprising even himself at the low tone of his voice.

“The mother admitted to doing most of it,” the president rattles off the information in a clinically detached way. “They’d also been living out on the street for a while as well, so who knows what might’ve happened.” The news was heartbreaking for Hawks. He hadn’t lived in ideal circumstances at that age either, and he wouldn’t wish that sort of life on anyone.

“Your wings didn’t start to grow back until you were a bit older, so we’re assuming it’ll be the same for her,” the president seemed oblivious to the emotional state of the hero standing next to her. “We’ve already started her on a special diet though, and she’ll begin her training regimen at the beginning of next week.”

Hawks wasn’t sure if it was some bird trait related to his quirk or just the knowledge that he was the kid’s father, but some sort of instinct kicked in with such intensity that it washed away any feelings of duty or habits of obedience that had been programmed into his brain.

“You’re not keeping her,” he says fiercely. The president just raises her eyebrows at him.

“The mother left her in our custody,” she states. “You should be thankful that we’re willing to overlook your mistake. With any luck, we’ll be able to groom this girl into a hero just as spectacular as you.”

“If you don’t release her to me, it’ll be you that’s made a mistake,” there was a promise of something terrifying in Hawks’ tone that seemed to finally shake the president’s resolve.

“You really think you’ll be able to be a decent parent?” she asks coldly.

“I won’t let her be robbed of a childhood like I was,” Hawks declares firmly. “If she wants to be a hero, she can make that decision when she’s old enough to do so.” Thankfully, the president decided not to argue any more. Hawks turns back to the window and allows himself to relax a bit. Looking over his daughter again, his heart filled with a love so strong it threatened to overwhelm him. He made a vow to love and protect his little girl so that she had the safest and happiest life possible.

Fat Gum

There was nothing quite like the feeling of walking around the lively streets of Osaka at night. People of all walks of life tended to come out around this time, and the delicious smell of cooking food filled the air. Taishiro Toyomitsu, better known as Fat Gum, could think of no better city to do his hero patrols. The crime rate was a little higher than in other places, but it was worth it for him to have easy access to the yakitori, yakisoba, and okonomiyaki stands that kept his quirk plenty fueled up.

Tonight he was in high spirits as he walked down one of the more famous shopping streets, stuffing his face with incredible snacks, and having friendly encounters with both locals and tourists alike. A couple of young musicians were playing on one of the street corners, so he tossed a few coins into their cup. Everything seemed to be fine basically, other than a few people who’d stumbled out of bars and needed help getting to a taxi. It was one of his more tame patrols, but he wasn’t going to complain about that.

He noticed that he was being followed near the end of the night, when most of the shops and restaurants were starting to close up. The busy streets began to empty as people hurried to catch the last few trains, and only when there were just a handful of people left out sweeping the sidewalks did the figure emerge from the shadows. Fat Gum was surprised to find that his pursuer was a young boy around nine years old with strange, aquamarine colored hair.

“Hey there, kiddo!” he kept a huge grin on his face but still kept his guard up just in case. “Can I help you with anything?” The kid looked to be in pretty rough shape as he gazed up at the BMI hero who towered over him. Fat Gum didn’t like the poor condition of the boy’s clothes, or that he appeared extremely dirty. The most concerning thing of all was how emaciated the boy looked. He could practically see the bones in his arms, and his cheeks were sunken with hunger. He wondered when the poor thing had last eaten a proper meal.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” the kid finally speaks up after a moment. Fat Gum finally noticed that the boy had started shaking like a leaf. He wasn’t sure if the boy was just cold, or if he was actually afraid. He watched as the kid reached into his back pocket and pulled out a tattered old photograph. “By any chance, do you know this woman?” The boy flinches away while holding out the paper for Fat Gum to see.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, buddy!” the large hero says while taking the photo as non-aggressively as possible. “Let’s just take a quick look at this and… oh.” He recognized the woman staring back at him from the picture. He hadn’t seen her in almost a decade. He’d lost contact with her once she’d broken his heart after a short romantic affair. “Uh,” Fat Gum felt a little awkward, “Is this your mom?” The boy nods his head while keeping his eyes closed. “Then,” Fat Gum chuckles nervously, “am I your dad?”

“Yeah,” the boy mumbles before letting a few tears slip out, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” the need to be a hero for this boy was stronger than his discomfort with the situation. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. How could I have not known about this until now?”

“Mom wouldn’t let me tell you,” his voice cracks with emotion. “She said you’d be mad.”

“Well, that’s just silly!” Fat Gum shakes his head in disbelief. “Where is your ma’ now?” The boy finally glances up and meets his eyes. They were the same shape and color as his own.

“She got arrested yesterday,” he admits, sounding embarrassed. “Another hero caught her pickpocketing. She sometimes asked me to help her, but I haven’t been feeling well lately. We don’t have a place to stay either, so we had to find a way to get food.”

Fat Gum hated the thought of that woman not only keeping the existence of his son a secret, but also forcing a young boy to break the law. Perhaps that was why the boy looked so scared. He probably thought he was going to get in trouble too. Fat Gum had other ideas though.

“I’m really sorry that happened to your mom,” he says sincerely, “but she will have to pay for the crimes she committed.”

“I know,” the boy looks back down at his feet.

“But there’s no reason you have to follow in her footsteps,” Fat Gum says cheerfully. “I’m more than willing to take you under my wing. That is, if you don’t mind.” The boy finally allows a tentative smile to grow on his face. He clearly liked the idea.

“Well then, first I think we should get you to a doctor,” Fat Gum reaches down and gently pats the boy’s head. This time, he doesn’t flinch away. “And after that, I’ll make sure you get a decent hot meal! No kid of mine is going to look like skin and bones.” The boy eagerly agrees and allows Fat Gum to scoop him up into his arms. He had a feeling it was going to be a dream come true to finally have the fun and affectionate father he’d always imagined.

Shigaraki

People were always going on and on about how hard public servants worked and how important their jobs were. Heroes, police officers, firefighters, health workers… sure, they all had hefty responsibilities, but nobody ever considered the absolute nightmare it was being the leader of the League of Villains. Shigaraki wanted to see someone else try to manage the group of ragtag, lawless, misfits that he’d been left in charge of. It’d be one thing if they were all there to support him and his diabolical plans, but unfortunately a good number of his followers were just hanging around in the hopes of an opportunity to continue the work of the Hero Killer, Stain.

Stain had always been a sore spot with Shigaraki, ever sense the man had shown up at his hideout just to criticize him for not having a clear goal. He’d never admit it out loud, but the jerk might have had a point. At first, he’d just wanted to kill All Might, but that was only because it was what his master, All For One, had wanted. After All For One had been arrested, Shigaraki was sort of left without a guiding hand or a clear path to follow. He still wanted to kill All Might. And he wanted that annoying Midoriya kid dead too. When he really thought about it, Shigaraki just kind of wanted everyone to be dead.

The door to the villain’s hideout clicked open suddenly, making everyone in the bar turn to see who’d arrived. It was just Dabi, trailing in the scent of burnt corpses. Shigaraki clenched his teeth and sighs in annoyance. That ugly fire user was supposed to be out recruiting people to the League, but all he ever did was incinerate any potential members he came across.

“I didn’t know we were running a daycare service now,” Dabi comments lazily while grabbing a stool at the bar and signaling Kurogiri for a drink.

“What are you talking about?” Shigaraki felt the prickling urge to scratch at the flaking skin on his neck, but managed to control himself. Dabi was always trying to get a rise out of him and the worst thing he could do was take the bait.

“Some crusty looking rugrat is hanging around outside,” Dabi shrugs. “You might want to do something about that.” Shigaraki wasn’t sure if the annoying man was messing with him or not, but he sent Twice to check it out just in case. The last thing they needed was a lost child attracting the attention of any heroes. A few minutes later, Twice returned with what looked like a four year old boy trying to claw his way out of his captor’s arms.

“Put me down!” The kid protests before opening his mouth and biting down on Twice’s fingers. The villain drops the kid who lands with a thud on the floor.

“There really was a kid out there!” Twice gestures to the boy dramatically, “He’s completely rabid though! It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“You picked the wrong place to run away to,” Shigaraki walks up to the boy feeling irritated. “You should’ve stayed with your mommy and daddy.” The boy glares up at him from the ground and Shigaraki gets a big shock. Aside from the hair color, it was like looking into a mirror. The boy had the same piercing red eyes as him. The skin around those familiar eyes was dry and irritated, just like his own too.

“You ARE my daddy!” The kid blurts out and the atmosphere in the bar gets extremely uncomfortable. Of course, the silence is broken by a snort from Dabi.

“Oh man,” he shakes his head. “I can’t believe someone actually had the stomach to sleep with you.”

“Shut up, Dabi!” Shigaraki tries to swallow down the panic and horror bubbling up inside him, but the persistent itch on his neck seemed to double in intensity over this unexpected news. He gives in, reaching up to scratch at the damaged pale skin below his ear. It had been All For One’s idea for him to have an ‘experience’ with a lady. He’d said it was an important part of becoming an adult, but now Shigaraki could only see it as a huge mistake. A voice drifted through his mind, telling him that it would only take five fingers to make this whole problem go away.

“Where’s your mommy?” Toga skips over happily, unable to resist inserting herself into the situation.

“I don’t know,” the boy was putting on a brave face, but it was clear that he was afraid. “We had to leave our house and sleep outside. Mommy said it was because my dad was a villain, but then she was gone when I woke up.”

The story struck a chord in Shigaraki. He’d been left abandoned without a home as well at a very young age. The last thing he wanted to do was sympathize with the brat though. What he wanted was for the kid to disappear. The idea of a guy like him being a parent was laughable. He was barely an adult himself, and he had enough on his plate right now. A small child was only going to be a burden. His fingers twitched, ready to activate his quick as he continues to look down at the helpless boy at his feet. The conflicting feelings inside him were making the itching flare up terribly. Every inch of skin on Shigaraki’s body felt like it was on fire now.

“You’re just like everyone else, aren’t you?” the boy suddenly slumps forward, the fight going out of him. “You hate me.”

A weird resolve washes over Shigaraki at those words. No. He wasn’t like everyone else. If there was one thing all the member of the League of Villains had in common, it was that they’d all been rejected by friends, family, and even heroes for traits they had little or no control over. This boy was just as much a victim of this crooked society as the rest of them.

“You’re forbidden from ever leaving this building,” Shigaraki states flatly. “And don’t expect anyone here to coddle you or clean up after you. The moment you become a nuisance you’re back out on the street.” The boy nods in understanding while finally pushing himself off the ground. Shigaraki wasn’t sure what he’d just signed up for. The only thing he knew for sure was that his job had just gotten a lot more complicated.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

When Our Hands Next Meet

Series summary: Soulmates are given memories of their past lives when their hands touch. For Virgil and Logan, each memory is happier than the last.

This series was created for @analogicalweek and made in collaboration with the lovely @birdsongisland! Please go look at the piece that inspired this work and support them with reblogs so they’re work can be seen!

Credit to birdsongisland for beta reading this work and truly making it so much better with their suggestions. Thank you!

Chapter 1: Did You Forget?

Chapter Summary: Logan plans a surprise for Virgil on their anniversary, only to receive one instead.

Day 1 Prompt: Debate/Anniversary

Warnings: food mention. If there are others please let me know!

WC: 1320

AO3 link

Taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi @logans-library @im-an-anxious-wreck @edupunkn00b

Logan adjusted the flowers in the vase one last time, stepping back before he nitpicked the setup to death trying to get every last detail right. Neither of them liked big, fancy occasions so he always tried to get the details right down to the wrinkles in the cloth so it would be special for them regardless. Frowning he stepped forward to wipe a bit of chipped nail polish off the pristine silky tablecloth, wincing as he looked at the state of his nails. Sometimes he hated how much he worked with his hands that polish never seemed to last half as long as it should, but then he thought of Virgil holding his hands while they watched a movie or their current binge show, carefully applying each color and keeping a hold of his hand while it dried even if it wasn’t strictly necessary- the image made him blush right down to his shirt collar and duck his chin against the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. He couldn’t afford to get distracted at the moment- at least not for too long. Everything was set, all he needed  was for Virgil to come home.

He’d been surprised coming out to the backyard to set everything up only to find the lawn swept clean of debris and fairy lights strung up, twinkling in the late afternoon sun. He had wondered what Virgil had been doing, running off to the store after dinner. He’d spouted something about an errand, pecking him on the cheek and leaving before Logan could think to ask what he needed to be going out for at six o’clock in the evening. 

Admittedly he’d been a bit distracted with his own plans, digging for a lighter he knew they had to light the candle on the cupcake later. Thankfully said cake was holding up perfectly in the back of the fridge where he knew Virgil wouldn’t see it. Standing on the porch he smiled softly as he looked around, the backyard turned into a magical scene thanks to Virgil’s efforts. He hadn’t thought to set the lights up when he had planned his own surprise, so he was glad Virgil had made it even better.

Not a moment too soon he heard the car pull into the driveway, making a giddy sort of happiness settle in the center of his chest. Never had he been so enamored with someone that the mere thought of their presence lit up his nerves with a pleasant hum that left him dizzy and anchored in the same moment. But here he was, shifting anxiously from foot to foot waiting for his soulmate to come through the door. He only had to wait a minute before Virgil stepped out onto the back porch, confusion settling over his features before he shook it away and a somewhat nervous smile took its place. Smiling himself as he drew near, Logan held out his hand which was taken immediately and gently squeezed. The air was similarly squeezed from his lungs when he finally locked eyes with Virgil, his deep brown eyes glittering along with the purple eyeshadow applied underneath them with a darker shade of lipstick painting his smile.

Blushing slightly, he ignored the other's amusement and tugged him towards the table. “Did you forget what day it was?” He teased.

“Considering we ate dinner in suits- hardly. I was just surprised to find you out here, usually we eat dessert inside.”

“You had already set up the fairy lights. I thought it would be an opportunity missed if we didn’t celebrate our anniversary outside on such a lovely night.”

Virgil smiled softly and ran his thumb over his knuckles. “I’m so glad that I have you in my life, this is perfect. So much better than that auditorium where we first met.”

“Debate club was hardly the ideal circumstance for us to meet.” Logan chuckled.

“I don’t even remember what the subject was.”

“I believe it was one of the duller practice ones asking whether or not peanut butter was ethically sourced- to which you argued you were allergic and therefore should get a passing grade regardless because asking you to talk about it was unethical in and of itself.” Laughing at the memory he watched as Virgil only huffed in mock annoyance.

“It was a good argument!” Screwing his mouth to the side Virgil nudged him playfully. “It was a dumb subject anyway no one had any good counterpoints.”

“I did!”

“So did I, that’s not the point Lo.” Laughing outright at the seething look he received, Virgil held his hands up in mock surrender.

“You did, actually. I remember you doing very well for not having prepared anything.” Logan sniffed indignantly. “Mine were just better.”

Smirking, he leaned back into the table as Virgil’s expression morphed into a “challenge accepted” glare, eager to see where this would go. He always loved getting Virgil into debate moods, he became so animated and focused- a far cry from when he first started and thought hissing was a legitimate debate tactic. 

“I’ll have you know,” Virgil stepped forward purposefully, petite stature making it not nearly as intimidating as it was meant to be. “I’ve learned much better debate tactics since then anyway.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Logan smiled. “Oh have you-”

He cut himself off with a choked gasp as Virgil was suddenly holding his hand while down on one knee, a small box held open in his palm to reveal a ring with a stone that twinkled gently with the fairy lights behind them. He snapped his mouth shut as Virgil smiled that gentle smile, the same smile that Logan had counted himself the luckiest person in the world to see the first day he had seen the emo teen slouch his way up the stage and behind the podium, nerves clearly telling him to listen to his fight or flight reflex but instead choosing to put those around him at ease any way he could. 

“Logan.” He was snapped out of his thoughts with a gentle squeeze to his hand. “Do you remember how we had to shake hands after the debate?”

“I do.” Logan breathed.

“I saw all of you in that moment, every second we’ve spent together since our souls first met. I’ve loved you in every single life before this and in every single one I love you more still. I know it isn’t necessary but- I want to have a day that makes the fact that we’re soulmates everyone else’s problem.” Virgil held Logan’s gaze earnestly as he choked back a laugh. “Logan, will you marry me?”

“Virgil- of course!” Later he wasn’t sure if Virgil had tugged him down by his tie or if he had gripped it when Logan leaned down, but it didn’t matter as their lips connected and Logan could feel his boyfriend’s, no his fiance’s- his soulmate's heart racing underneath his fingers as he placed a hand to his cheek in an attempt to pull him closer.

Pulling away for a moment he laughed gently at the lipstick smeared slightly, reaching forward to try and fix it. “Virgil, that is not a legitimate debate tactic.”

“I’m taking it as a win anyway.” Virgil reached forward as well, pushing his glasses up to rub away a few stray tears Logan hadn’t noticed collecting on his cheeks. He leaned forward to kiss him again, and again, and again while the candles Logan had forgotten he had lit on the cupcake burned themselves out on the icing and the engagement ring was placed on the table in favor of holding each other as close as they could. And as Logan buried his face in the crook of Virgil’s neck and felt the other’s embrace tighten he knew that in all the lifetimes they had and would share, there was nowhere else he would rather be.

Next

[jonahlovescoffee]

Mistletoe | J.M.

a/n: i suck at writing. the only thing im good at is procrastinating my procrastination so send help pls :/ this fic was supposed to be up before Christmas but i just finished writing it today and i’m not even proud of it :’) anyways, happy reading and be sure to tell me what you think in the end <3

summary: all you wanted to do was kiss your boyfriend under the mistletoe, but things didn’t work out as planned.

warning: secondhand embarrassment, fluff & some mildly suggestive themes in the end bc i couldn’t help it lmao

word count: 2407

“And that’s what I call a perfect plan,” Emily threw her arms up in the air excitedly, thankfully not getting the attention of anyone else in the cafe. She had just finished explaining the details of her stupid plan to make your boyfriend finally kiss you that was admittedly not so stupid after you ran through the whole thing once again in your head. What’s the worst possible outcome of her plan? Him hating you forevermore? You highly doubt that’d happen so maybe this plan was actually worth a try after all.

“Do you think this is a good idea though, I mean I don’t wanna come off as too needy or anything...” you rambled on nervously, your hands fidgeting with the hem of the beige sweater you were wearing.

“You always overthink everything,” Emily landed a firm reassuring pat on your shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll be completely fine. Couples kiss each other all the time! And it’s about time for that dip to do the same to you too.”

You and Jonah had been dating for quite a while now — nearly a month and a half to be exact — but you both had never kissed. His previous girlfriend had left him heavily scarred and this was your first romantic relationship with anyone, meaning that you were too inexperienced in this relationship department to know how it works, so of course both of you had agreed to take it slow. Don’t get you wrong, he did shower you with affection all the time through other methods, mainly through intimate gestures but he didn’t make a move to take it any further and you being the useless coward you were, you didn’t even dare to initiate it either even though you’d gotten comfortable enough with Jonah to the point where you do want to kiss him. Very badly.

Now, you knew that each and every relationship was different and there was nothing wrong with not choosing to express one’s love through something as absurd as kisses, but after Daniel accidentally let the fact that Jonah actually kissed his ex on their first date slip during one of your conversations with him, you started to wonder whether you were the problem. Were you not pretty enough? Not capable enough?

Your worsened insecurities didn’t go unnoticed by your best friend, which was exactly why she dragged you out to a cafe that late autumn day to offer you her so-called ‘foolproof’ plan that couldn’t go wrong.

So when winter rolled around and it was time to put up Christmas decorations around your house, maybe it was because of the indescribable Christmas magic in the air, or maybe it was because of the delightful festive cheer, you eventually decided to follow her advice and hung a mistletoe above the door. Now all there’s left was for you to greet him at the door, inconspicuously gaze at the mistletoe above you, say something along the lines of, “Wow, I wonder how that mistletoe got there!”, and then hope he’d get the hint and was ready for a cute Christmas kiss — If he did go along with the plan, that is.

Which explained why here you were right now leaning against a wall of your living room, shifting your weight from one foot to another repeatedly while biting your nails as you stare intensely at the clock, trying your best to soothe the nerves in your stomach. You had just invited him over for dinner like usual and was now waiting for his arrival anxiously like something big was about to happen although you knew very well that a kiss was hardly considered that big of a deal.

The loud chime of the doorbell that sounded moments later disrupted your train of thought, startling you a little. You hurriedly smoothed your attire and took a deep breath to calm yourself down before making your way to answer the door. You flung open the front door with a cheeky smile plastered on your face.

“Hey, ba....Corbyn?! What are you doing here?” Your voice raised a pitch in the end of your sentence from how shocked you were when you were greeted with the sight of Corbyn standing on your doorstep instead of your boyfriend whom you were expecting, your eyes widening in disbelief so much that you swore they almost popped out of your sockets.

“Just here to pass your present before I return to my hometown tomorrow for Christmas,” he answered, passing you the rectangular shaped present that was beautifully wrapped with vibrant Christmas-themed wrapping paper. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve thanked him profusely and proceed with guessing excitedly about what he might’ve gotten you (because he is an amazing gift-giver) but this time was different. You had a mistletoe dangling from the ceiling above your head and your friend was not supposed to be here now. Out of all the times he could’ve passed you your present, he had chosen today to do it. Great.

“But isn’t that Jonah’s car?” You asked, pointing at the black Audi that was parked in your driveway, completely ignoring the present that was now in your hand.

Please don’t see the mistletoe. Please don’t see the mistletoe....

“Not even a thank you?” Corbyn cocked a brow but sighed and gave you a reply to your question when he realised you were scowling at him. “Yeah, I caught a ride with him since we’re heading to the same place and he wants me to wash his car afterwards. This dumbass is too lazy to do anything by himself,” he explained and rolled his eyes.

“He’s in the car now talking on the phone with our manager, so yeah,” he added, still not noticing the mistletoe, even when he looked up a little and scratched the back of his head. Luck was definitely on your side today.

“And I bet you have tons to pack for your trip tomorrow, don’t you? So you better hurry home and get ready,” this was the best excuse you had to get him to leave before things got awkward.

“Hello? It’s me you’re talking about,” Corbyn ruffled your hair with his hand. “My stuff is all packed and ready a week ago.”

“But I guess I should get going anyway,” he said, clapping his hands. Jonah can be seen walking towards you both. “The last thing I want is to third wheel your date so see ya’ soon,” he bid his goodbye and you felt a weight lifted from your chest when he still paid no attention to the stupid plant.

But someone else sure did. You watched as a smirk grew on Jonah’s face when his gaze lifted higher to see the mistletoe above you. He was about to walk away when Jonah stopped him by putting an arm over his shoulder.

“Hey, Corbyn, don’t you think it’s extremely rude to leave a girl standing under a mistletoe without a kiss?” His simple question had you internally cursing him with a long string of profanities as embarrassment flooded your veins instantly, heat spreading from the tips of your ears to all over your face.

“Oh,” He dragged out the one syllable word when he finally took notice of the mistletoe as realization hit him. “No wonder you were acting all weird just now! Because you wanted a kiss from me but you didn’t have the guts to say it, huh?”

“No, I absolutely don’t want anything from you!” You waved your hands frantically in front of you in denial.

“Including your present? So give it back to me,” Corbyn instructed, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, in which you responded with another deep scowl.

“No, the present is mine now so you can’t take it back!” You practically screamed at him as you tightened your hands around the said object protectively. You friendly banter went on for a while more, with Corbyn teasing you and you shooting your crafty retorts back at him.

Jonah watched the exchange between you and his best friend silently with an amused smile and couldn’t help but burst into laughter when Corbyn suddenly said “you’re so annoying! It makes me want to kiss you to shut you up” in the midst of your playful bickering, making your cheeks redden even more and from the way you open and close your mouth without any words coming out of it, it was evident that you were at a loss of words too.

“Then kiss her, bro,” Jonah urged him with a nudge of his shoulder. “But not on the lips. Those are mine,” he said in a serious tone, the former cheekiness all gone. It was merely a simple sentence but little did he know butterflies erupted in your stomach just from hearing it.

“As much as I’d not want to kiss you, this is tradition and we can’t break it,” with a hopeless sigh, Corbyn scrunched up his nose in disgust but proceeded to lean in and give you a brief kiss on your cheek before pulling away almost immediately. “There, that’s settled. Hang your mistletoe elsewhere next time. The last thing I want is to fucking kiss my best friend again,” he left with a wave of his hand at you and Jonah.

“I guess it’s just the two of us now,” Jonah stated the obvious as his car pulled out of the driveway a moment later by Corbyn.

“Shut up and get lost, I don’t wanna talk to you,” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking away from him, still mad that he made your friend kiss you. It was nothing more than a kiss on the cheek but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t awkward.

“But why are you still standing here then? Right under the mistletoe,” he moved closer and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, kicking the door shut behind him. You were engulfed in his uplifting and clean scent of autumn that you loved so dearly, considering that autumn is your utmost favourite season of all. “Wonder how did that get here. I don’t remember seeing the mistletoe the last time I visited.”

“Fuck you, Jonah.”

“Here? Against the wall? Damn, darling, you sure are one kinky girl,” he joked, earning a playful smack from you.

“Stop,” you whined and buried your face in his chest to hide your blushing face that was already as red as a tomato or even redder at this point. He chuckled, his hand moving to cradle your face and pushed it backwards gently before tilting it upwards.

“Sometimes I forget how delicate and innocent you actually are,” he breathed and you could feel heart doing jumping jacks when your gaze met with his intense one. Your mind went totally haywire when he started to lean in, your breaths mingling with each other’s. “And you have no idea how much I’ve thought about doing this.”

When your lips connected at long last, the wonderful sensation was like nothing you had experienced before. The kiss was soft and moist and hot and breathy, not trying to win a battle but seeking union and closeness and the sharing of one breath, one sensation, one timeless and passionate moment. You yearned for more — you wanted so badly to feel so, so much more of him — so you didn’t hesitate to comply to his wish when he bit your lip lightly for permission for his tongue to slip into your mouth.

The heat rose in your cheeks as your tongues entwined, quick and electric and delicious, then firmer, more determined, more curious about the heat that lay within, seeking to chase down that elusive liquid lightning that reached through both of you. Instinctively, you grabbed fistfuls of the soft material at the front of his coat to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He groaned when you bucked your hips against his as his grip on your waist tightened to prevent you from repeating the same action because his self-control was reaching its limit. One more time and he might not be able to restrain himself from pinning you against the wall and ripping off your clothes to devour you.

Plus, he knew that you weren’t ready for that either.

“That was amazing,” you said in awe when you finally pulled apart to catch your breath, breathless from the heated kiss-turned-makeout session with your boyfriend. “If I can get kissed like that everytime I stand under a mistletoe, I think I might go against Corbyn’s advice and hang more of those around my house.”

“You don’t need a stupid mistletoe to kiss me, idiot. You can do it whenever you like,” he replied, his thumb caressing your cheek gently, as if you were his most prized possession that he was more than reluctant to let go of (which you were).

“But why haven’t you done that before?” You asked, staring quizzically into his hazel eyes that were the softest brown infused with green, as if he held the new spring growth inside.

“I wanted your first kiss to be special,” he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “There’re a lot of things that I want to do with you and do to you that I haven’t done yet, love, so you gotta be patient,” he promised and took your hands in his, squeezing them once.

“But what if I want you to show me what you want to do to me now?” You wanted to take the question back right after you said it out loud. His lips curled into a smirk which made you even more embarrassed than you already were, not saying a word. “No, I mean what am I even talking about...” you trailed off, pulling your lower lip between your teeth tentatively, not on purpose but because that was what you did everytime you were nervous, only to find his jaw slightly clenched as you did so before using his thumb to softly pull your lip back out.

“Desperate now, are we?” He teased, holding your hand as he led you towards the dining room where the various dishes you had prepared for dinner sat on the table. “Maybe I would, but let’s have dinner first, okay? Dessert will come later.”

It took you a moment to understand what he meant and when you finally did, your face turned red all over again.

[dracosearlgreytea]

indelicate marks (14)

indelicate marks: chapter fourteen - the promise 

A/N: i managed to return, after many technical difficulties, to post chapter 14!! i hope you are all enjoying the story so far... thank you everyone for reading. lots of love and please enjoy :) - ivy 

warnings: language, sorta angst

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22 @bitch-im-a-fangirl @erinisbadger @strawberriesonsummer

indelicate marks index

It so happened that that night would be the last time you would see Draco Malfoy for two weeks. You'd woken to the sound of the door clicking shut - the blinding sun in your eyes, and the lack of a warm body next to yours. You poured over that night in your mind for hours. It wasn't as though he'd pushed you away - he had signalled nothing wrong with the fact that you had kissed him. No, in fact, he had kissed you back. He hadn't been in any of your lessons you usually had together. At first, you put it down to him being ill, or maybe his sleep deprivation had finally caught up with him. Then, he hadn't shown up to your usual meeting at the classroom. Beginning to worry that something had happened, you'd forced yourself to go the Great Hall. Something regarding the mark on his arm, perhaps, or even to do with what Potter had mentioned. But, Draco had been there, alive, sitting at the Slytherin table next to Pansy Parkinson. It didn't take you till the next missed meeting to understand that Draco was avoiding you. And it hurt. It hurt so much worse than you ever could have imagined. You were supposed to be friends. Even if friends didn't think about each other every second of the day - even if friends didn't kiss and then refuse to acknowledge it. Draco was, still, the only person you had. You didn't want to lose him to your own stupid mistake. His ignorance continued for a couple more days - until you got called out of Transfiguration by Snape. All eyes followed you as you hesitated to stand, staring at him with a dull knowing settled in your chest. Nausea swam in the pit of your stomach as you collected your things and left. You tried to ignore a certain grey gaze that only moments ago you would have adored to know were following you, burning holes into your back. The dull knowing was all too correct, and the pain was suffocating. "Are you sure you don't want someone to accompany you back to the Slytherin dorms, Miss Y/L/N?" The crease in Dumbledore's brow deepened. Edging away from him, you tugged at your sleeve with a harsh force. "Yes." The word came, sharp, from your mouth. Covering the name that was blaring in your mind, you supposed, but you cleared your throat to adjust your tone. "Yes, I'm fine, Professor. Thank you." Dumbledore watched you for a second longer, and then offered you a slow nod. Legs shifting quicker than your mind, you shot out of the office before he could speak again. It didn't take you ten strides away from the Headmasters office before you were interrupted. A hand wrapped around your arm, dragging you towards an empty classroom - but the jump of your heart was short lived. You'd almost anticipated it, grinding your teeth as the door swung and locked behind you. Yanking your arm back, you glared at the figure facing you. Draco stared back with a very serious expression. Features fixed and gloomy, you pushed away the guilty sense of elation at the sight of him. "What the fuck was that about?" He growled, not even missing a beat. And Merlin, could you explode with the amount of emotions coursing through you. Terror. Rage. Desperation. Longing. "Nice to see you too." Voice seething, you clenched your jaw, wrapping your arms around yourself. Uncharacteristic, panicked anger glinted in the greys of his eyes. "Merlin, Y/N, don't make this personal." It came with a play of a sneer on his lips, and whatever ounce of happiness you held that he was talking to you dissipated. A small scoff of disbelief left you before you could hide it, disguising the stab of hurt that hit you square in the chest. "You need to tell me what happened. Everything." "I don't need to tell you fuck all, Draco Malfoy." Your tone raised, praying that the lump in your throat wasn't evident in the roughness of your voice. His face remained so hard, so steely. It felt like you'd gone back to square one. "Fucking hell." The words came as a frustrated groan, rumbling in the back of his throat. A hand resting on his hip, the other ran through his hair as he steadied his expression. "Can you, for once in your bloody life, not make things complicated?" Draco's eyes were hot and angry and anxious on yours. In any other circumstance, in fact, it would have been concerning. But something in you snapped. Maybe the way he'd spoken, like everything was your fault. Maybe the standoffish position his body fallen into. "Fuck you!" Tears were undoubtedly welling in your eyes, even as you yelled. "Where have you been, Draco? Two weeks of you avoiding me like the bloody plague - after saying we'd talk about things - and then you storm back into my life, demanding I tell you everything - and then you call me complicated?" A ragged breath pushed past your lips as you stared at him, looking bedraggled and most likely a little crazy. You'd taken a step towards him as you shouted, and Draco's expression had withdrawn. Another second of tense silence. "You want to know what happened?" You raised an eyebrow harshly. "My parents are out." Draco froze. "Shit - Y/N -" "Don't you dare pretend you care." Another low, painful growl. Draco stared at you, thrown off by your outburst. "This is it, now, for me. I'm fucked - I am so fucked - and you just left for me for two weeks-" And then, you broke into a sob. Draco shot forward, but you stumbled away. Something flicked across his features, swallowed by his vacancy before you could label it. You didn't care, though. Because he'd moved forward again, cupped your cheek, and pressed his lips against yours. Hands curling into fists, your nails dug into your palms - only to drop them round his shoulders. It felt as though your chest was being crushed inwards with emotion as Draco shifted his jaw to meet yours. It only lasted a moment. You pushed him away again, hands still lingering at his shoulders. Taking in a long breath, you refused to look at him, heart throbbing in your chest. "Don't do that again." You mumbled, finally dropping your hands. Draco hesitated, eyes boring into you as his hands twitched at his side. "Why?" Faltering, you couldn't help but send him a glance. Whatever you were expecting him to say - it wasn't that. A determined look had spread across his features, and you clenched your jaw a little tighter. "Why do you think?" Your words came rough again. "Last time that happened you dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks." A sour twinge flicked across his expression. Grey eyes glittering, he searched you, but you only balled your hands, arms tight across your waist. "I've been busy." His voice was cold. Again. A scoff came from the last of your anger, still lingering in your chest. "Well, thanks, Draco. Glad to know how much I mean to you." Muttering, you shifted back - as though to leave. "Fuck, Y/N-" Grabbing your arm, you froze to the spot, gaze flying back to him. Draco stared back with a murmur desperation, the uncertainty in his eyes unnerving. "Can we talk? Somewhere else." You hesitated. Because you were still mortified, and pissed off - and now confused. Because knowing your parents were walking the streets was making you feel sick. Really, you just wanted to curl up and pretend you didn't exist. Draco, however, had never looked so on edge. So nervous. And, admittedly, you needed to hear what he had to say. Sighing, you let out a defeated reply. "Fine." It didn't take you long to get to the usual classroom. You avoided Draco's eyes as he opened the door and gestured you to go in first, locking it behind him. The school day had almost finished, sunlight filling the room, giving it an air of exposure. Everything felt so different to the last moments you'd spent there together that your chest clenched up. Hesitating in the middle of the room, you waited for him to face you before you spoke. "Go on, then." Draco scowled, still reluctant. "I need you to understand." Finally, he spoke, eyeing you up as he did. You waited for him to elaborate, but there was only silence, and your lips fell into a frown. "Understand? Which part? You acting like an emotional yo-yo or the fact you vanished for two weeks straight?" "Remember what I said about us arguing?" Draco growled, expression hard. "Look, I thought you'd understand why we haven't been talking." "Well, Draco, I didn't." You bit back another lingering comment, keeping your raising heartbeat quiet in your chest. "And I still don't." "I-" He paused, for a second, fingers running through his hair again. "I can't make any promises to you." Draco's eyes were desperate, again. Begging you to understand what the hell he was trying to make out with his vague language and unstable attitude. You wished you could. It took a second for you to reply. "Draco..." Sighing, your gaze darted away from him as nervousness overtook you. "If you don't - don't feel that way about me then that's fine-" "What?" "What?" You echoed him. Draco, looking almost comedically dumbstruck, stared at you. "You think I don't feel for you?" It came as a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as he shifted towards you again. Glancing away, you turned a little, pushing him away before he could even touch you. His features flashed. "Why the fuck would you think that?" "I don't know what else I was supposed to think." You muttered. "Y/N," Draco sighed, lifting his hands to your shoulders. The movement was careful, so that you didn't shift away from him again, and they settled when you allowed him to. "I didn't do it because I wanted to." You remained silent, scanning his eyes with a tight chest. They searched yours equally, and when you didn't reply, he spoke again. "I did it because I can't help you." You blinked. "What are you talking about?" Words only a breath, you nearly missed them, the noise of your heart pounding too loud. "I'm a Deatheater." Draco's brow furrowed a little, as though he was pointing out the obvious. "You even associating with me would make everything worse. With your parents, with the mark. I would make it inescapable." He paused. "I can't promise I can keep you safe." A flush of emotion hit you as he finished, scalding, yet freezing, all at the same time. You quite possibly adored him. A shuddering breath passed by your lips. Etching his features into memory, you finally allowed yourself to feel the comfort Draco always offered you. You embraced his presence like an old friend. "I don't care about any of that." Mumbling, your hands slipped up to clutch onto his forearms. His expression had remained mostly clear, something that rarely happened. "I always knew things would turn out this way - with my parents. I never had a choice in that." You paused. "But I do have a choice with you, and I'm choosing you." The grey of Draco's eyes darkened in the slightest, fingertips digging into your shoulders a little more. It was hard to keep your voice steady as you continued, heart clenched. "So let me." There was that awful conflict glinting in his gaze again. Painful, and recognisable, and foreboding. It remained for a second, and then it was gone again, and you allowed yourself to ignore it had ever been there in the first place. "No promises?" It was selfish of him, really. Denouncing any mistakes before he could even make them. You didn't care. You only let out another, terrified exhale. "No promises." And then, Draco kissed you for the third time.

[yhmisun]

*//𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒆: introducing 𝐘𝐄𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍!

hi petals 🥰 i'm so thrilled to be here with you all and bringing you this gullible little lioness!i promise i'll get to all ims soon, but my alias is penny, my pronouns are she/her and i'm in the est tz! this is my bby misun - the very soft-spoken principal of kwangsook academy. despite the shady way she ended up with it, she quite loves her job, as well as all the students and faculty at kwangsook :D i will have her full bio up sometime soon, but for now, you can find some relevant links and some bullet points under the cut! if you'd like to plot something out, feel free to hit the heart so i know and i'll come buzz you in ims! tw - brief mentions of death cw - workplace affair

statistics. // bio. // headcanons. // plots. // musing blog. // pinterest.

━  ❖ (kim ahyoung “yura,” cis female, she/her) hey thank you for coming to town hall to update your information yeo misun! you’re a citizen correct? good to know! are you enjoying yourself around yunhwa? you’ve been staying here two years right? i’m glad! remind me, are you born on 14/12/1992? we’re so lucky to have someone so dedicated around as a principal at kwangsook academy even if sometimes you can be credulous. hope to see you around the house #3034, hwesakgu!

born and raised in busan, the city was imbued in misun's veins. she was in love with how the highest skyscrapers mingled with the clouds on overcast days and how life always seemed to be racing by. her childhood was a happy one, as she gained a younger brother and sister along the way.

her mother was a science teacher and her father a commercial fisherman at the local dock. it wasn't uncommon for him to be gone for weeks at a time in order to bring an income into the household, so misun was often left in charge of her younger siblings. it was something she thrived at honestly, as she'd always had this nurturing way about her. she didn't even argue with her siblings much, she mostly just played peacekeeper when they fought amongst themselves.

she ran through the typical cycle of dream occupations as any child would. she had a particularly tight grasp on astronomy for awhile, but she also always appreciated her mother's work in the field of education.

misun could be be rather mild-mannered, but she loved to run free in the yard, as if the fence that boxed it in existed in another realm entirely. as she grew older, she picked up several hobbies that always seemed to lend to a tranquil state of mind, as it was her favorite feeling in the world. painting and surfing were two of her favorite things to do, once she learned the basics of them. some of her most cherished memories of her father were the trips they took to the beach whenever he was home for the week so that he could see what she had learned for himself. she'd never forget the proud smile he wore.

[tw:death] she was fourteen when her father's boat sank in the korea strait, he and all of his crew being lost in the tragedy. they were at least able to hold a funeral for him; and misun always knew it was something that could happen in the logical side of her brain - but that was rarely the side she wanted to agree with. it was extremely hard on the family for his already too brief presence to have lessened to nothing, and it was years before any sense of normalcy was felt. [end tw]

it was fortunate that misun was so prone to being a parental figure in the household, as she was able to help her mother with her brother and sister while the woman grieved. it was simply in misun's nature to forego her own feelings to give another what they needed.

there was a desperate need for the lost income to be restored in some way, as her father had been the primary breadwinner for the family. her mother's salary as a teacher simply wasn't going to hold four people afloat in the city for very long. misun spent years juggling her workload in school along with working part-time, putting her all into not only bringing home good grades that her mom could be proud of, but helping to keep the family's bills paid, as well.

by the time she graduated, misun had excelled so much in her studies, that she was offered two different scholarships, both of which would have easily covered the expenses of attaining her degree, a miraculous offer for the family who had no way to afford college for any of the three children in it.

the college experience was everything misun had hoped for; a chance to better herself, find herself and take a bit of a break from the full workload she'd been carrying for so long. she still worked part time, so that she could slowly add to the college funds of her brother and sister while she attended school herself, but it was nice to have such a heavy focus on her studies.

she'd come to find that she wanted to go beyond teaching. she enjoyed the thought of administrative duties in the school system; fighting the good fight so that students could always have the help they needed to prosper. it wasn't just about filling their brains with meaningless facts they'd forget over a summer anymore - it was about making sure they had the tools to make it in life.

while she did receive some brief classroom training as a teacher in her initial transition, once misun got her master's degree, she was able to fill the position of principal at one of the schools in the city. she fell in love with it immediately, as it fit right in with her facilitating nature. she had a knack for keeping the peace around the school and making sure things ran smoothly so that all the teachers and other faculty could do their jobs properly.

she even had a positive working relationship with the local school board and her superiors, one of whom seemed to have taken quite a shine to her. he'd find any opportunity to speak with her, even about the silliest things. it was quite odd for misun to see him go back and forth from a very personable man to a very stuffy superintendent on an almost weekly basis, but there was definitely something charming about him.

before she really knew it, he'd swept misun off her feet entirely. suddenly they were sharing their lunch breaks at romantic cafes and making excuses to see each other during inconvenient times. misun always saw the best in people, and the things she saw in him made her feel love on an intense plane. she felt special with him; wanted. she might have said he'd broken down all her barriers, if she'd ever bothered to put them up.

as sweet as the feelings were, she supposed she knew the relationship was inappropriate considering that he was practically her boss. still, she didn't want to let go of the happiness she felt, and that she thought he had felt to.

it wasn't long before he informed her of his suspicions that some of his co-workers had an inkling he was having an affair with one of the school faculty members in the area. he seemed to know it was only a matter of time before the truth would come out, so he would cover his tracks. he would make sure no one ever found out.

initially, they were only meant to 'cool things off' a bit so that the suspicion would die down. admittedly, if word got out about them, misun knew it would be quite the scandal, and he may have to step down from his position. it seemed like the logical thing to do to lay low for awhile.

she didn't see the next part coming, though; apparently it had been decided that she would take the hit entirely, in order to save them both. her superintendent had crafted the brilliant plan to transfer her to kwangsook academy out in the small town of yunhwa and away from the city that she'd always known and loved. she wouldn't have to worry, he'd told her. the job was all but hers after the glowing recommendation he gave her. 'thank goodness, right? now you won't have to face any humiliation.'

she was confused, hurt and more angry than she had ever been in her life. as lovely as yunhwa was, it wasn't her home back in busan. it wasn't her school district. why was it her life that had been uprooted, and hers alone? was he suffering any undesired changes in his life in the city? did he even care at all that she was gone?

still though, misun's resilience remained steadfast, even after her heart was broken. as bitter as she was about the forced move, she'd been given a job to do, and she was going to going to do it right. getting used to the small town lifestyle has been a major adjustment for her, but she's not really one to complain about her circumstances.

two years on, and she remains in yunhwa, functioning as the head of kwangsook academy. as lost as she'd felt initially, she's come to fit in at the school at last. she's a rather amicable person who gets along well with the other teachers and staff members. she's always willing to lend a helping hand when it's needed, and is extremely dedicated to making sure the school has everything it needs in the way of funding, materials, healthy lunches and meaningful extracurriculars. as unassuming as misun can be sometimes, she's very protective of her students!

[gwoongi]

(abandoned) it’s late, just stay

john wick / reader genre: sugar daddy au rating: general, mature themes words: 2.4k warnings: sugar daddy relationship, slight john wick 2 spoilers i guess a/n: this 1 is for me. i wrote her in a heat,,,she’s literally not finished. but im adding her to my online portfolio 4 the memories. Also fyi the profile was made before i indulged in seeking arrangements and as a sugar baby i know that ur not allowed to mention 90% of brooklynbaby’s bio in ur bio but who cares man this is fiction and im making it up

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

Sometimes, John doesn’t really know how he gets himself into awkward situations.

The first few occasions, he figured it was merely a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. While, actually, this always worked out in his favour, John began to notice that it was more frequent that he ended up at a bar with some people he didn’t really know, or being invited to a baby shower as the date of a woman he had never even met before. Granted, John enjoyed company whenever he could get it, and whenever it avoided conflict; however socialism has never been his strongest asset. No, he simply prefers silent gestures or glances across rooms, ‘eye conversations’ where he says hello and nothing else for the remainder of the evening.

“You just need to loosen up a bit,” is what Addy had told him, whilst slipping him a glass of straight Bourbon. It had been a relatively quiet evening in the Continental, and just when John thought he could have five minutes of peace and quiet, Addy has slipped in his line of sight. “You know, go out. Make new friends.”

“You’re my friend,” John replied. He made no room to elaborate on that statement, swallowing the contents of the drink and pushing it back to her with a short nod. She sighed and rolled her eyes, doing her job.

“No, you know what you really need?” He didn’t answer, glancing at her through his hair as she filled his drink and rested her weight on her elbows. Instantly, John didn’t like the feeling in his stomach when Addy raised her eyebrows suggestively, tugging on her bottom lip with newfound excitement: “I think you need to get laid.” 

And when John scoffed with humour, she tried again, “and not like, laid as in you have a one night stand. No- hear me out, John! You should invest in a sugar baby. You know, someone you can spend time with when you’re not doing the dirty work for everybody else. It’s fun, and frisky, and also means you can start spending some of the millions you have stashed somewhere not being used.”

She tutted like a scolding mother, “Selfish boy.” Addy then smiled, “Maybe instead of retirement, what you really need is something to help you unwind.”

John scoffed, gulping back the Bourbon. “I’m married.”

At that, she tossed her head back with a laugh and leant forward. “And since when are sugar babies a relationship status?”

That’s really all the thinking he had done on the subject of John- John fucking Wick- investing in a sugar baby. He simply took it in stride, almost complimented by the assumption that he was attractive and rich enough to have someone leaning on him for money and sex, and stored it away for future thought when he was lost and drunk. John never actually considered the possibility of “putting his bills to good use” until fucking Santino D’Antonio decided to light a bonfire inside his house. Having lost virtually everything related to Helen, he found himself back at the Continental, back to listening to Addy sympathetically give her condolences and five seconds later, introducing him to Seeking Arrangements.

John doesn’t know why he’s doing this, staring at the laptop screen that smiles at him. For circumstances, Addy had loaned him her laptop for the evening he spends at the Continental, and he’s too busy browsing the elaborately made profiles that he barely registers the fact that he is still wearing his suit. He pulls at the cuffs of his blazer and is midway through taking it off when he stumbles across a profile- one of which is oddly amusing- titled brooklynbaby. He racks his mind for the reference but can’t seem to place it.

“A sugar baby suggests that I sleep with them, and as I said,” John had mentioned back in the bar, “I’m married.”

Addy had grabbed his hands and groaned, “Look- you might surprise yourself. And, I’m not suggesting that you throw your wife away for somebody new. I’m just saying you need to...make use of yourself. Honestly, you’re too sexy to be stored away like this. Most sugar babies are dumb and unobservant, they won’t even know who you are.”

brooklynbaby makes an adorably hilarious first impression, and John is hesitant to browse her profile. If he wanted to “make use of himself” by investing all of his personal time into somebody who in truth wanted him for his dick and his bank balance, then it needed to be somebody at least near to his wavelength. Somebody who was smart, but clueless at the same time, and somebody who was the complete opposite of Helen. The last thing he needed on top of a handful of a baby was the guilt of moving on. But still, even when he pinned her tab and returned to scrolling through the profiles, John realised that most sugar babies were simply trolls hidden behind pretty pictures, or girls who wanted money for pleasure and not for need.

He went back to brooklynbaby. Three times. Three times, before he pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck it,” and favoriting her account, and pressing to send a message.

Even online, John was never great with words. He typed, and backspaced, and typed again, trying to come up with something interesting to make up for the bland profile he made around thirty minutes ago.

From: johnwick So. You like dogs?

If Addy were here, she would have slapped him.

Almost immediately after it sends, John lets out a frustrated noise and tears his gaze away from the screen. Dating just wasn’t like how it was when he met Helen. Why did everything have to be so complicated, and mysterious, and why the hell does he even have to waste his money on somebody when he could be saving this money to eventually, whenever the day comes, retire? John wrestles with the dilemma of deleting the whole account when a notification bell rings through the laptop speakers.

From: brooklynbaby yes, I love dogs!!! :D (typing) do you have a dog?

John breathes a sigh of relief.

From: johnwick Yes. I do.

From: brooklynbaby oh, great. :) (typing)

John’s leg begins to bounce quickly, the table wavering with the glass on top, like an earthquake. Suddenly, brooklynbaby stops typing and John stills. Why did she stop? Did he do something wrong? Honestly, women are so hard to please nowadays.

From: brooklynbaby want to be my sugar daddy?

Never mind.

From: johnwick I would.

From: brooklynbaby cool

Neither him or brooklynbaby says anything for a few moments, and John doesn’t notice. After-all, he is still a working man, busy with life and revenge and trying to stay alive for more than three seconds. When he goes back to the laptop and sees no reply, he frowns.

From: johnwick I am sorry. I really don’t know what I’m doing. What am I supposed to say?

He makes a mental reminder to have words with Addy later.

From: brooklynbaby /(*u*)/ you’re cute we could make dinner reservations and talk over terms if you’d like!!! i say reservations because they’re fancy and if anything goes wrong, we can pretend we’re… business partners? discussing business?

Without even really realising, John finds himself laughing shortly, settling back into the chair. All of this feels weird, as in typing to a stranger he’s planning to spend his money on and occasionally fuck. John quickly revisits her profile and spends four minutes analysing her profile picture. If this is her, then she’s really very beautiful. A steal.

From: johnwick When are you free for dinner?

From: brooklynbaby hmm well i’m dogsitting tomorrow, but i can be free for the day after!!!! is that okay ^_^

From: johnwick That would be fine. [Address] at 7pm, does that work for you?

brooklynbaby pauses.

From: brooklynbaby omg am i gonna have to dress fancy?

From: johnwick Don’t feel pressured. I only own black.

From: brooklynbaby well….guess i’ll bring out like one of my old uni party dresses :( but you have to promise not to judge me!!!

John laughs again. At some point during the evening, he ends up with a planned dinner reservation at one of the most expensive restaurants in Brooklyn, and he’s also 2 grand poorer thanks to the generous donation in brooklynbaby’s bank account for a nice evening outfit.

When John returns the laptop to Addy the following morning, he was admittedly expecting the rant that followed. She had glared at the laptop being handed back over the bar and refused to serve him until he came up with a reasonably valid excuse as to why he wasn’t putting himself out there for a bit of company. John had blinked with an unimpressed look and drummed his fingers.

“I have dinner reservations with someone tomorrow at 7pm. Also- can I have a drink?”

But of course, with work being as tedious as ever and with his whole day being completely ruined by a blood stained shirt and poor room service for the first time in his many years of frequenting the Continental, John didn’t amuse himself with brooklynbaby until he logged onto the site on his phone, and saw that she had messaged thrice during the day. He almost felt guilty, until he saw a string of numbers at the end of the last message. He deemed it less necessary to read her above messages and instead went right to texting.

brooklynbaby ok. so should i just ask for mr john wick when i get to this restaurant??? sorry for so many texts im just kinda nervous

me Yes. I booked under my name and I will be waiting for you when you arrive. Why are you nervous? Didn’t you ask me to be here?

brooklynbaby well if we’re going to be technical then YOU asked me to dinner first :P and im nervous because i have nooo idea who you are send a picture?

John sank into bed.

me Maybe I like the element of surprise.

brooklynbaby seems a lil unfair that you get to see me but i dont get to see you :( ive seen ur dog before you thats saying something

me You could have used any image. If we’re going to be technical, I don’t even know your name, or if that is really you in the image.

John really hadn’t been expecting a full blown nude image at 4:15pm in the afternoon, but he will admit that it was nevertheless what he needed to break some steam. He had arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes earlier than expected, but that’s okay, Mr Wick. Right this way! Now that he was sitting here, at an empty table overlooking Brooklyn and the lights, with an already ordered bottle of wine, John could understand and relate to the first date nerves. He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Not since-

brooklynbaby uhhh im kind of here like ten minutes early should i wait outside for you :3

He laughs, mostly to himself.

me I’m already up here. I ordered a rosé, is that alright?

brooklynbaby YES IM RUNNING

And, surprising himself also, John had clammed up and reached for his glass. Thankfully, the owner of this restaurant knew John by face and order, because, after-all, this had been his go-to with Helen. These days, he doesn’t have time to go out to new places and eat new things, and so had panicked, and picked a place with sentimental value, and a history of good food. He gulped back his glass of Bourbon and waited until the door at the other side of the room opened meekly, and he tried to appear vacant as the waiter led a woman across the room and towards him.

“Your date, Mr Wick.”

He left curtly and brooklynbaby followed his body as he left, her feet firmly glued to the floor as her head looked back over her shoulder. John took this as an opportunity to look at her body, covered in a beautiful dress he felt proud of paying for. Finally, brooklynbaby looked towards him and paused, observing him and his clearly surprising appearance. John then remembered the gash on his cheekbone and the way he probably looked very off-putting with an unshaven face and long hair, but brooklynbaby smiled softly and raised her brows, beating him to helping her in her chair as she quickly sat down and looked at his glass.

“How did you know I liked beards?”

John didn’t say anything for a moment. “I didn’t.”

brooklynbaby rolled her eyes with a grin. “Of course you didn’t.” She looked up, then, properly taking in his face. John did the same, looking at every feature present and coming to the quick conclusion that yes, she was definitely the woman in the pictures, and yes, she was one of the most gorgeous humans he had ever seen on planet Earth since Helen herself.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said honestly. “But, more than my expectations. I don’t believe I’ve really introduced myself- I’m Y/N. Y/N L/N.”

He tried it out in his head. Y/N. Y/N L.N, Y/N L/N, Y/N Wick-

“John,” he replied and she sniggered and rested her chin in her palms.

“You’re seriously so handsome,” she complimented. “Are you sure you’re not married, or something?”

Her gaze panned to his hands where she noticed the wedding band, and for a moment, she hesitated. John wasn’t ashamed of the ring, nor embarrassed to be seen wearing it. He toyed with it on his finger, looking at her from across the table. “It’s complicated.”

Y/N nodded meekly. “I see.” She cleared her throat, “divorce? Planned divorce? Affair?”

“No, I’m widowed,” he tried out a joke, but she only looked more uncomfortable. Her mouth gaped and she fumbled for words.

“Oh, John, I’m really sorry- no, really, I’m so sorry,” she stumbled, and John watched her carefully across the table. “God, how fucking insensitive. Sorry, I guess that just. Wow, that never really crossed my mind. That sucks, I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” John said, finding finality in that sentence. “I’m trying to move on from it.”

Y/N nodded sympathetically. “No, yeah, wow, I get it. Completely. I...hope I live up to great expectations, then?”

John smiled and looked past her, noticing the waiter rounding the corner with the bottle of rose. “You’re getting there, Miss L/N.”

[sadsapphicslut]

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!! 

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

  Chapter One

A Dead Brother

          I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

           My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

           Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of  “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

           Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

           “Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.  

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

  ❈

             “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

           “Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

           Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

           It rang four times before he picked up.

           “Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

           “Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

           I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

           “Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

 Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

 My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

 This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood –  that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene.  My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

  I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

 ❈

             The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

           The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

           I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

           Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

           My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

             We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

           The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

           As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

           The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

[jeyned]

heya everyone ! i wrote a really long intro / backstory which i’ve linked below, but in case you’re lazy like me i’ve also put a little tl;dr under the cut with the cliffs notes. there’s also a bunch of plot ideas in case anyone is interested ! like this, drop me and IM, or message me on discord ( do you like yuice ?#6373 ) if you want to plot !

⤷ the courts offer bread and salt to jeyne whent née lannister of house whent. many say that the twenty - seven year old ruling lady of harrenhal is known to be lively and insightful, though ill tongues whisper that she is condescending and selfish when her name is uttered , one is reminded of a pretty smile hiding bloodied teeth; the hiss and raised hackles of a cat that thinks itself a lion; a languid and velvety darkness; heartbeat made of war drums. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns. ( fc: caitlin stasey )

full backstory   /   statistics page   /   development tag .

              trigger warnings for ; death & murder, illness, forced marriage, misogyny & misogynistic slurs (1), war.

basics.

name.  jeyne whent née lannister. nicknames.  the little lioness. age.  twenty-seven. traits.  + clever, intrepid, lively, protective, insightful, tasteful.          - hypocritical, cruel, condescending, proud, selfish, spiteful. titles.  ruling lady of harrenhal, heir apparent to lannisport. loyalty.  [ lana del rey vc ] money, power, and glory. also the starks of winterfell, i guess.

tl ; dr .

jeyne is the youngest child and only daughter of the lord of lannisport and his wife. well - raised, courtesied, if admittedly spoiled. even as a little girl she plays pretend at being a king. her father teaches her what words like wartime and loyalty and ambition mean ; the sacrifices she must make for their family name, for gold and glory.

the ironborn raids come to the shores of the westerlands and both her brothers are sent to fight. the younger dies first ; there is no body to bury. her mother falls ill with something they can only call grief.

jeyne is married not long after, a rose in bloom at nineteen. when she first hears, she weeps and begs and rages. her father reminds her of her duty, of the joy it would bring her ailing mother. jeyne knows then what must be done, and plans.

when her first husband dies just shy of two years into their marriage, jeyne is irreproachable. he dies in winter, already ill ; goes to sleep coughing and doesn’t wake up. jeyne isn’t even in the castle when it happens, although unfounded rumors fly of witchery and murder. 

nine months pass, and she plays the part of mourning widow exceptionally well. it helps her mummer’s farce that news comes from the war : her remaining brother is dead now too, and her mother’s health is failing. without her brothers, she’s the ostensible heir to lannisport ; her father’s displeasure with this is made quite clear to her. he even suggests she isn’t his ; bearing too many of her mother’s features, not enough of his.

she is remarried quickly to lord lucas whent, without a fraction of the pomp and circumstance of her first wedding ; now a widow, with a reputation tarnished by unproven but incessant whispers, the newest match is rushed, necessary but insignificant. she doesn’t cry or beg this time, just goes coldly.

she hates him before she even meets him, hates the harrenhal the moment she sets eyes on it, hates the cold and the rain and the gloom of the castle and its people. spends all her considerable energies complaining and making life generally miserable for anyone around. 

word arrives that her mother has died ; her father remarries quickly in the hopes of a new male heir, and draws in his nephews and nieces. weighing his options. jeyne prays to the stranger to take them all. 

she resents the lot of them ; her father for using and betraying her, her brother and mothers for leaving her, the ironborn for killing her brothers, the starks for suing for peace and making their deaths worthless, her husband merely for existing. mostly, though, she resents herself, not clever enough to find a way out of the cages she’s been locked in.

plots.

enemies.  the very best plot type and you cannot convince me otherwise. gimme intimately plotted hate-your-guts-smile-to-your-face frenemies who overthink everything the other says and press each others buttons incessantly. gimme ‘our houses have fought each other and i blame your family for this or that’. gimme petty jealousies and annoyances and people too much like her for them to get along. gimme people who think she’s a traitorous, murdering bastard and a whore to boot, and aren’t even wrong to think so.

close friends.  i don’t imagine she has a lot of these ; those not deterred by her reputation often are dissuaded by her personality. still i love the idea of her having a few lords or ladies with whom she gets along quite well, the kind of people you only need to meet briefly to know you understand each other. can be from pretty much anywhere ; stuck at harrenhal i imagine jeyne to be an avid letter-writer. 

cousins.  i’m also considering sending in a wc for this, but gimme all the family plots ! could be paternal cousins, potential contenders for inheriting lannisport, & probably childhood companions. could also be maternal cousins ! i listed her mom as being a westerling but i’m more than happy to change that to another house for plot reasons, it doesn’t really matter ! her father could’ve also had sisters who married into other houses, there’s lots of options.

failed betrothals.  i can imagine her father made a lot of offers, both when she was first getting married and after she was widowed. and i can imagine a lot of reasons why someone might reject that ; she’s a lannister, she’s not .... great as a person and her reputation isn’t phenomenal either. after the death of her first husband, too, i can imagine her prospects were pretty slim. still, the lannisters are ambitious and would have sought out as good as match as they could have. 

family of her late husband.  yea, i specifically didn’t pick a house for her first husband to be from because i wanted to leave ‘em open for other applicants but also because i wanted to leave it open in case it’s a plot anyone would like to take up ! most of the story around that is also very vague so as to fit with pretty much any ideas/plots someone has going on. would be really fun, tho ; possibly they can even have been co-conspirators and this person inherited jeyne’s late husband’s title and lands ? or they absolutely hate jeyne and think she’s a murderer which .... she very well might be.

sister in law.  the widow of jeyne’s older brother, irwyn ; i hc that they had a daughter but tbh that’s just flavor text and i am open to changing pretty much anything i’ve got going on. i may send in a wc for this at some point too ? anyway, whether she stayed at lannisport or returned to her family home or anything, idk. seems like an unlikely connection to get picked up but it’s definitely out there if it happens to fit for someone.

brothers’ connections.  again kind of vague ? would probably work best for men from the northern kingdom who may have known them or trained with them, or else fought alongside them against the ironborn. could also be ladies with pretty much any kind of attachment to either of them idk ; jeyne doesn’t have a whole lot of family left so this is my way of trying to have connections thru her family anyway.

childhood friends.  idk how many characters from the westerlands there are around rn, but bring them to me pls. would love some childhood friends for jeyne ; whether they fell out of touch, or still write each other monthly letters. them being a ward at lannisport, or jeyne being a ward at theirs for a time is also a neat option ! 

allies.  not quite friends, but potential partners whose ambitions align with hers. she has connections to the wealth of lannisport and the might and strategic position of harrenhal ( though harrenhal is truly weaker than she’d ever admit ) and honestly would support just about anyone if it meant she got lannisport. she’s power hungry what can i say ? 

former flings / secret lovers.  firstly these can be of any gender as jeyne is ... peak evil bisexual tbh. yes i’m queercoding my villain and i think that’s very sexy of me. these are also just pretty vague ideas, and absolutely do not need to be particularly romantic ; they could have had a more lengthy affair or just hooked up at a wedding or a tourney or something. 

travellers.  both lannisport and harrenhal are pretty common places to pass through. on a sea journey on the western coast one is likely to stop by lannisport, and harrenhal stands practically at the center of westeros, which is a fun opportunity for jeyne & your muse to have met even if they live very far way or are unlikely to have met in other ways ! especially considering harrenhal’s size it’s a good stop over for travellers with a larger retinue. idk i just want an excuse to plot with everyone.

[phobiadeficient]

Wait i just had another idea Omfg sorry for sending too much requests :'c Top!Sniper and Bottom!Spy angry sex? Im very angry today myself 'cuz y'know, life And touchstarved too. Fucc i need them good ol' cuddles Love ur stuff! -🐑

bro name a person who isnt touch starved. you cant its impossible

(warnings for aggressive behavior and minor violence)

-

“You bloody fuckin’ rat,” Sniper all but spat, shoving the Spy bodily up against the wooden wall of his nest so hard that it creaked alarmingly, almost as if it threatened to give way.

Apparently not alarmingly enough, as that combined with a knife the size of his forearm at his throat didn’t wipe the smirk off of the BLU Spy’s face. “Oh, mon cher, I’m so sorry,” he said faux-sympathetically, voice sickly sweet. “How terribly clumsy of me. Perhaps next time you shouldn’t leave your mug on a windowsill like that, who knows what might happen?”

“What’s going to happen is I’m going to put a few new holes in you,” Sniper snarled, fury boiling hot in his gut after this, the latest in a long string of antagonizations from the Spy that day, and by far the most severe.

“Oh, and then what?” Spy purred, leaning forward until the edge of the knife was pressing lightly into his skin, and that was when Sniper caught on to his little game.

Oh. Oh, so that was how it was.

“Seem to remember you being the one to say we keep this discreet and outside of work hours,” Sniper hissed under his breath.

“And I seem to remember you saying you would have time for me for the past two weekends, but apparently circumstances change,” Spy replied airily, and there was only the slightest tic to a muscle in his face to betray that Sniper wasn’t the only one who was a little bit fed up, and then it was gone, replaced by that smug smirk again.

“You absolute buggering—“ Sniper started to growl before giving up on words and just crushing Spy into the wall with his body and leaning in to fix him with a dominating kiss.

He found Spy’s hand and crushed his wrist hard enough to make him drop his knife, then kicked that and his own across the room and out of the way before quickly disarming him in every other way he could think of and forcing his jacket off of him, popping a button or two and some of the stitching in the process, which made Spy pull back and try to protest such rough treatment of his clothes. Sniper bit down on his bottom lip hard for the infraction and moved to change their positions, bending Spy over the nearest medium-high surface, which happened a few crates covered badly by a tarp. They were slightly uneven and of varying heights, and would be uncomfortable to be bent over. Sniper considered that a pro rather than a con just then.

“Did you bring slick at least, or did you want this to hurt even more?” Sniper snapped.

“I prepared before I got here, but I have more lube in my front left—“ Spy started to say, but cut himself off when Sniper found the lube he was talking about and quickly undid his pants. Spy started to shuffle those off with an amount of care, and Sniper moved to loosen and undo his tie. Once that was off, he snatched up Spy’s hands and shoved hard until they were stretched a good distance above his head, and then they were quickly tied together. “Ouch, tight, tight—”

“Like this being rough isn’t what you were looking for,” Sniper snarled into his ear, and it made Spy tremble, going quiet and lax for a moment until he got ahold of himself.

“I was looking for a quick fuck, thank you, emphasis on quick,” Spy snarked right back, trying to get a glance over his shoulder as he clearly heard the sound of Sniper’s buckle rattling.

“Well, lucky for you I’m out of patience,” Sniper muttered, and drizzled lube carelessly, and pushed in with exactly enough care not to hurt Spy outright.

That said, he didn’t give Spy much time to adjust at all, and the pace he settled into from the start was rough, punishing. And he knew it had to be uncomfortable, probably right there at the edge of what Spy could handle, but he didn’t complain outright, just groaning and clenching his fists there up above his head.

And the pace, though heavy, wasn’t something that Sniper thought could get him to the edge particularly quickly. No, it wasn’t so much to get himself as much pleasure as possible, it was more a punishment. A way to vent his frustration after Spy tormented him for the large majority of the day. To make him really get a feel for how much he’d pissed Sniper off.

Pissed off enough that he would break his otherwise unshakable professionalism to fuck his enemy senseless in the middle of the battlefield.

Pissed off enough that he wouldn’t even undress either of them to any reasonable standard for vigorous sex.

Pissed off enough that he’d tied Spy’s hands above his head and didn’t do him the courtesy of tugging him off.

Spy seemed contented with that for a while, but it didn’t take long before he seemed to notice that he couldn’t touch himself, one of Sniper’s hands lying weight on his back to pin him down while he pounded his brains out of him. And soon that awareness turned to discomfort turned to desperation.

“Bushman,” he managed through gritted teeth, very much out of breath.

Sniper ignored him.

“Bushman,” he tried again. “I’m—I need you to touch me.”

Sniper ignored him.

“Sniper, touch me!” he said more demandingly.

“And what if I don’t?” Sniper asked, admittedly a little breathless himself from the pleasure and movement, jaw tight as he held on to his concentration in an iron hold. “And what if I bugger you until your eyes cross and then leave you here to sort yourself out, what then?”

“You wouldn’t,” Spy hissed, but he couldn’t quite look over his shoulder, and he fought Sniper’s weight on his back. “Just—just touch me!”

“Beg,” Sniper snarled, and Spy was reduced to shivering and moaning for a good few moments by the heat of it before he got enough of his brain together to speak.

“Fine, please, please touch me,” he managed, shame palpable as he did, and Sniper did, and all Spy’s groaning and carrying on and finally the noise he made as he reached his peak were enough to push Sniper there, too, and he gave a couple more thrusts for good measure before he swore hard into the overheated air between them.

He disengaged one point of contact at a time, breathing hard and having a little trouble keeping his balance as he did so. “You right?” Sniper asked, voice rough.

A noise of affirmation from Spy.

“You done having a tantrum? Ready to go back to being a buggering professional about this?”

Another noise of affirmation.

“Good. Next time you see me, you try to kill me and that’s it,” Sniper said firmly.

Spy murmured an agreement, and probably meant to say more, but Sniper promptly picked up his kukri and put it through Spy’s back.

He at least got back dressed and took a few shots before Spy next stabbed him.