#also “grabbed kit's sleeve” u say :')

[wikitpowers]

i was flicking through qoaad the other day for the funsies and THIS SCENE WAS REALLY GIVING THE SAME VIBE AS THE RUNNING AWAY SCENE FROM TITANIC AND I'M LIVING FOR IT

(like i just imagine those fools skiddadiling away while giggling and holding hands)

TELL ME THEY AIN'T THE SAME

(this scene is so funny pls😭)

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I don’t know if This is the place where people make requests but I was thinking Katsuki and y/n have been friends since childhood but as they grow up Katsuki takes the hero path and y/n chooses the villain path it’s like the 2nd year of UA Katsuki knows y/n is a villain and keeps it a secret she’s also in the class. I don’t know how much I’m aloud to ask but hiiii and if this gets picked thank you

ouuuu this is such an interesting request ! i luv me some angst once in a while ! this is also probably the angstiest fic ive written rn lmfaoo ! i tried to honour your request as best i could and i hope you like it ! (also yall keep enabling my katsuki friends to lovers addiction its not me its yall sooo🤥..) also here, reader’s family is part of a crime syndicate sorta like the chie hassaikai !

fem reader, blood n injuries, kinda angsty but i cant bring myself to fully write angst so take the bittersweetness <33 katsuki claims he hates reader but he doesn’t, reader has a sorta traumatic backstory but if u squint HARD, reader feels guilty, slight miscommunication trope, lemme know if i missed something !

"how long are you gonna keep doing this ?"

you're rolling up your bloody sleeves when you hear the question you'd been expecting fall from your best friends lips.

"what do you mean ?" you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

he narrows his eyes at you, you ignore him "don't give me that shit." he all but growls at you "how many more times are you gonna come to me all fucked up like this ?" you'd expected him to be louder, but you blame that on the fact it’s so late. angrier isn't the term you're looking for, you've known him long enough to know he's trying to hold back his anger. for you. you feel your stomach twisting at the thought.

"as long as you'll have me" you jest, smiling at him. you never took anything seriously. from the time you were kids until now, katsuki hates that about you. "you'll keep taking care of me, won't you suki ?"

you're spoiled, you think everything is a fuckin' joke. katsuki hates that about you.

he huffs, grabbing your outstrechted bruised and bloodied arm "i won't if you keep wakin' me up so late. we've got school tomorrow, you dumbass." his actions are softer than his words, like they always are. he cleans at your injuries with the med kit he has stashed away in his room for emergencies, emergencies being you. you snort and katsuki can barely cover the smirk growing on his face at the sound.

"you're such a goody two shoes." you sigh playfully, but your tone is more loving than playful like you'd hoped.

you'd been hiding your lifestyle from kastuki until you no longer could. coming to him one night heavily injured because you thought he was the only one you could come to, a decision you regret to this day, even as you sit here in his bedroom again.

you'd never meant to get him involved in your mess. katsuki, who's future was so promising. katsuki, who since the ripe age of 5 with starry eyes and bandaged cheeks proclaimed he would be the best. katsuki, who had wanted you to be together when that moment came.

but you had to ruin it. and you're sure that even as he sits there with you and cleans up your wounds, a part of him hates you for it. you don't blame him, how could you ?

you ruined everything. you always do—

you feel a finger flick against your forehead and when you focus again katsuki's eyes bore into yours.

"don't go zoning out on me, idiot. don't go falling asleep on me either. 'f i can't sleep, neither can you." you huff out a laugh at his petulant demand. you hum as he bandages your arm up carefully. " i think i can do that." you sigh.

"i wasn't asking." he retorts, looking up at you seriously "don't go knocking out on me."

you're left speechless at his words. because despite what he says, you know what he means. you've known katsuki for too long not to.

it’s stupid that such a simple sentence has you blinking rapidly, sniffling away the tears forming in your lash line. katsuki sighs. even when you tried acting tough, you’ve always been such a crybaby.

neither of you say a word as he finishes bandaging up your wounds. he insists on rewrapping up your hand and your heart squeezes because you know he’s stalling and it would be time for you to go soon.

it’s for the better, you think. despite your heart tying itself in knots, you won’t allow katsuki to get caught up in them.

he finishes and no words are exchanged. he stares at you, pleading for something you’re not quite sure about, or at least that’s what you tell yourself (you’ve known him way too long not to know what he wants). you avoid his gaze, your eyes growing misty again when you hear him sigh in defeat before he gets up from his bed and leaves the room.

while you’re throwing your jacket on and tugging your dirty boots back on (katsuki was a stickler about keeping his room clean) you can’t help but look around his room. it makes you giggle how he hadn’t really changed that much at all.

he’s thrown out most of his action figures but it seems he just couldn’t separate himself from the all might one’s. he’s still got the all might poster, his pride and joy that he never stopped showing off when you were kids. and then you see something on the shelf where he keeps all his manga.

katsuki walks back into the room and his shoulders visibly sag when he sees you ready to go. you don’t see it though, you’re focused on something on his shelf, he raises a brow.

before he can ask you anything though, you turn to him with a sly little grin, the grin he knows you have when you’re about to say some dumb shit. he hates that about you.

you’ve got a small rubber band looking thing pinched around your finger and katsuki feels his stomach drop.

"you still have this ? " you twirl the braided friendship bracelet you’d made for him when you were kids around your thumb and index finger, giggling when you see katsuki’s expression morph from curiosity to embarrassment. faster than you could blink, he’s already stomping over to you. he wobbles around a little on his bed to reach over your shoulder to snatch the bracelet back.

“don’t go snooping through my stuff !” his fingers are inches away from the bracelet when you switch it over to your other hand. a struggle breaks out where you push and shove at each other. you end up underneath him with him trying to open up your hand tightly clutching onto your bracelet.

“s’not snooping—if it’s just sitting out in the open !” you giggle. he finally manages to snatch his bracelet out of your death grip with a huff and a pinch at your thigh. you don’t miss the way he inspects it carefully before deciding it was unharmed and placing it right back where you’d found it. your heart squeezes despite yourself.

“either way, don’t go puttin’ yer dirty paws on my stuff. you’ll get your germs on them.” he snickers childishly. you’re just as if not more childish because you blow a raspberry at him. katsuki squishes your cheeks out with his hand in response.

you realize you feel a little too comfy, then realize you’re laying in katsuki’s bed and suddenly spring up to try and leave but a hand pushes at your chest, stopping you from doing so. “where the hell do you think you’re goin’, huh ?”

“home ?”

“don’t think so.” he utters simply, pushing you down onto his bed harshly “you’re not going anywhere.”

“katsu—“

“shut up. none of that bullshit you spout all the time” he leans down until your noses almost brush against each other, you inhaling sharply and katsuki grips the sheets next to your head “ if you get yourself in trouble again, i’m the one you’re gonna come bother and i’m trynna sleep. you’re staying.”

the asshole knows exactly what to say to make you feel bad, even if he doesn’t mean to. so you swallow the lump in your throat and concede “okay, fine” you nod “but i gotta leave super early, so don’t be surprised to see me gone when you wake up.”

“s’less trouble for me if you are.” he quips. he’s mean, he’s always been mean. yet his eyes tell a different story. there he goes again with those pleading eyes. the ones that make you want to spill your entire heart and more, to give your life and soul to him. you turn your face away from him.

“stop that.” he whispers, nosing at your neck, your heartbeat picks up and his does too.

“stop what ?” you're playing dumb, you know it. and unfortunately, katsuki knows it too.

“stop trying to act all hard. you know i won’t fall for that shit. those other extra’s might, but i won’t.” he’s awfully quiet. it almost gives you whiplash how he’d went from wrestling you to doing..whatever this was. you don’t mind, despite yourself. “known you too fuckin’ long, unfortunately.”

“yeah” you choke out “yeah, unfortunately.” you feel tears burning in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, that’d be unfair. you’re not allowed to be upset over something you’d caused.

“for fucks sake’s, yn” katsuki goes from gripping his sheets to gripping your wrists, you close your eyes. “ just—fuckin’—“

“i’m sorry.” you whimper, he pauses.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have come tonight, or any other night” you sniffle “i should’ve—you should’ve forgotten about me.”

you’re babbling, you always do when you get in your own head. when you refuse to tell him what’s bothering you, determined to do everything yourself, katsuki hates that about you. though it’s something he can’t really get too angry at you for, cus he does it too.

you’re babbling and you’re crying like you always do because you’re a crybaby despite acting like you’re not, and katsuki hates that about you. that’s why he sighs and flips you both over so you’re laying on top of him. immediately despite your better judgment, despite claiming he should’ve forgotten you, you cling to him like he’ll disappear if you don’t.

you’re clingy. you’ve always clung to him. you’re annoying, spoiled and bratty. you make dumb jokes and you never take anything seriously and you cry easily and katsuki tells himself he hates all of that about you.

because it’s easier to say than admit he’s hopelessly in love with you.

he doesn’t care about waking up late to treat your wounds, he’d stay up all night even if it meant fucking up his sleep schedule just to take care of you. he’d give everything he has just to hear you giggle at your own stupid jokes and he’d offer up every limited edition all might figure he has just to stay here and bicker with you over nothing. he’d always comfort you cus you cry easily and he wants to breathe the same air you do constantly, he’d swallow you whole and keep you safe right next to his heart if he could.

you’re clingy, annoying, spoiled and bratty and all of the above but katsuki would do absolutely anything for you.

so he comforts you as you lay crying into his chest. apologizing about something he has no idea about. he’ll ask and he knows you won’t answer him, but he doesn’t care. as long as you’re here.

you fall asleep soon after and you’re still clutching onto him. he reciprocates by holding onto you just as tightly, hoping it keeps you safe as you dream. it’s a stupid thought, he thinks. but it seems you’ve gone and wiped your germs onto his heart.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy.” he whispers into the air. you’re still wrapped up snuggly in his embrace and his black sheets. in his room where you’d spent the majority of your childhood together. until you came to him with a snotty nose and big wet eyes and told him you weren’t allowed to come play at his house anymore.

fate must think it’s so fucking funny, because despite you not coming over anymore you’d ended up going to the same school every year afterwards, even now ending up in the same class. and with you sneaking into his room almost every night to have him clean up your injuries.

he knows you’ll be gone in the morning, somehow untangling yourself from his snake like grip. with tired eyes and some treat from that coffee shop you know he likes, your stupid way of apologizing to him. katsuki wants to tell you you don’t have to do that because he’d forgive any crime you commit. he’ll turn a blind eye to whatever you do even though he’s studying to do the exact opposite because it’s you and he loves you. but you’ll get in your own head and start assuming stuff. so he accepts your chocolate covered croissants and splits both with you.

you must’ve hit your head extra hard during your late night excursion to think katsuki would ever forget about you. you’re stupid that’s for sure, and katsuki wants to say he hates that about you. but that’d make him stupid too.

[kombuuuu]

would u write angst with 1610 miles? Like they’re best friends and both like each other but miles is distant bc of spider-man stuff. Maybe reader tries to distract herself by going on a date but it goes bad and miles comforts her and reveals he’s spider-man and confesses to her that he likes her:,)

“Im Spiderman!”

Miles Morales x Fem!Reader

“What the hell.”

“Mi vida, listen.”

“What the actual hell.”

Of course sugar, this silly little angst WILL BE SOOOOO DELICIOUS

warnings: hurt/comfort, attempted sexual assault (not by Miles)

Miles had been distant.

He kept brushing you off, planning times to meet up and missing them. Calling you in no hurry then all of a sudden there’s a family emergency and he hangs up.

Now you would understand if it was just a few times, hell, even more than a few times you’d just convince yourself you were paranoid. But every time for the past two months?

You’d right about had enough.

If Miles doesn’t want to commit to your.. not relationship..

Then you won’t either.

—

Miles had been busy. Life had gotten ahead of him when he’d least expected it. After a year of Spider-ing (?), he’d finally settled into a nice pattern of, wake up, do things, call you, see you, call you again to make sure you got home safe, protect the innocent civilians of Brooklyn, also do illegal graffiti, then go home. And maybe text you. All of that had been snatched from under him like a shaggy rug. Tripping over his own feet and struggling to right himself.

He had some fued going on with a villain he’d heavily underestimated. Their likeness not only in fighting, but also preying. Miles had started home from his patrols more than once to find a chip attached to his shoe. Beeping only audible from his advanced hearing.

It had stumped him into a nervous stupor. Constantly worried that someone bad is going to waltz through his front door.

He was worried they would catch wind of you, and although that had always lingered at the back of his mind. Losing you had been put on the forefront the moment you came to school injured one time, saying some guy just wanted drug money, and was pretty easy to scare away. Doesn’t mean he didn’t nick you in the cheek real good. Blade running quick against your cheek, and lord were you grateful it was light.

Miles had pulled you out of class, ignoring the behest of his professor and dragged you to his secret stash of first aid supplies, locked away in an empty and unused science room.

“So why’s it here?” He glanced up at you, confused.

“Huh? What’s here?”

His puzzled expression pulled at your heartstrings, giving you some sweet butterflies. “The first aid kit, dummy.”

“Oh.. Oh! Yeah-“ he threw his hand behind his neck, blazer sleeve crawling up his arm. “Uh- For ‘mergencies..” He quickly went back to cleaning your cut, finding your gaze too strong on him, but unable to avoid it.

“This is an emergency?”

He grabbed your chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting it slightly up and to the side, then continuing with his right hand at dabbing your cheek with antiseptic.

“It will be if you keep moving.”

You prayed he didn’t notice how hot your cheeks felt.

Once Miles finished, he caressed your face softly for a moment, relishing in the contact before he quickly packed his stuff away and rushed out of the room in an excuse of “late for class”. You stayed sitting at the table for a further two minutes before getting up gently, grabbing your bag, and leaving the ‘abandoned’ classroom.

—

You were sitting on the curb of your apartment. Wishing you could just go back inside and sleep. Miles hadn’t spoken to you for a week. You didn’t want to seem like a clingy girlfriend, but god you felt like one. You were waiting patiently on for the bud to arrive, far too early in the morning. Sat in the spot Miles would usually meet you at, you sighed down at your feet. Had you done something wrong? Your relationship had been blossoming the past few months into something you’re sure was reciprocated. There was no way that the endless supply of intimate moments between the two of you was a coincidence.

The way your whole face would light up at the mere sight of him had to be clear as day.

You swore up at the sky, watching your breath fog up in the winter air, the slow screech of your bus coming around a corner brung you back down to earth. Day dreams about a boy who you probably don’t even cross the mind of cut short.

You stood up and groaned, stretching your arms and leaned against the bus pole. Except it didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down, and when you’d realised the driver wasn’t pulling into the parking bay, you were already too late.

“Oh- C’mon, really!” You kicked your foot against the scuffed ground, pouting at no one and complaining to no one too.

“Miss the bus?”

A man who looked to be around 17 approached you. You stepped back from him, him getting the hint and not getting any closer.

“Oh- Uh.. Didn’t mean to seem like a creep or anything,” he laughed lightly, dimples showing at the action. “I just, also missed the bus.” He gestured down to himself, disheveled clothes and messy hair.

Disheveled clothes didn’t look as good on him as it did Miles, but you smiled and hugged a laugh anyways.

This could be your chance, get out of your rut. Back into the dating scene and away from Miles.

Yet it seems you couldn’t go two minutes without him on your mind.

“Hence why I look like this.”

His eyes flickered back to yours, taking in tour appearance as well.

“Guess we’ll have to walk,”

He laughed, “Guess so.”

“Not like our clothes can get much more creased.”

That brought a genuine chuckle out of the man, eyes squinting at the sarcastic tone you held.

“Well, I know a couple ways.”

He winked at you and you huffed, following behind him as you began the treck to your school.

—

The man you met had been named Arthur. He was understanding of your humour, and pretty well in his own. He seemed king of untrustworthy, though. You just didn’t understand why, something about him made your stomach churn. Maybe it was butterflies?

You had been talking for a week before he asked you out.

The fact surprising you. Never in your life had you met someone and them be wanting to date you within the same month, let alone fortnight.

“Yeah- yeah, okay.”

Miles’ face crossed your mind in a fleeting thought, sending goosebumps along your skin and a buzz through your bloodstream.

You’d just gotten asked out by someone attractive, said yes, and weren’t told it was some joke. And yet, the mere thought of Miles brought a quake to your knees? Good god.

Cross your fingers this date gets him off your mind and his image peeled from the backs of your eyelids.

“Cool, see you Friday?” Arthur stood from his chair, walking backwards towards the door.

“Yeah, Eight good?”

“Absolutely.”

—

Arthur had met you at ten, not eight. So you had spent the better of two hours thinking you got stood up by *someone you didn’t even know.

The moment he’d stepped in front of you, the nice outfit you were wearing felt overdressed and unfitting, he was wearing the same day-to-day clothes. It felt almost embarrassing.

“You clean up nice, babe.”

The name had you near gagging.

“Oh! Uh Thanks!” You grimaced as he winked.

The restaurant you’d arrived at was fairly busy, a quaint place with hung string lights and vines crawling along the ceiling. It led out into a cute garden, where it looked to be their own food growing.

At least he knows how to pick a place.

—

Fifteen minutes into the date, you had just gotten your food. And Arthur wouldn’t, for the life of him, talk.

It was so unnatural, so absolutely awkward you had just picked at your nails until your food arrived.

He had chatted with the waiter more than you.

“So uhm.. Arthur!”

He grunted an acknowledgment and glacéd you at you before returning to his food.

“What do you do study?”

“Anthropology.”

“Cool, I’ve always liked stuff like that.”

“Uhuh.”

You were going to shoot yourself if this man gives you anymore one word answers.

After a few more busted attempts, you had given up on trying. Just focusing on finishing your food faster so you could get the hell out of here.

A man you didn’t know came over to greet Arthur, said man responding enthusiastically. Peeking up and talking with “David” about who-knows-what.

“And who’s this lovely lady?”

“Oh hello, I’m—“

“—She’s my girlfriend David, so don’t try. Maybe after a while i’ll convince her to let me share ‘er with you.”

Girlfriend? Share?? What the fuck.

David laughed whilst he eyed you, his body leaning scarily close to you. You chuckled politely, what the hell.

“Well, let’s hope she agrees, huh?” David’s sly voice sent a shiver us disgust down your spine, seeping into your bones like marrow.

“She will.” Arthur assured him. You felt sick, violated. You need to leave, you need to get to Miles.

—

Another ten minutes passed before you’d both finally left the restaurant, the air getting stuffy with so many people around, and no one to see your fear.

Arthur had insisted walking you home. Which you vehemently refuse, you don’t want him knowing where you live.

Arthur had gone quiet after that, a look of almost anger on his face.

You had stayed quiet too, not wanting to poke the bear. And after a second, he was pulling you towards him and leading you to his car.

You panicked, struggling against his grip on your forearm. “Get in the fucking car, [Name].” He’d almost growled the words, “You fucking wanted this.”

“Let go of me!”

“You accepted in the first place, now you’re not going to give me what you owe?”

“I don’t owe you anything, let go!” You cried out, his grip was painful now and he was trying to shove your body into his car by force.

You were tearing up, your breath catching in panic, you were getting weaker and he was still shoving.

Suddenly, all the weight had been thrown off of you. Your wrist now free, and the presence of Arthur gone out of thin air.

“Your parents ever teach you not to lay a hand on a woman?”

You spun around to be greeted with sight of Spiderman wrapping Arthur in webs.

He docked him in the jaw as he tried to talk back. Arthur groaning heavily.

“Oh, guess not.”

“Fuck you, man. The girl wanted it.”

“Didn’t look that way to me, homeboy.”

Arthur glared up at him then turned to you, “You wanted it. Didn’t you?” It was phrased more as a threat than a statement.

“I—“

“Whoopsie.”

A web shot out and covered Arthur’s mouth, his eyes widening in panic as he tried to scream through it.

“Slip of the finger.”

He picked Arthur up and threw him to a wall, shooting a web at him as he went to stick him to it. The impact on his head swiftly knocking him unconscious, probably concussed.

You stood in shock, not really able to process the sight in front of you when Spiderman turned back, suddenly a lot less collected and a lot more worried.

He moved quickly over to you, raising on hand to caress your injured arm and one to your cheeks, the eyes of his mask downturning in fear.

“Hey-. Hey, hey look at me.”

You did, the tears in your eyes finally falling as the situation truly dawned on you. Your lip trembled. “Oh, [Name], you’re okay, i’ve got you.”

“Spidey—“ You shivered a little in his hold. His arm snaking down from yours to holding you close to him. The other continued to rub circles into your tear-stained cheeks. “—Come here, Chiquita.”

You hadn’t even noticed the names, your name, falling from his lips. You had only registered the immediate feeling of comfort around him. Unlike the feeling of fear, primality, around Arthur. Spidey had felt more like safety, like someone you could call a lifelong friend.

He grabbed you by your waist, talking you through it the whole time.

“I’m gonna touch your waist now, that okay?” “Mhmm..” “Okay, wrap your legs around me when I pick you up, yeah?”

Humming your affirmation, you wrapped your legs around his waist while he carried the whole weight of you in one hand, spread out on the low of your back. The touch sending the first pleasant tingle of your whole night through the tips of his gloved fingers.

“Let me take you home, querida.”

Miles’s eyes squinted in the pitiful sight of you, this was his doing. If he had been there for you, this never would have happened. His paranoia for something bigger had outweighed his realistic worries. If he’s not in your life, who’s going to protect you?

The names of sweet kept tumbling out of him, making up for the weeks he’d been missing. God, even now, holding you to his chest while he swung you home. Your eyes closed and buried into his neck, ignoring the world around the both of you and finding safety in him. Even now, he’s felt better than he had in the last months.

His feet landed softly on your fire escape, the soft thud of the metal a welcomed thought. Or, maybe it was being home again, either one.

Spiderman’s right hand slid under your bedroom window, opening it slow enough as to not wake your parents.

“We’re home, [Name].”

He climbed through the indie with you in tow, leaving it open slightly as you began to undress. He turned around quickly while you put on a large shirt and sleep shorts. Trying graciously to avoid watching you through the reflection of the window.

Once you were finished, he turned around and went to grab the makeup wipes from your dresser. You giving him a quizzical look he ignored.

You sat down on the bed with your legs crossed and he followed, your knees brushing one another.

“Close your eyes.”

You did, letting him softly wipe away any makeup you had put on for the night. You sighed in content, and absurdity. What was the likely hood of your date going so horribly wrong, then being saved and comforted by Brooklyns best vigilante. Then having that very same vigilante sit in your bed and wipe the tear streaked makeup from your cheeks.

“There you go.”

You opened your eyes again, seeing his hooded face so close to yours it made your heart beat.

“Thank you.”

He leaned back, suddenly seeming nervous.

“Hey, I—,“ He stopped and breathed in deep, “,—I need to tell you something.” He sounded conflicted, scared.

Why would a crime-fighting spider be scared of you?

“Yeah, of course. Anything.”

He sucked in another breath, quicker this time. And reached up to the bottom of his mask so fast you almost missed it. He pulled it off quickly, panicky. Leaving you to stare at the soft, plush lips and Hazel eyes that could only ever replicate the fall of an autumn leaf. Or the cinnamon dusted on the baking you would do with your mother.

Miles Morales stared back at you.

“I’m spiderman!” He laughed nervously. Picking at the fabric of his hood.

He looked back up at you and sighed, a smile playing on his lips at your dumbfounded expression.

“What the hell.”

“Mi vida, listen.”

“What the actual hell.”

He dropped his mask and gathered your hands in his. Holding them against one another.

“[Name].”

“You’re Spiderman.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

You looked up at his, he was closed again. Glancing at your lips every now and again. “Miles..” You pouted at him, almost crying his name. His chest aches for you. A thick guilt rendered his voice useless, a longing for you mixing into it.

“Is this why-“ You broke eye contact. “—Is this why you’ve been ignoring me?” You whispered it, like you didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

His fingers twitched against yours, squeezing your palm and rubbing his thumbpad over the juncture between your thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, cielo.” He let out a shaky breath. Saying the term in a quaking sigh.

He watched you watch him, your glassy eyes telling him all the hurt you’ve been through.

“Baby I didn’t mean—“ He shook his head, “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I was worried that some bad people would find out I—“ He stuttered, focusing on your intwined hands once again. “I cared for you, and they would use that, use you against me.”

“I never wanted you hurt, I just wanted you safe.”

You let another set of tears fall, the relief soothing the ache of stress in your shoulders, you were still mad at him, sure. And not only for ignoring you. But for keeping such a big secret to himself. But god, you were so happy he was back.

“It wasn’t because of you, cielo. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me.”

“I’m dangerous, [Name].”

He looked back up to you in earnest, desperation and fear clouding his eyes foggy.

“You’re worth the risk.”

“God,” his breathing was heavy, deep. “,You’re making this real hard for me, baby.”

“Good.”

“Jesus christ.”

He surged forwards, using your joined hands as leverage as he pulled you closer into him.

He stopped just short of your lips, breath escaping you at the sight of him, looking as gorgeous as ever. Even with his hair in a mess and smelling like baby powder. “Please let me kiss you.” The man was near begging, desperation of a different kind now.

“Okay.”

He closed the distance, letting your eyes fall shut at the feeling. You never had felt more perfectly at peace than you had right now.

His hands let go of yours, moving up your body and landing on your hips. He shifted his weight onto his knees, leaning over you as you lowered back. You broke apart, panting heavy and laboured, “I’m still mad at you.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” He peppered you with short kissed. You’re back hitting the bed and him crowding over you, trailing kisses from your lips, to cheeks, to just below your jawline. You giggled lightly, his kisses tickling.

“‘M gonna hold you to that.”

He grinned up at you, slotting himself neatly between your legs. His right hand propping himself up beside you head, and left finding any bit of you he could hold.

“I don’t doubt it.”

He kissed you again.

—

okay maybe i lied this is also kind of long

BUT AWE 🫶🫶🫶

[miraeluc]

i loved ur last hcs about sh so much ! if its not too much, can i ask for u to make a 2nd part (?) including shoto & izuku. please, im begging u, ill sell my organs if needed. thank u <3

dearest, from the depth of my heart, i’m offering my sincere apologies, for some stupid reason, i saw your ask a few months ago, prepared the draft and forgot entirely about it. i feel so bad pls don't sell your organs omg i hope this reaches you.

bnha boys finding out about your selfharm

prompt: /

pairing: izuku midoriya x reader, todoroki shouto x reader

warnings: mention of bad mental state! (reader); selfharming; some crying; pronouns of reader not mentioned (i think? correct me if i’m wrong pls!)

izuku midoriya

izuku, just like bakugou, was aware that you had been struggling with your mental health

but, obviously, he also was not aware of your self-harm tendencies

to be fair, it wasn't something you struggled with for a long time

only two months, to be exact

the first time you put a blade to your skin was your biggest regret - because although it wasn't pleasureable, it was extremely easy to spiral out of control, doing it nearly every day as if it was routine.

and since it was winter - you didn't worry about hiding it since you could wear long clothes without people questioning it anyway

when izuku found out, he was a mess

it went like this

the both of you were spending a cozy evening together

since everyone in your class was out or with their families, you had the entire living area to yourself

you were sat beside him, scrolling on tiktok and he was doing the same, but on his own phone

after a long while of you guys just silently enjoying eachother's company, he wanted to ask if you were hungry, but since he hadn't spoken in a while his voice cracked while doing so, and you were quick to mock him

long story short, you were now underneath him while he was tickling you.

when you tried to push his hands away, he grabbed your wrist - initially only wanting to stop you, but when you winced, he immediately stopped tickling you and, without thinking, pulled up your sleeve to see if he had hurt you

instead, he was met with the red, angry lines littered across your skin, the wounds not fresh enough to still bleed, but they were obviously still open wounds

you froze in place

he gulped, eyes moving to meet yours before he wordlessly pulled you to sit on his lap, arms wrapping around you and caging you in

"-'s ok. don't feel bad. i'm sorry i didn't realise sooner." he choked out, trying to blink away his tears

you were still frozen in place, thoughts running wild as you tried to gather your words to say something 

“izu.. please- don’t blame yourself for not realising sooner,”

he moved to look at you, teary eyes meeting yours “let’s bandage you up, ok, love?”

before you could react, he already stood - hands steady beneath your thighs, carrying you towards his dorm room, placing you down onto his bed before leaving to grab a first-aid kit from his bathroom

he wordlessly applied aloe vera gel over the more or less still fresh wounds, wrapping bandages around your arm securely before pressing a light kiss on your hand

“we can talk if you want to, but let’s get the food i was talking about earlier, hm?” 

you smiled slightly and nodded

although you still had a long road before you, you felt that a tiny burden had been lifted off your shoulders

you no longer had to fight for happiness all alone, - izuku would be by your side every step of the way, rest assured.

todoroki shouto

although shouto was indifferent, he was not stupid

he didn’t officially know of your battles with mental health, nor did he officially know about your self-harming tendencies, but he picked up the signs.

he didn’t want to confront you about immediately - since he also wasn’t a very open person, he wanted to provide you the space you needed until you were ready to open up and talk about your struggles

in the meantime, he tried his best to subtly ask fuyumi for tips on how to comfort someone when the time came

he did begin to get increasingly worried when he started hearing less and less from you - you often didn’t show up to class, and you never answered texts

todoroki, not being one to pry, tried giving you the space he assumed you needed

he didn’t take it personally - he knew you weren’t doing this on purpose, but he was flooded with worry.

and when he found out you haven’t been leaving your room at all, he decided it was time to react and check on you, even if it meant bothering you

when he stepped into your room, his eyes had to adjust to be able to see in the darkness that immediately engulfed him as the door clicked shut behind him

the air was stale - clothes scattered around the floor. your bed was messy, but you were not to be seen

tentatively he called out your name, switching on the small bedside lamp you had

„y/n?“ as he took in the sight of your room, but his eyes zeroed in on something, an object, on your bedside table

he tried again, blood running cold

„y/n? are you in the bathroom?“

he picked up said object, mindful to not cut himself with the small blade, moving to place it somewhere away from beside your bed - out of sight, in hopes that his heart would slow its racing

„yeah. i’m in here. hold on.“ he heard you groggily call out

his eyes closed in relief at the sound of your voice - having assumed the worst and he sighed shakily, dropping to sit on the edge your bed whilst he waited for you, running a hand through his hair to push it back

when you stepped out of the bathroom, his face understandably dropped

you looked so pale, so defeated

so fragile

he noticed the way you were fidgeting, an arm hidden behind your back - probably the reason he heard you shuffling around your bathroom. maybe in search of something to cover up?

he stood again, slowly approaching you. when you didn’t flinch away, he gently reached up a hand to caress your cheek

„did you bandage yourself up properly?“ he whispered, no hint of judgement in his tone - just worry

and alas, that is all it took for your eyes to brim with tears.

your lower lip shook as you quickly blinked up at him, shaking your head and releasing a heart-shattering sob as your boyfriend engulfed you into his arm - caging you into a protective hug

„it’s okay. will you let me help you?“ he whispered

a/n: hi again - i KNOW i disappeared for like 2 - 3 years but i’m about to finish my drafts and post them out, but i want to announce that requests are temporarily closed as i will no longer be writing about anime characters (unless i get an intense surge of inspiration), but there will be more explaining that in a separate post. for now, enjoy the drafts!

[barcaracing]

you’re wearing his kit pt. 2 | pg8

summary: pedri and y/n go public with their relationship and it doesn't take long before the media digs up her past with another barcelona player whose name happens to be on the back of her kit in one photo

pairing: pedri x reader ft. platonic!gavi

warnings: angst, fluff, language

a:n: here’s part two to you’re wearing his kit! it's been sitting in my drafts for FAR too long bc i couldn't figure out the ending, but i’m so excited to see what u think. it’s a lot. in every way. 6k words from my family to yours. enjoy!!

*******

"You're not Aurora," you say, frowning. The person on the other side of the threshold gives a small smile. He inclines his head a little as if he was caught in the act and stares at you almost shyly through his lashes.

"Sorry to disappoint. Some people say we have the same nose if that's any consolation."

You lean against the door frame and arch an eyebrow. "You do not have the same nose."

He tucks his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs. "I don’t see it either but it’s what they say."

"Well, if that’s what they say," you drawl and cross your arms in front of your chest. You both fall silent, glancing around awkwardly as you wait for the other person to speak first. To no one’s surprise, it ends up being you.

"Pablo?"

He meets your gaze with a questioning look.

"What are you doing here?"

He fiddles with his sleeves and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, practically squirming.

"And where's your sister?" You glance behind him. "She said she would pick me up at noon. It’s 12:30 and you’re obviously not her."

"No," he says, "but the nose—"

"Gavi."

He loosens a breath. "I wanted to talk to you, but you didn’t return any of my calls or texts. You even ignored the spam mails I sent you." He narrows his eyes accusingly. "I expected better from my mystery lover."

You make a face. "Mystery lover?"

"One of the nicknames the press calls you." He grins. "I also like Gavi's Kitmate and Number-Swapping Seductress. But my favourite is the Jersey Juggler. It's hilarious."

"It's mortifying," you say, sounding as exasperated as you feel.

Grimacing, you push yourself off the door frame and consider the brown-haired boy before you. He keeps fidgeting and it’s starting to make you feel nervous as well. You sigh. “Fine,” you say, nudging the door open with your foot. "Come in."

Gavi's eyebrows shoot up. He’s quick to enter your flat without question, kicking off his shoes and tailing you into the kitchen where he heads straight for the fridge.

"I'm glad you let me in." He scans the content and picks up a container with leftovers to smell it. "Your neighbours probably thought I was harassing you." He puts the lid back on with a grimace and rummages through the rest of your food.

"You were harassing me," you say, hopping onto the kitchen counter next to the fridge. You watch him pop a grape into his mouth before taking out the entire bowl and two water bottles. He places one of them next to your legs, which are propped on the kitchen island, then sits on it and opens the other bottle to take a sip.

"So," Gavi says, balancing the bowl of grapes on his legs as he settles his feet beside you on the counter. "How have you been?"

Your head falls back against the cupboard and you stare up at the ceiling. "I was looking forward to seeing Aurora again. We wanted to grab some food before our flight later, but you know how that worked out."

Gavi hums. "You know, it still weirds me out that you're friends with my sister when I knew you first."

Your lips twitch. "You're aware we can have other friends besides each other, right?"

"Have some faith." He snorts. "I’m fully aware that you're dating my best friend and teammate."

His eyes widen.

He clamps his mouth into a thin line and shifts awkwardly. "Sorry," he mutters. "I wanted to ease into that a lot smoother but, er, yeah. I don’t think it worked."

"It's fine," you say half-heartedly, choosing to ignore how your chest rapidly fills with anxiety. "I appreciate the effort."

"How have you been dealing with that?" He twists the bottle between his palms, looking at you carefully. You really do appreciate how he powers through this. Gavi has never been much of a talker. If it was up to him, he would rather just give you a hug and offer you gum.

Still, you can't bring yourself to meet his effort with an answer, so you raise your shoulder in a weak shrug. There's not much that comes to mind. These past few days have bled into each other until all you can recall are tear-stained pillows and stuffing almost everything you own into a box in your closet because they remind you of Pedri.

"I haven't really dealt with it, I guess."

"You haven't?" Gavi looks surprised.

"No." You frown, staring at your socks. "I don't even know what’s left to deal with."

You hate how fragile you sound. You especially hate how every word holds some truth that you’ve been avoiding with every fibre in your body. The uncertainty is crushing you. There is no more of the anger and frustration that gripped each nerve of yours after you had left Pedri's flat.

It only flared up again when you saw the video of him accepting the girl's number. For days, all you could see was red. You felt betrayed and hurt. God, so hurt. You haven't let yourself truly think about it because the moment you do, it will turn into grief and that's the last thing you want.

You know grief is just love that no longer has a place to go, but you don’t want to carry that with you. You won't mourn anything yet. Not before someone calls an end to this relationship. That's the least Pedri can do.

"I don't know what happened between you, but I can piece it together seeing how he hasn't talked to me in days. Hasn't talked much to anyone during practice, to be honest. He also keeps losing every rondo." He scratches his jaw in deep thought. "I didn't even know that was possible for a midfielder. He also looks like shit if that makes you feel any better."

It doesn't, you think miserably to yourself. You shake your head. "I’d hate for him to play badly because of me. I still want Spain to win tomorrow, you know.” You knock your legs into his with a small smile. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be in Málaga?”

Gavi bumps his legs into yours as well. “Ansu’s covering for me. They probably think I’m in my hotel room, resting like a saint.”

“You’re insane,” you say because he is. “Aurora knows?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. “Knows that I’m insane? Hopefully. I’ve got it from her.” You roll your eyes and stretch out your hand, asking for some grapes. He dumps a few in your palm. “She knows I’m here, yes. I’m actually here to pick you up for your flight. She’s already in Málaga.”

“What?” The grape nearly falls out of your mouth. “Why?”

Gavi shrugs. “Didn’t say, but she probably knew that you needed someone to talk to and that it should probably be me.”

“That’s betrayal,” you say, completely fond of her.

He hums. “She also wanted to make sure that you still come to the match and she knew you could never say no to me.”

“That’s not true,” you sputter, although it is, sadly, very true.

Gavi knows that as well, so he just grins like the idiot he is. His smile lingers and for a moment, you’re just looking at each other.

Beach strolls in the winter and kicking a ball around on a random pitch at midnight come to mind when you look at the familiar brown of his eyes. You’re grateful to have a friend like him. His presence is comforting. But it doesn’t take long for the air to grow thick. His gaze drifts to his lap.

“Remind me again why we were never together,” he says jokingly, but his voice is gentle and earnest and it doesn’t quite feel like he’s teasing.

You let the last grape roll around in your palm as you think about his question. “We went on one date and it was the most awful thing that ever happened to us.”

“Right.” Gavi chuckles, delighted by the memory of you two sitting in a stuffy restaurant, talking about things that you already knew about each other.

You laugh softly. “We were awkward, bored, and sick of each other after 10 minutes. At some point, I considered climbing out the window while you ripped every napkin they gave you to shreds because you couldn’t stop fidgeting. So we just promised to stay friends. Very wise decision.”

“Wise beyond our years,” Gavi agrees. “No offence, but I nearly puked that night from how wrong it felt to be on a date with you. If I learned anything, it’s that some people are just meant to be friends.”

You nod, smiling easily. “At least we got that part down.”

He winks and offers you another handful of grapes. “We make a good pair. Completely platonic pair.”

You hum supportively and pick at your grapes. You sit in comfortable silence as you eat. Then he clears his throat and you find him already looking at you.

“It is, right?” He asks carefully, adjusting the bowl in his lap. “Completely platonic, I mean.”

You blink at him. “Are you joking?”

“I–“ He clears his throat again. “I’m just wondering.”

“Oh my God, Gavi.” You stare at him in disbelief before aiming a grape at his face. He swats it away. Couldn’t even have the decency to let it hit him.

“Of course, it’s completely platonic! I haven’t felt anything for you since that cursed day.” He nods to himself and exhales in relief, prompting you to narrow your eyes. “Except maybe disgust and intense dislike like right now. I can’t believe you asked me that when I have a boyfriend.”

“Sorry, I was just—” He holds up his hands when you chuck another grape at him. It bounces off his chest. “I just needed to make sure we’re on the same page here because someone clearly thinks we aren’t. Again, I have no idea what happened. I’m just here to feed you and get you on a plane.”

"Not doing the best job, are you?" You hold up the grapes and fix him with a look.

“We'll get something to eat on our way there.” He shrugs and sets the bowl aside, running a hand through his hair multiple times, obviously wanting to say more. Gavi’s eyes drift to the ceiling. He closes them with an exhale.

"I just need to know that you weren't fighting because of me. I really did like you for some time, Y/N, and I know it was reciprocated, but that was a long time ago and before we realised we'd never be anything more than friends. When Pedri asked you to be his girlfriend, I saw how happy he made you and I just knew no one would ever come between you. I'd really, really hate for that person to be me.”

You gawk at him. This is the most honest and rambly you have ever heard him, and you can't put into words how much that means to you. But you won't even have to do that because the great thing about Pablo Páez Gavira is that you don't need words to talk.

All you have to do is slide down the counter and sit beside him on the kitchen island. You lay your head on his shoulder and feel him wrap an arm around you, squeezing once before letting go.

"It wasn't your fault," you say quietly into the room, prompting Gavi to glance at you. "You did nothing wrong. Pedri just...there are some things we need to talk about, but we'll be fine, I think." You cringe inwardly at how unsure you sound. Gavi arches his brows in a way that tells you he heard it too.

He knocks his shoulder into yours and cracks a smile. "Very convincing. Now tell me what happened because I can't think of any more ways to make you understand that I don't know—"

"What happened. Got it," you say, rolling your eyes playfully. It wasn't your intention to keep this from Gavi. It's just that you haven't told anyone anything yet. In retrospect, you haven't really spoken much at all these past few days. So when you do, it feels relieving. The words simply tumble out of your mouth without any order or purpose, and you let them carry you through the events that took place almost two weeks ago.

How Pedri posted a beach selfie of you grinning into the camera with him sitting behind, arms wrapped around you and pressing a kiss into your shoulder. How he tagged you in the photo and threw his phone across the room in a panic only to walk back over to delete the app and turn off all notifications before pulling you close by the waist, spinning around the room, laughing. How liberating, nerve-wracking, and terrifying it felt to have the world know of something so precious and lovely and only meant for you two.

You don't realise you've been smiling the entire time until your face gradually drops and you start talking about the moment where everything went wrong.

How you wanted to scream and rip your hair out when Pedri and Fer looked at you like you were a stranger, but you still had no clue what had happened. How you felt betrayed and hurt that your own boyfriend didn't trust you and never gave you the chance to explain, making you feel helpless because you saw how hurt he was, but there was nothing you could do except let him try to inflict the same pain by flinging words at you that still clawed holes into your chest.

By the time you're done, Gavi is visibly simmering and you have to call his name twice before he snaps out of it.

"I’ll talk to him," he promises, his voice unusually hard.

"Okay?" You say, taken aback. "And what are you going to say?”

-✩-

"You're a dickhead, you know that?" Gavi slams the door behind him. He locks it, then strides into the dressing room, stopping a few steps away from Pedri who's sitting on a bench and taking off his cleats, barely reacting to his teammate's entrance.

"Still not talking to me." Gavi huffs, throwing his hands in the air. "Of course, you aren't. And here I thought I got lucky after you knocked me over right in front of Xavi. A real gem you are, by the way."

Pedri keeps his gaze on his shoes as he unties them—or rather yanks on the laces with a lot more force than necessary. Gavi watches him manhandle his footwear a moment longer before his patience runs thin. He snatches the shoe from his hand and casts it aside.

Pedri's head snaps up. He narrows his eyes at him, then turns around to toss the other shoe into his locker. While going through his stuff, he shakes his head and mutters, "Unbelievable."

Gavi glares at the back of his head. He's got to be kidding. One word. That's all he gets after nearly two weeks of silence. One word mumbled under his breath. Oh, he really is a dickhead.

"What is?" Gavi snaps, sounding as irritated as he feels. "Just fucking talk to me. I'm so sick of—"

"You ran into me five times today!" Pedri cuts him off, spinning around. "Five times in a 40 min practice session. You know that’s insane, right?”

Gavi halts.

He didn't really expect to get a response. But now that he got one, he realises that he'll just have to do anything to keep him talking. Easy enough.

He shrugs. "So what?"

Pedri blinks violently. "What do you mean so what? You just kept barreling into me like a mad person. Jordi wouldn’t even leave my side anymore after you tackled me to the ground."

Gavi coughs to conceal his laughter. Perhaps he did overdo it. He waves him off. "It's football."

Pedri stares at him in disbelief. "You shoved me over during recovery."

"Yes, well." He shrugs again. "Serves you right."

Pedri gapes at him. Then, he rolls his eyes and goes back to looking for something. "I don't have time for this."

Gavi swears his eye twitches. If there's anything that pisses him off more than being ignored, it's being dismissed. Especially by a teammate and friend. Apparently, he'll just have to drop right into it.

"We need to talk," he says firmly. Pedri simply takes off his training kit and puts on a fresh shirt, apparently back to ignoring Gavi who is close to strangling him. "Why haven't you apologised to Y/N yet?" He continues, and that seems to get Pedri's attention.

He stops, hand hovering at his locker. Gavi can practically see his brain short-circuit as his shoulders grow rigid with tension.

"What?" Pedri asks, gaze fixed on the locker door.

"You were an asshole to her and I refuse to believe you don't know that," he says, eyeing Pedri as he winces and stares down at his feet. At least he’s reacting to it. Gavi loosens a breath and takes a step forward. "I know you and I know her—"

"Seems like it," Pedri mumbles before shutting his locker.

"Look," Gavi says, treading carefully, "she told me what happened and it's shitty of you not to believe her, but I swear that nothing ever happened between us. We’ve always just been friends and you know that. Those pictures are old and she's only wearing my kit in them because I gave it to her, but—"

"You gave it to her?" Pedri looks up with a frown.

Something about his demeanour shifts. Gavi isn’t sure why but he gets the distinct feeling that whatever is approaching is important to him. It's huge. He's just missing some information on what it is. Pedri continues, "So she didn't buy it. That's your actual kit that you gave her and she wore?"

"Well," Gavi scratches his cheek, still failing to see the point. "Yeah? I don't understand—"

"You told me once that you'd only give your kit to the girl who would be it for you," Pedri says, his voice growing quiet as the room falls silent.

Gavi stiffens. There it is.

"You thought it'd bring bad luck if you didn't give it to the person you know you’d want to see wearing it for the rest of your life.” Pedri’s gaze is hazy as he’s recounting the memory. “You said it to me last year.”

Gavi stares at him, feeling stupid for not having seen it coming. It's ridiculous how he got blindsided. His mind is loud—a stark contrast to the deafening silence. It rings in his ears. All it takes is one look at his face before Pedri drops to the bench with his head in his hands. "So it's true."

"Pedri."

"I know I messed up, okay?" He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. "I know it. The way she looked at me broke my fucking heart, and it's been killing me that I did that to her."

Gavi decides to take a hesitant step forward. Every conversation he's had today didn't go as planned, so he's not certain about anything anymore. Less than he usually is with words, anyway. But something tells him that his best friend is about to spill his guts. He wants to be there for him. So he sits beside him and waits.

"I tried to call her," Pedri goes on quietly, eyes still fixed on the ground. "But it was only once and she didn’t pick up. And even if she did, I still have no clue what to tell her. I mean—I believe her. Of course, I do. I would trust her with my life, but I'm just…" Pedri bites his lip, brows knitted.

He sighs. "It hurts. It fucking hurts to see her wear your name and number, not caring that everyone can see it. But when I asked her if she wanted to wear my kit to a game, she said no. Every time. She gave her reasons, and I understand and respect them; told her it was fine, but what you said just kept repeating in my head and I thought, here I've found the person I want to see wearing my kit for the rest of my life and she doesn't want it." He looks away and swallows.

Gavi's heart breaks for him.

"She wanted yours. And now I find out you wanted her to have it as well." Pedri shakes his head. He finally looks up and meets his gaze. "Well, fuck, I want her to be happy, don’t I?"

The look in his eyes is devastating. Gavi furrows his brows and wracks his brain for the right words. Any words, really.

"Hermano, this is a conversation you should be having with Y/N," he mutters more to himself than to Pedri. He rubs the back of his neck. “I did say all that, yes, but I wasn't thinking of it when I gave her my kit. She went to a few matches with Aurora and wanted to support me as a friend."

Gavi pauses to think about how he can best put into words what he's about to say. The last thing he wants is to kick a guy who's already on the ground.

"I think some part of me liked seeing her in my kit," he says, carefully. "I guess I got used to it. But I never imagined actually seeing her wear it for the rest of our lives because I just never felt anything that intense for her. It was just a crush. A temporary thing. And whatever my feelings were, they disappeared anyway after that date we went on. You know the one we told you about that was so bad, Y/N considered never speaking to me again? That one."

When Pedri doesn't respond, Gavi adds, "Look, I know for a fact that Y/N doesn't have any feelings for me either, and that's exactly how we want it and how it's supposed to be."

Pedri fiddles with the hem of his shorts. "What makes you so sure?"

"The way she looks at you," Gavi answers right away. "She never looked at me that way. Anyone who has spent less than a minute with her knows she's in love with you."

Pedri stops fidgeting and Gavi swears he can see him blush. Finally, he meets his gaze. "I’m in love with her too."

"Of course, you are."

"I'm terrified."

Gavi can't help but snort. "Are you?"

Pedri's brows draw together.

"When you think of her, what do you feel?" He gives him a knowing look. "Because I don't think it's fear. And I think you know that as well. Don't lose her over this, Pedri. Don't lose her ever but especially not over this. You're good for each other."

Gavi is almost relieved to see him ponder his words. Gradually, his face clears and there's a small sparkle in his eyes that Gavi recognises from when Pedri sees an opportunity during a match. A space that holds endless potential and no matter what, he can't help but rush towards it. He can't even count how many times he has caught Pedri looking at you like that.

"I want her to be happy." He says it with so much conviction and finality that Gavi doesn't feel like it needs an answer.

"She is happy," he insists anyway and adds, "With you." Because he really is Cupid himself today.

Pedri nods, absent-minded, and rises to his feet to pace the room as he mumbles numbers to himself. Gavi watches in amusement as he gestures around, counting off things he's going to say and do. Finally, he comes to a halt and turns around, eyes twinkling.

"It takes less than two hours to get to Barcelona, right? If I leave now, I can make it back by 4. That's still 5 hours of sleep. It will only work if there's a flight leaving right now, but I'll make it. I have to. I'll probably be late for morning practice and it'll likely just be 4 hours of sleep, but it's fine because Norway—"

"Okay!" Gavi stands up, helplessly grinning. "None of that will be necessary."

Pedri frowns. "But I need to see her before the match or I’ll explode or score an own goal because my head’s a mess."

"That'd be embarrassing," Gavi says. "Especially in front of Y/N."

"What?" Pedri slowly shakes his head as if Gavi is the one who doesn’t understand. "I'm lucky if she'll ever want to see me again. I don't think she'll come all the way out here to watch a match if I'm playing in it. She wouldn’t."

"You're not wrong." Gavi chuckles. "But she promised Aurora she'll go with her to the game since my parents can't."

Pedri blinks, mouth opening and closing. "Oh."

"Exactly." Gavi’s cheeks hurt from how much he's smiling. "She's in Màlaga. Hotel room probably."

"Is it—"

"Yeah."

Pedri dashes off. Only to trip over his discarded shoe and go flailing to the ground. Gavi wheezes with laughter as he helps him up.

"My bad," he chokes out but Pedri barely even hears it, already out the door.

-✩-

"Oh," you say, staring at the hunched-over figure that just knocked on your door like the hotel was on fire and you were all going to die. "You're not Aurora either."

Pedri looks up and blinks through the sweat dripping from his forehead, gasping for air. "Huh?"

"Nothing," you mumble to yourself, "just mourning the fact that I'll apparently never see my friend again." You shake your head and shift on the spot. Pedri is still breathing heavily, hands resting on his knees and staring at you with a dazed look on his face.

His face is flushed the way it is when he plays football and somehow that just seems especially cruel. Your mind is still trying to grasp that Pedri is standing in front of you. Here. Right at your door. You were actually delusional enough to think that you’d somehow be able to avoid him.

Now, all you can think about is how the pink of his cheeks brings out his cheekbones and how his damp hair curls at the front and clings to his forehead. He looks really, really lovely.

Clearing your throat, you force yourself to look away. That seems to shake him out of whatever stupor he was in as well.

"Alright," he stammers, nodding supportively although he has no idea what you're talking about. "I'm sure she'll come around."

Your lips twitch and Pedri's gaze drops almost reflexively. You can't help but look to the side, running a hand up your arm as he clears his throat.

"Sorry, er, I...actually don't know what to say." He straightens and rubs the back of his neck as though it just dawned on him. He smiles sheepishly. "All I could think about on my way here was that you're in Màlaga and how happy I was that you came because I am—happy about it, I mean. I should've thought about what I wanted to say because now I'm just rambling like an idiot but I'm just—I'm so happy. That you’re here. I'm really happy you're here."

You nod hesitantly, not sure how to respond. For some reason, you feel the need to say, "I'm here because of Aurora. She asked me to go to the match with her tomorrow."

Pedri's eyes flickers between yours before they widen. "Oh no, yeah, I know. I knew that. I wouldn't have assumed—I didn't think you came because of me."

You nod again. "Okay."

He looks around the hallway, apparently keen on basking in the awkwardness before his eyes meet yours, seeming almost shy. "Hey, er, can we talk?"

Something inside you rips. The emotional whiplash almost cuts off your airways. You feel blissfully relieved because, yes, of course, we can talk. Always. You've been waiting for this moment. You want this. But the other half is prickling with dread and anxiety about how this talk will end. You have the willpower of a divine being when you force yourself to answer with a steady voice.

"Sure."

God, you're strong. So strong.

Giving you a small smile, Pedri makes to enter your hotel room, but you shake your head and step forward, pulling the door close by a centimetre. "No, not in there."

Pedri steps back robotically, looking puzzled as he glances behind you through the crack of the door. "Er, okay, that's fine. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, it’s just—" You gesture aimlessly as if that would make him understand. "I just have to stay here for two more nights and depending on how this will go, I won't be able to put it all into a box. Since it's not my stuff," you add after a beat although that seems to only confuse him more.

"I'm sorry—what box?"

You wave him off and turn to grab the keycard before closing the door. "Doesn't matter. Do you know another place?"

Pedri blinks a few times. You can see him cast another confused look at the door before nodding. "Yeah, I know a place. Come on, I’ll show you."

He holds out his hand.

You look at it.

Before you can react, Pedri curses under his breath and retracts his hand, running it through his hair instead. "Sorry. Habit," he mutters, then turns around briskly, starting down the hall.

You follow without a word, not saying anything about how the tips of his ears are burning red. Or how he's walking around in training shorts and socks. You don't comment on his shirt that is inside out either.

You just keep your gaze ahead and focus on your heartbeat as it pounds like crazy. You barely even notice that you've arrived if it weren’t for the gust of wind that leaves a trail of goosebumps on your arms.

"The rooftop," you say, looking around. "Planning to push me off?"

"If you wish," he says. The ghost of a grin blooms on his lips. The wind blows again and you reflexively take a step forward to escape the cold. Distractedly, Pedri comes closer as well, his eyes on the sky above. "I don't think it's going to rain, but we can go inside if you want."

"I'm fine," you say, letting your gaze drift around. "The view is stunning."

"So are—" Pedri coughs. "So are the clouds."

"Hm?" You look up. "Oh yeah, they're pretty." A soft smile settles on your lips as you squint at the clouds, trying to make out any shapes. You can feel his eyes on you, and you try very hard not to think about how that makes you feel.

"Do you want to sit?" He eventually asks in a gentle tone. You tear your gaze away and nod, following him to the edge of the roof.

"So," Pedri starts once you're sat beside each other, legs dangling above the streets below. "I'm a dickhead."

"No, you're not," you mumble, eyes set on the view ahead. "It takes a lot to be a dickhead. You're just an idiot."

He gives a quiet laugh. "I'm serious."

"I thought you were a dickhead."

"I can be both," he says, gaze still locked onto the side of your face. "Look, I want to apologise—which I should've done weeks ago."

You can't bring yourself to meet his gaze, but he doesn't seem to mind. "I know it wasn't fair of me to say those awful things to you and then not let you explain, but I did it anyway and I have never regretted anything more. I hate that I wanted to hurt you. And I really hate that I'm capable of it, but I need you to know that I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so fucking sorry."

You let his words linger between you. Taking a deep breath, you shift your gaze. The look in his eyes almost catches you off-guard. It's sincere and bare.

"You don't have to accept my apology right now," he goes on, "but I know a lot of things were left unsaid that day, so you can say them now and I'll listen. Yell at me if you want. Honestly, shove me off this building, I won't judge."

A smile tugs on your lips.

"Can't kill you now," you say, "still got a game to play." The corners of his eyes crinkle as he chuckles. You missed that sound. Pulling your legs up to your chest, you lean your cheek on your knee and lose yourself in his eyes. For a moment, it's quiet. There are cars below and birds above, but there's also quiet. Serene. Softly, you say, "You really hurt me, Pedro."

He nods slightly and adjusts his body so that he's fully facing you.

"I've never seen you get so mad before," you continue. "You barely lose your temper when you get a yellow card, but you did over those pictures and I just don't understand." You shake your head. "I know you get jealous sometimes but not like that. Not over Gavi. I've told you everything you wanted to know about our friendship, and you said you didn't mind any of it. You said you liked how close we are and that you trusted me."

You swallow the lump in your throat. "I want to know why you stopped. I know there's more to it than just me wearing Gavi's kit and I've been trying to figure it out every day because I keep thinking it must be something big and awful in order for you to just leave me." Your voice cracks. Your vision blurs and in the back of your mind, you know you're tipping over and you should probably reel it back but honestly? You don't want to.

"I want to accept your apology, I really do. I missed you so much, Pedri. So fucking much." He opens his mouth to respond before thinking better of it. You're grateful for it because you don’t doubt for a second that you’ll simply break down if he says it back. "But you hurt me so much more than that. You left me."

The words feel like venom on your tongue and by the look on Pedri's face, they burn like it too. "You know I was terrified of making our relationship public. There's nothing more terrifying to me than attention on that scale, but you said it would be fine and people could say whatever they wanted because you'll be by my side. Well, it happened. We did it. People said horrible things to me; to my friends and family. And you weren't there."

Pedri closes his eyes briefly, sucking in a sharp breath. You almost want to take it back and tell him it's not that big of a deal because you know you were close to mending things, but you feel so much lighter now that it's out. That has to count for something.

You feel fingertips brush your cheek. Dazed, you realise that Pedri has come closer to wipe away a tear you didn't even know was there. You don't lean into his palm and he doesn't let it linger either. Instead, he holds it out in front of you. Hesitantly, you reach out. The tips of your fingers graze the inside of his hand. His hand closes, gently holding onto yours.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I really am." He holds your gaze even if his voice cracks. "You're right, I shouldn't have left you alone after convincing you to go public. I was horrified and ashamed of what I did and said just to hurt you in the same way I felt hurt. I couldn't bring myself to face you afterwards. I know it's not an excuse, but you deserve an explanation."

He takes a deep breath and squeezes your hand, seemingly without meaning to.

"A while ago, Gavi said something to me that kept bothering me. It crossed my mind every now and then when we talked about posting that photo, but it only really hit me when I saw those pictures and articles. That's when it became real and I guess I took it as confirmation of something I've always been insecure of." Pedri falters and looks to the side.

When you don’t respond, he quietly explains, "Gavi said he'd only give his kit to the person he knew he wanted to see wearing it for the rest of his life. That having anyone else wear it to matches would bring bad luck, so he’s waiting for the right person."

You stare at him.

Slowly loosening a breath you didn't know you were holding, you try to find your voice. "He said that?"

Pedri nods. You can feel him loosen his grip on your hand.

"Okay," you say, shaking your head to clear your mind. "Alright then."

You pull your hand back and let it fall into your lap, biting back a scoff. "You really are a dickhead."

*********

okokok i know u probably hate me rn, but i promise there's a part three :)) i wouldn't just leave u hanging like that lol i just wanted to get this out sooner than later and tbh there's still so much missing. the grovelling! the anger! the grovelling, people!!! anyway, feel free to leave some feedback, so i know if anyone even wants a third part. stay hydrated guys x

[quokkacore]

can you dig it? (m) [kim doyoung & kim jungwoo]

summary: post concert highs can be a real bummer, and tonight, after a particularly intense performance, your boyfriends help you come down.

pairing: kim doyoung x kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre: poly!au, 70s!au, band!au, smut, fluff

warnings: drug usage (weed specifically), mentions of other substances (lsd and cocaine), shotgunning, established poly relationship, soft dom jungwoo, mentioned switch jungwoo, hard dom doyoung, sub reader, high sex, sex on a water bed!!, unprotected sex, spit kink, they're all so sweaty help, mxm, degradation kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor possessiveness

song recs: don’t stop - fleetwood mac // unlock it (feat. kim petras & jay park) - charli xcx // love her madly - the doors // ziggy stardust - david bowie // rhiannon - fleetwood mac // eclipse - kim lip (loona) // flick of the wrist - queen

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is for my best friend, who i love with all my heart,bc last month we were talking abt the dowoo photoshoot and she said smth about high sex with dowoo. happy birthday queen <3 thank u for listening to me complain abt writing all the time :’)

masterlist

Friday, July 22rd, 1977

The concert hall smelled like cocaine and sweat, you noted to yourself as the three of you joined hands to bow. Cheers from the crowd bounced off of the walls as you bid them your final goodbye, wishing them a good night and telling them to drive safe. Still, their chanting persisted. "Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel!" 

You wondered vaguely if this was what it was like to be a young god.

The curtain lowered, and the three of you were ushered offstage, to take some pictures and then head back to the hotel, to try and get some rest before you were off to Philadelphia, some five or so hours from where you were now: Boston. 

Truthfully, everything passed in a blur. It was almost always like this after these concerts. The thrill and euphoria of performing made it difficult to focus on things. That might have also been because Jungwoo had passed you a joint before the concert. You couldn't be completely sure.

Your tambourine and guitar seemingly disappeared, but you knew it would show up tomorrow for soundcheck when you got to the Philadelphia venue, right along with Jungwoo's bass guitar and Doyoung's drum kit.

What you did know was that here, in the car back to the hotel that your manager was driving, lecturing you and Jungwoo about the importance of being sober when talking to reporters, Doyoung had a hand on your thigh, and that was all you could focus on. 

Doyoung was high too. You knew this because ten minutes before you were needed on stage he pulled you forward by the hips and told you to take a few hits from the hand rolled joint and blow the smoke into his mouth. Of course, he wasn't as high as you and Jungwoo were, and he knew how to hide it better. But if you were to get close enough you'd notice the redness rimming his eyes, the dilation of his pupils.

The three of you were something, that was for sure. You had been, probably ever since Jungwoo joined the band, some eight years ago, in the fall of '69. You only really defined what you were once you got your first big hit thanks to some disc jockey in LA playing a song you had written, Calabasas, on the radio back in '73. 

The song had blown up, and suddenly the three of you were whisked into a whirlwind of celebrities, drugs, paparazzi and producers who thought the three of you were born yesterday. Yes, you were college kids that ran on booze and weed, but you weren’t complete morons. That was when the three of you sat down to properly discuss boundaries, what slid and what didn’t.

You and your boys decided that night that weren’t down with the idea of everyone knowing. Too many prying eyes. The public didn’t really know, because the press would have a damn field day. 

Other than that, it was a pretty open secret. In the industry, who was going around with who didn’t really matter—a lot of them were too off their face to even care. You realized that a few years back when David Bowie walked in on you watching Jungwoo and Doyoung get it on in a bathroom at some afterparty in New York City, and closed the door muttering something about how strong the edibles were.

 So, what your manager said fell on deaf ears. Too much weed, too much adrenaline, too much energy for someone who needed to head back onto the road in a few hours.

 When you finally got back to the hotel, Jungwoo grabbed your hand in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, which were right next to each other. "You said that your bed was really big… can we come up?"

You nodded, leaning against his arm. Doyoung hummed affectionately at the sight, noting how tired you both were. 

"You two are about five seconds from passing out," Doyoung mumbled, and you waved your hand in denial. 

"Are not," you protested like a child.

"Y/N, don't be a chump. I'm pretty sure if Woo weren't next to you, you'd have fallen over."

You didn't have the energy to counter, and as the elevator slid open, you were the first one to march out, ready to just take a cold shower and die for the next few hours. 

Realistically, you knew that wasn't what would happen. What would happen was that you would shower, get into bed and then toss and turn for another hour or so. Only then would the adrenaline truly wear off. The weed didn't help, making you feel sleepy. 

You unlocked the door, and Doyoung and Jungwoo gawked at the sight—and size—of your bed. It could probably fit all three of you easily. 

Since only one room would spark rumors, the manager usually booked two: one for Doyoung and Jungwoo and one for you. Your room always went unused. Usually, you would have to push Doyoung's and Jungwoo's beds together to make enough room, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable dip for the person in the middle. Whoever got the middle was handed the terrible double edged sword: cuddles galore, but a sore back in the morning. 

Immediately Jungwoo jumped onto the bed, gasping and immediately laughed gleefully as the bed sloshed underneath him. 

"A water bed!?" He exclaimed, splaying out his limbs. "Oh, far out. You really lucked out, dollface." 

He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle, eyes fluttering shut. You followed, sitting at the side as you peeled off your white leather go-go boots. Throwing yourself down next to him, you sighed at the sensation of waves beneath you, and nodded. "Oh, this is ace," You murmured, "Feels great."

Peeling one eye open as Jungwoo wrapped his arm around you, your gaze landed on Doyoung, who was still leaning against the wall. You beckoned him over with a hand. "C'mere, princey." 

He made sure that the air conditioner was working before sitting down on the other side of Jungwoo, for which you were grateful. The still drying sweat on the back of your neck and on your chest started to cool instantly. You and Jungwoo giggled as Doyoung’s weight sent waves rippling beneath you.

"So, are you guys gonna sleep or what?" Doyoung asked, kicking his shoes off as well and peeling off his denim jacket. His eyes were still wide open and he didn't look tired at all. "I'm probably staying up a little later, I have some ideas for some lyrics I want to get down—"

"I would love to sleep. But I can't," Jungwoo declared before glancing knowingly at the both of you, "and neither can either of you." 

You hummed in agreement. "Hmm, you're not wrong. Too much energy left."

You turned to bury your face into his chest. His forest green short-sleeved button up was only buttoned up halfway, easily revealing his collarbones. He smelled like pot, sweat, and designer cologne. His chest rumbled as he continued to speak. 

"What about you, bunny boy? You can't tell me you don't still feel it."

"The weed or the concert jitters?" Doyoung's voice was raspy, cautious. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Once you and Jungwoo ganged up on him, it wouldn't take long to wear him down.

"Both," You and Jungwoo said in unison. You laughed at the sound. Doyoung chuckled as well, and you cracked your eyes open, despite how cozy you felt with Jungwoo stroking the skin of your nape.

"Well, the jitters are still there. That's why I'm staying up. As for the weed… well, yeah. I still feel it."

Jungwoo sighed. "How's the weed hitting you, though?"

"Honestly?" Doyoung's eyes met yours, and you felt something simmer in your chest. He huffed, deciding to take a bite of the apple, and leaned towards the both of you. 

"The weed, plus watching you two perform… Safe to say I'm pretty fuckin' horny right now."

You bit your lip, giving him a sleepy grin. "Oh, Woo, we turned him on." The teasing tone wasn't missed despite the sleepiness in your tone. 

"And what about it?" Doyoung asked, leaning back on his hands. "You can't say that watching Jungwoo do the thing doesn't get you going."

"I have a thing?" 

"We all have a thing, Woo. Princey's over there is at the end of Mr. Jones' Motorcycle. You know, when he finishes the solo? He always throws his head back, because there's sweat and hair in his eyes. You can see his neck and shit..."

Jungwoo blinked. "Shit, that is his thing… What's mine?"

You raised an eyebrow at Doyoung. "His is the thing where he gets so into it that he throws his head back and plays, and still manages to get every bass note right, right?" 

Doyoung nodded with a satisfied hum. "Gets you going, right?"

You brought a hand up to Jungwoo's chest, slowly sliding it down his stomach. Your voice lowered to a raspy murmur, and Jungwoo's hand tightened around your waist. "Damn right it does." 

"And plus, you both have told me that watching me put together the drum kit is hot."

"'Cause it is!" Again you laughed as Jungwoo said the same thing you did. 

"Jungwoo." Doyoung's voice sounded thicker. "You can't tell me that Y/N isn't an absolute vixen on stage." 

"You're right," The younger man answered, voice gruff. His hand slid down, gripping your butt and giving it a light squeeze, before directing his words at you. "Oh! Y/N, your thing is when—you know how every time you play the transition from Calabasas to Saturn’s Rings you sway your hips and flip your hair back and forth? Sometimes you’ll look at me or at Doyoung while you do, and you looked at me tonight. You're a little tease up there, dollface."

Your breath hitched at their words. “Oh, yeah?” You goaded, cuddling further into Jungwoo’s chest. You let a coy smile grace your face as your eyes fluttered shut. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Doyoung growled.

“No, Doie,” Jungwoo hummed. He suddenly sounded a lot more awake. “...What would you have her do about it?”

Your eyes fluttered open, swallowing despite the sudden dryness in your throat. Doyoung's pupils were still blown wide, but you were pretty sure it wasn't because of the weed. He licked his lips. "Princess, get on your knees." 

Jungwoo prompted you up, pulling you up to stand at the side of the bed. Doyoung circled around the bed, before standing next to Jungwoo. Your gaze fluttered between your two boyfriends, one looking stern, the other looking like he was having the time of his life. 

Quietly, you lowered yourself to kneel on the plush carpet, fingers gripping the silver fabric of your dress' skirt to hike it up, so that you wouldn't kneel on it. Your hands itched to reach for them but you knew you needed to ask for permission. "Can I touch you?" 

Doyoung smiled, reaching for his belt. "There's our good girl," He said. Your mouth was already watering embarrassingly as you helped him undo his belt, pulling him out of his boxers. He was already half hard, and as you lifted your hand to spit in it, someone grabbed you gently by the rest. Jungwoo leaned over, turning your hand to reveal your palm to him. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he let his spit fall into the palm of your hand. You felt your legs close, thighs trying to rub together at the sight. 

"Go on," Jungwoo murmured, using a hand on your jaw to move your head. Your eyes fell on Doyoung's cock again, slowly getting harder and harder. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly as you met his smoldering gaze. You stroked him until he was rock hard in your grip, and his breathing turned heavy. Again, you swallowed, and Doyoung noticed this time. 

“What is it, princess? You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes, please,” You whispered, eyes wide. He chuckled breathily, head tipping back as you ran your thumb over the slit. His eyes met Jungwoo’s, who was palming himself through his pants.  

“What do you think, baby?” He asked him.

“Don’t be mean, Doyoung,” Jungwoo said softly. “Look at her, she’s desperate. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You whined, nodding. The pair chuckled. Jungwoo grinned at the state you were already in. “Go ahead, dollface. Give it a kiss.”

Before Doyoung could say anything else, you took his dick into your mouth, and let out a soft moan at how heavy he felt, hot and pulsing. He let out a guttural groan of your name, a hand burying itself in your hair. His other hand gripped Jungwoo’s shirt, pulling him forward to meet in a tongue-filled kiss. 

Slowly, Doyoung’s hips started rocking back and forth, grinding into your mouth. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t fit, as well as his balls. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to relax so as to not gag on his length. But when he sped up, it became too much to avoid. 

A tap on your shoulder, and Doyoung let you off of his cock. You turned your head to look up at a very flushed Jungwoo, who had pulled his dick out of his pants as well. The words, “Me too?” tumbled out of his swollen lips. And with that gentle, breathy tone, who were you to disobey?

You wrapped your lips around Jungwoo, who hissed at the sudden heat of your mouth. From there, something primal inside of you took control, wanting nothing more than to please—you took turns sucking them off and stroking them, the muffled sounds of their moaning spurring you on.

It was always like this—during sex, Doyoung was the meaner one, manhandling you and throwing degrading words in your face that made your stomach curl in sick pleasure. He was the one who could put you in your place when you became too bratty to handle. Jungwoo was gentler, but he was all too content to watch Doyoung toss you around. He would always swoop in after Doyoung took you apart, and piece you back together. He’d tell you how good you were, how good you made the both of them feel, and while he definitely didn’t treat you like fragile porcelain, he definitely didn’t leave as many bruises as Doyoung did. 

And then, when they were both done, they’d shower you in kisses, and whisper in your ear how grateful they were to love you, and say some philosophical thing about eternal love and the cosmos that you’d always be too fucked out to comprehend, but that made your heart do a backflip regardless. 

“Shit,” Jungwoo groaned, pulling away from Doyoung’s lips. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” 

You pulled off of Doyoung to look up at Jungwoo. “In my—in my mouth, please, Woo.”

He nodded, licking his lips as his hands fisted themselves in your hair, gripping but not pulling as he allowed you to touch him the way you wanted. His hands gathered the loose strands into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide your mouth up and down his hot cock. His hips bucked into your willing mouth, the sound of his hissing and his moaning getting louder and louder, until… 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N… Y/N!" He groaned, as he came into your mouth. His head tipped back, which gave Doyoung access to his neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. This sight was worth the bitter taste that coated your tongue: one of your lovers in ecstasy while the other anchored him to the ground. 

He left his dick in your mouth for a moment, before pulling out with a shaky breath. Doyoung pulled away, letting him breathe. As Jungwoo caught his breath, Doyoung pulled you up, and he sat on the bed, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap. 

You turned your head to face Jungwoo, who smiled at you, coming closer to the both of you. One of his hands patted the top of your head. "That was wicked," He said. 

Doyoung smiled softly, and gripped your chin to get you to face him. His sweet grin didn't disappear as his grip forced your mouth open. He groaned at the sight of your tongue coated in Jungwoo's semen. 

"Gorgeous," He mumbled, eyes trained on your lips as it began to spill out. 

"Kiss her," Jungwoo told him, "You know you want to."

So he did, his tongue almost immediately slipping past your lips to get a taste of Jungwoo for himself, swallowing it down greedily. Your hands came up to unbutton his black dress shirt, and his hands pushed up the skirt of your dress to get you to rock your hips against his. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of only your soaked panties separating him and you, before pushing the shirt off of him. 

He moved to lie you down on the bed. As he pulled away from you, you caught his tongue slipping out to lick at a dribble of Jungwoo's cum on his lips. To make matters even worse, the bed was rolling beneath you, making your head spin. 

Jungwoo pulled his shirt off before he sat down behind you. Meanwhile, Doyoung moved down your body, parting your legs. He prompted you to sit up, resting your back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your earlobe as Doyoung peeled your underwear off of you, biting his lip at the sight of your drooling pussy. 

"You're absolutely drenched, princess. And all from sucking our cocks, huh?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Jungwoo's lips began kissing along your jaw. When you didn't say anything, Jungwoo pinched your sides gently. "Use your words, doll," He whispered. From behind you, his eyes met Doyoung's. "You're gonna keep being our good little girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Jungwoo." Your hand lifted itself to press against his cheek, a silent plea for more kisses. He smiled against your skin. 

"Atta girl," He praised, "On your best behavior for us tonight, huh?" 

"The little slut's just being good because she wants to get fucked, Woo. Don't get it twisted." 

"Please, Doie," You pleaded at the mention of being fucked, "Need it."

The older man chuckled lowly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. 

"Told you."

His tongue pressed itself against your hole, and you immediately cried out. You would have immediately started grinding against Doyoung's face if it weren't for Jungwoo's hands on your hips, holding you down and keeping it still. 

"I don't think you wanna do that," He murmured. His hands travelled underneath your skirt, gripping the silvery blue gossamer as he tried to lift it up. You did your best to keep your squirming at a minimum as you tried to help him get you out of it. Finally, the bell sleeves were pulled off, and you were left naked as the day you were born.

Jungwoo’s hands moved to your breasts, playing with them as he watched you whimper at the sensation of Doyoung’s mouth working at your folds. When he slipped his tongue inside, you keened, head falling against Jungwoo’s shoulder. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” He whispered. 

Your chest heaved, squirming up and down as he began to tug and pinch your nipples, calloused fingertips making you cry out.

Doyoung’s free hand gripped your thigh, and his fingers on the other hand slipped inside when he pulled his tongue out. Immediately, he plunged in two fingers, curling his fingers as he attempted to search for that one special spot.

"Ngh, Doie, faster, pleasepleaseplease." Your legs were trembling slightly now. 

"So fucking slutty," Doyoung mumbled, chuckling wickedly, "And all I had to do was stick my fingers inside." 

He complied with no protest, and the sensation of Doyoung stroking your walls and Jungwoo continuously pawing at your breasts caused a string of moans to come pouring out of your mouth. Jungwoo had been sucking a bruise into your clavicle, but leaned up to press his lips against yours. 

"Don't want anyone hearing what's meant for Doie and I," He said, lips brushing yours. 

The idea made you even needier, the double entendre making your head spin. Jungwoo didn't want anyone to hear you because if they did, rumors would spread. And on top of that? He didn't want anyone to hear. You were theirs. They were yours. This was a sacred ritual between bodies meant to be witnessed by only the three of you.

Your head felt like you were floating, even though your limbs felt like they were sinking into the watery mattress. A coil began to tighten in your stomach, and your soft whines, muffled by Jungwoo's plush lips, increased in pitch. 

They both knew what this meant, because a second later, Doyoung removed his fingers from your core, and Jungwoo pulled away, his hands moving from your breasts to rest on Doyoung's atop your hips. You were left reeling and breathing heavily, that familiar sensation floating away.

When you looked down at Doyoung, you swallowed at the sight of his lips, chin and fingers, all glistening with your wetness.

He lifted himself up off the mattress, and proceeded to sandwich your chest in between his own chest and Jungwoo’s back. He gripped his dick, rubbing it against your folds, which were now even more soaked than before.

"Tell me how much you want it, princess." He pressed his forehead against yours, hissing when the tip caught your clit. You let out a desperate whine, clinging to his broad shoulders. 

"Do—Doyoung, please fuck me," You begged, reeling at the sensation. He was so close, all he had to do was slide in. But he refused.

"Not good enough," He insisted.

"Doyoung, don't be mean," Jungwoo said, but he seemed to be more amused by your desperation than anything.

"No, I wanna hear how much she needs us."

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gather your words. Jungwoo's hands stroked your sides, trying to calm you down. "You doing alright, doll? You wanna take a breather?"

"We can always stop." Doyoung's voice had turned stable, secure, safe. He started pulling away, until you grabbed him by the forearm and shook your head. You opened your eyes, seeing concern in his eyes

“No,” You mumbled, “Jus’ want some water. Think there’s some in the minibar. ‘M really hot.”

Doyoung nodded, getting up and striding over to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He pulled out a water bottle, and popped open the cap before passing it to you. Jungwoo had taken to fanning your face lightly with his hand. You took several long swigs of water, before setting it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” You promised. “Can we please keep going? I can take it.”

Doyoung pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah,” You said with a nod. 

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo murmured, “Be careful.”

“I know, baby." He lowered his eyes to study your face. "I won’t go that hard on you, Y/N.”

You nodded, even though deep down you wanted to protest. You knew that this was probably the best route to take. You could already feel the high—from the weed and the concert—wearing off. You knew that if Doyoung were too rough you’d probably crash on the way down instead of float.

So, Jungwoo brushed some stray hair out of your sweaty face, and Doyoung grabbed your legs gently, wrapping them around his hips. Slowly, Doyoung eased in, and you sighed in satisfaction of finally being filled. He bit into your shoulder, taking deep heaving breaths as he let you get used to the sensation. Jungwoo took turns pressing kisses to the top of your head and the top of Doyoung’s head. 

“I love you both so much,” He whispered, “I’m so grateful the universe brought us together.” 

Doyoung looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “My baby,” He murmured against Jungwoo’s lips. He then turned to you and did the same, “My princess.”

You smiled at their words, but the need in your core was becoming unbearable. "Doie, Woo, I love you both so much," You murmured, "But Doyoung, if you don't move I'll pin you down and do it myself."

"And you were doing so well," Doyoung groaned with a laugh, before beginning to thrust his hips. It was a slow, torturous glide, and the way it caused the bed to rock left you dizzy in the best possible way. Doyoung was panting into your ear like some sort of beast, and you were whining softly with every cant of his hips.

"You must feel so good right now, huh, doll?" 

"Jung—woo," You moaned, clawing at his bicep.

"I know, dolly, I know." He sounded sympathetic enough, but the way he was grinding his dick against your ass suggested otherwise. "Bunny boy is just so good with those hips of his, hm?"

"H-he is!" You cried, "Feel so full, ah, Doyoung!" 

Doyoung's eyes met yours, and his hips picked up their pace, until your eyes rolled up into your head. Your head thrashed side to side, leaning against Jungwoo's shoulder. His mouth lowered once again to kiss at your neck, and your hand wrapped itself against his nape, while the other gripped Doyoung's shoulders.

Jungwoo's hands slithered down to where you and Doyoung were connected, and started rubbing at your clit. You shrieked, chest arching. Doyoung hissed. "Shit, do that again," He bit out, "Fuck, princess you just got so tight."

"D-Doie, harder!" 

Doyoung looked up at Jungwoo, the two having an unspoken conversation. A second later, Jungwoo gave a cautious nod. Doyoung smiled, before he adjusted his legs. Then…

Then. He began pounding into you at a breakneck pace. Your legs tightened around him, wanting him even deeper than before. 

"You love this, don't you? Our pretty little slut." His voice was tighter now, panting with exertion. You nodded. 

"Yes, yes! I'm your slut!" 

Doyoung grinned, before locking lips with you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, before letting you do the same to him. You could tell he was starting to feel something—he always kissed you or Jungwoo as a way of telling you he wouldn't last much longer. 

Truthfully, you could feel it coming too—your body felt like it was on fire, and your hips couldn't stop squirming. Whether it was towards Jungwoo's calloused fingers on your clit, Doyoung's cock, or away from both, you couldn't tell. Your moans were getting shriller too.

You clenched down on his length again, and he grit his teeth, grunting as his pace turned sloppy.

"C-c'mon, princey," You pleaded, "Give it to me, give it…"

"Shit, yes…" His head lolled onto your shoulder. "Gonna stuff you so full, princess, you'll be dripping—"

"Please! Oh, please—"

The two of you fell apart almost at the same time, your orgasm triggering Doyoung's a second later. Your mouth fell open, legs trembling and heart pounding as waves crashed over and under you.

When you came down, Doyoung rolled off of you, turning onto his side to watch you and Jungwoo. Jungwoo, who ceased the movements of his hands and slowly laid you down. Your head landed against the pillows, and you let your eyes shut as you caught your breath. 

"Can I take care of you one last time, doll?" You heard Jungwoo say. Your eyes opened blearily, and you reached a hand out towards him, legs parting of their own accord.

Both of your lovers groaned at the sight of your pussy, Doyoung's cum brimming from your folds. 

"Absolute perfection," Jungwoo murmured, crawling between your legs. He gripped his dick with one hand, the other swiping through your folds, and you immediately whined at the sensitivity there, teetering the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Please," You whimpered, "Woo, I want it."

"You're insatiable." He sounded so affectionate, so in love. You watched as his eyes studied his index and middle fingers, covered in a mix of Doyoung's cum and yours, before dipping them into his mouth to lick them clean. You sighed, a dopey smile gracing your features. He lowered himself down to brush noses with you, dark eyes blown wide, wide awake despite the dark circles underneath.

"Guess I'll just have to do something about that."

He slid in as if he was coming home, immediately setting a solid pace that had you seeing stars, arms wrapping around his shoulders to lock hands at his nape. The sensitivity left you pliant in his arms, and Jungwoo didn't hesitate in cradling you in his arms.

"So good for us, Y/N. Always Doie and I's sweet girl." 

You nodded, tears brimming at your eyes at the heaviness in your chest, the pulsing in your core. His hair was falling into his eyes, and you lifted your hands to his face, doing your best to brush it away. Your hands cupped his cheeks, heavy eyes burning into his. Your hips were rutting against his desperately now, wanting nothing more than to feel that high with him.

Jungwoo pressed a brief kiss to your neck, feeling something simmer in his gut embarrassingly fast. 

Doyoung placed his head next to yours, gently lifting Jungwoo's head to kiss him, hand brushing the other man's ass. When he pulled away, he kissed you as well, and Jungwoo's mouth pressed itself to one of your nipples. You keened against Doyoung's mouth, hips losing all semblance of grace.

Here, you were needy, animalistic, running on instincts, and your boys were drinking it up like water from a desert oasis. 

Doyoung pulled away, a thin trail of spit connecting his lips to yours. His hands cradled your head.

"Can you feel it yet, princess?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, silent moans falling from your lips. "Ah, yeah, Doie… s-so close…"

"Me too," Jungwoo groaned between your breasts, "So wet, Y/N…"

"That's from all the cum she's filled with, right, princess?"

You nodded. "Mm—ngh! Stuffed me so good, Doie." 

"Yeah? You gonna let Jungwoo fill you up even more? Gonna keep it all inside, right?"

Your stomach did a backflip, and you felt your toes curl. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I want it—"

"I'll give it to you, doll," Jungwoo growled, "It's all—fuck—all yours. S-same way this is all for us, right?"

Those words were what caused you to finally fall over the edge. Your high was so intense that you could have sworn that your ears popped—clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders, your eyes squeezed shut. Only one side ended up scratched, since you always kept your right hand nails short to properly play guitar. You sobbed against Doyoung’s lips, and he eagerly swallowed up your cries, shushing you gently as you came back down.

You didn't feel Jungwoo come inside, but you felt it immediately afterwards—the satisfying stickiness, the warmth in your stomach. 

You looked at Jungwoo, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead before prompting him to move off. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you towards him as his little spoon, peppering kisses to your cheek and whispering how good you were. The two of you looked at Doyoung. You reached out, making grabby hands at him. His eyes were drooping, and he was blinking blearily as if he were trying to fight off sleep.

Still, he got up and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, as well as his lighter. As he sat back down on the bed, the waves sent you and Jungwoo further and further into the recesses of slumber. As consciousness left you, you caught Doyoung looking down at the two of you as if you were the most precious beings he'd ever encountered. His tone was low and grumbly, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eye.

"I hope you two are happy. I can't remember those goddamn lyrics anymore." 

[ashes-in-a-jar]

And I Owe it All to You

Hello! This is a fic I wrote based on @speakerunfolding 's wonderful Jonmartin scottish cabin comic which I couldn't stop looking at.

I wrote this while watching Dirty Dancing for the first time in many years. Quite an experience xD

Summary: It's a night in for Jon and Martin in the cabin and they decide to pop out the wine.

Rated: T

Word count: 2.2K

Tw: alcohol, drinking and being slightly drunk, minor injuries

Maybe it was the fact that neither of them had gone out much in the past few months. Maybe the Fears prefer their avatars lightweight. Maybe Scottish alcohol tended to be stronger than English alcohol. But the sparkling wine they bought on a whim at the village store shouldn't have had the effect on them that it did.

Having emptied two cups each (Jon was actually drinking out of a mug, since they found only one wine glass, and he conceded the honor of feeling classy to Martin) they have already become giggling messes over some dumb joke regarding one Peter Lukas and a computer that refused to boot.

It wasn't even that funny. But there they were, acting like complete fools leaning against each other on the couch, legs propped up in a completely uncomfortable position on the small living room table (dangerously close to the now nearly empty bottle), holding their cups precariously in one hand and holding hands with the other.

And enjoying every moment of it.

The giggling subsided. They took a moment of comfortable silence to regain their breath and enjoy another sip.

"Can't believe he didn't know he could just u-unplug and replug the whole thing. Even I know that." Jon's speech was ever so slightly slurred, his leftover wine sloshing in his cup.

Martin hummed and then snorted.

"Jon, you barely know how to do that either. I had to teach you how to open new tabs in the same internet window for christ's sake."

"It was a new laptop! All of the buttons were in the wrong p-place." Jon protested weakly, starting to hiccup.

"Sure."

"Prick." Jon nudged him fondly. "You underestimate my vast knowledge of 'modern' things."

Martin snorted again. "Modern, you say?"

"Yes Martin, what do you take me for?"

"An old geezer." Martin tousled his hair gently. Jon leaned into the touch. Then, the words sunk in.

"Hey! Why do you and Georgie keep thinking that? I can know pop culture!"

"Oh yeah? Tell me, what do you know?"

"Uh..." Jon struggled to straighten himself, which resulted in actually sliding further off the couch. "Um...I know S-Star Wars! And uh, Matrix? I think. I've seen it once. Oh! That, that dinosaur movie! And... Titanic?" He finished unconvincingly. 

Martin looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Really, Jon? You're just naming movies now.  And not even new ones. Did you actually watch any of those?"

Jon avoided his gaze "I... I may have fallen asleep during uh, during some of these?"

Martin gave him a long look. 

"Yes alright, I fell asleep in all of them."

Martin huffed "Thought so". 

Jon gave up trying to salvage his dignity, taking a final long gulp from his mug, a small drop trickling down his chin. Martin swiped it away, absent-mindedly licking his finger, not noticing as Jon hiccuped, his face heating up considerably. 

"I-I did like the Princess Bride though— that was a nice film, if a bit sensational." 

"Hang on. You watched the Princess Bride? And liked it?" Martin asked, incredulous. 

"I'm allowed to like things, Martin. B-besides, Georgie made me watch it. Said it was a- a core staple of cinema history o-or something."

"Oh yeah? Did she make you watch those other movies as well?" Martin asked casually, swirling the liquid in his cup. 

"Unfortunately yes. She would cruelly  shake me awake when I finally managed to get some shut-eye for once in my life. I-it's not my fault the only times I could sleep normally were during those, those damn films! She woke me up for that ridiculous scene with the, uh, the bullets in the Matrix. And that lifting scene in that unseemly dancing movie."

"What lifting scene?" 

"That movie with all of the dancing? Th-the one where he lifts her at the end in the middle of the crowd with that song? At least, uh, at least I think there was a lot of dancing, I wasn't actually, hmmm... Focused at the time." 

"Oh my god Jon, do you mean Dirty Dancing? You fell asleep during Dirty Dancing?" Martin's delighted incredulity was plain on his face. 

Jon scrunched up his nose. "That's the name of the film? Good thing I fell asleep then."

"Jesus Jon. That's incredible, good on Georgie! Heh, at least you woke up for that scene. It's iconic, you know." 

"Yes, yes." Jon waved at him dismissively, reaching unsteadily for the wine bottle. Martin gently took it away from Jon and with a much steadier hand, poured the remaining bit of wine into his mug.

"Thank you Martin," Jon mumbled into the cup. 

Another warm silence fell on them, lulling Jon into a half drunken stupor. He nearly threw his cup in the air when Martin's words startled him back into awareness. 

"I can do that scene you know, that lifting part." He was looking intently at his glass. 

"R-really?" Jon hiccuped. "How?" 

"I… I had a boyfriend who wanted to try it. So we did. Turns out that I'm good at balancing large things that aren't stacks of paper."

Jon hummed. He suddenly imagined very vividly Martin lifting someone else in that way and felt a pang in his chest. What was that?

Another beat of silence. 

"Do. Do you want to try?"

"W-what?" 

"Do you want to do that lifting scene with me? I'm sure I could lift you." Martin suddenly sat up, his tone excited and anticipating. He looked at Jon. 

Jon shifted. "Uh, I-I guess it's fine? Sure."

"Okay! Let's do it then!" Martin got up on his feet, swaying ever so slightly. 

Jon looked up at him surprised. "W-wait, now? Shouldn't we wait? You know, to be less uh, inebriated? Don't you need to see the scene again for a reminder?"

"Mmm. We don't have reception so I can't exactly watch the scene again. But, but I'm pretty sure I can do it now, definitely sure! Come on." He held out his hand expectantly. 

Jon took it, stumbling only a bit as he got up. Martin took out his phone . 

"I might even have the song saved. Let me check."

A moment later he gave a whoop of success and the song began to play, filling the main space of the cabin with its soft, if slightly tinny sound. 

Jon stretched, releasing the tension in his muscles. "All right Martin, where do you want me?" 

"You need a bit of a running start, and then you need to jump high right as you reach my arms, so stand over there." He indicated towards the door of the bedroom. 

"Right." Jon stumbled only once as he made his way towards the designated spot. Martin moved across the room stopping right near the kitchen door. 

The song kept playing calmly in the background, slowly building up towards the upbeat chorus. 

Jon looked at him again "I dunno Martin. A-are you sure?" He suddenly felt a bit more fuzzy than he did sitting down. He hiccuped again. 

"Please Jon, you're thin as a rake. Have a little faith." His face wore that determined look that Jon couldn't help but love. 

"Alright, as you wish." He grinned, proud of his clever reference as he took his stance. 

Martin rolled his eyes as well as his sleeves. "Steady on Westley, this is the part."

Jon felt a rush of excitement as he caught Martin's enthusiasm. "Ready?" He asked, bouncing a little on his feet in preparation. 

"Ready." Martin crouched a little, holding out his arms. 

As the chorus neared Jon, with a wild drunken energy, took his running start, jumping up as he reached Martin, grabbing on to his shoulders for support. Martin firmly gripped Jon's hips, bent his legs and with a strained grunt lifted Jon in the air as the song reached a crescendo. 

Jon was flying. 

He laughed giddily, stretching out his arms in elation. 

As Martin continued holding him in his strong grip he looked down at his beautiful boyfriend. Despite the exertion, Martin looked up with the softest expression as the song kept playing for them in the background. 

For a moment everything was perfect. 

And then Martin leaned backwards a bit too far. 

In hindsight, they should have known this would happen. While Martin was better at hiding it, he was as drunk as Jon. And Jon's already impeded balance certainly didn't help. 

As they went down, Jon idly wondered if they could also recreate the rest of the dance if they practiced. And then he hit his nose on the floor. 

After a moment of stunned silence the pain rushed in and Jon grunted. 

Turns out that while most of him was protected from the fall by Martin's soft and sturdy body, his knee also missed the mark and crashed into the floor as well.

Muffled by Jon's body above him, Martin squirmed. "Ugh, Jon, are you okay?"

When Jon didn't respond, Martin groaned and picked himself off the floor, lifting Jon in the process. 

"Oh my god, Jon! You're bleeding!" 

Jon's face throbbed. And so did his knee. His hazy drunken state began fading away as the pain sharpened. 

"I-I think I hit something." 

"I'm so sorry Jon! God, where are the tissues?" Seemingly having sobered up considerably, Martin picked Jon up and carried him bodily into the bathroom. Jon allowed all of this to happen as the shock of the fall dissipated. He let Martin easily lift him onto the sink counter as he shoved a towel into his hands.

"Hold it against your nose while I... Jesus, your knee too?" He stepped back now hurriedly lifting the stained pant leg to reveal the damage. 

"God, Jon I'm so sorry. Hold still, I'm going to find the first aid kit. We shouldn't have done this. This was a complete disaster." 

He kept muttering irritably as he walked away. Jon sighed and pressed the towel to his throbbing nose. His foggy mind still felt as though it was trying to catch up to the recent chain of events. He spoke slowly, attempting to convey himself with clarity. 

"Martin, it's fine. Honestly, I think we both know I've had worse-" 

"You nearly broke your bloody neck! God, where's that goddamn kit." He shouted from across the cabin as Jon heard the rattling of drawers being forcefully pulled open. 

"Martin, please I-I'm okay. It's just a little bit of bruising. It honestly already feels better." 

And it actually did. In the chaos after the fall, they both forgot Jon's... situation. Jon watched as the cut on his knee slowly closed up, leaving only the drying stain of blood behind. The pain in his nose was slowly vanishing as well. 

By the time Martin came back holding the bag, Jon already put down the towel and was tentatively poking at the previously bruised spot. 

Martin stopped in front of him, looking at him with a mixture of emotions Jon couldn't parse out. He smiled at Martin hesitantly. 

"See? Good as new. No harm no foul, I say."

Martin let out a long suffering sigh and took the towel out of Jon's hands. He quietly dampened it in the sink and stepped closer to gently pat at his face. 

Jon looked at him. This close he could practically count his faded freckles, follow every line and trace every mark that was so beautifully Martin. He let himself smile. 

"I must say, I'm quite impressed by your strength, if we weren't so inebriated, I'm sure you could have kept me up there for quite a while," he said quietly, enjoying the fluttering touches. 

"It wasn't because I was drunk." Martin muttered. 

"Pardon?" 

"I said it wasn't because I was drunk that I dropped you," he said a little louder, oddly flustered. "I was looking at... At you. You just looked... I dunno, happy, I guess? I just never seen that expression on you before and it..." He trailed off, concentrating intently on Jon's knee, finishing up cleaning up the blood. 

"M-Martin, look at me. Please look up here." Jon gently tugged at his shoulders to pull him up. At this height, sitting on the counter, he actually came face to face with Martin, seeing his blush and ruffled expression right in front of him as opposed to slightly above him like he normally did 

He lifted his palms to bracket Martin's warm cheeks. 

"There you are," he whispered and leaned in for a quick kiss. He then leaned back slightly. "You know that I'm perfectly happy. Here with you. Y-you know that, right?" 

Martin looked at him for a few moments, then smiled. "Yeah, I do."

"Good. Now, help me down so we can clean up the wine stain, which I'm sure is growing on the carpet right now."

"Wha- oh," Martin said as he turned to see the fallen glass that apparently toppled during the mayhem. 

"Yeah. Let me down?" Jon said again, holding out his arms. 

Martin turned back to him, a teasing expression on his face. "As you wish." 

Jon groaned and allowed himself once again to be pulled, secretly enjoying Martin's burst of giggles as they both walked back into the crime scene that was their drunken night in. 

All things considered, it was a pretty good night. 

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 7)

Warnings: Action, Coarse Language, Fighting, Descriptions of Blood

Previous Chapter: Speed of Sound

Next Chapter: Red Strings of Fate

Tags: Soulmates AU, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Fem!Reader

Taglist: @lessie-oxj @rizzo-nero @whoreuc @fkngkumiko @isl3t @gojoussunglasses @onepotatostand-blog @s-t-f-u-b-i-t-c-h @sunaswife

Notes: If you want to be tagged for every update, please mention it in the comments below ty <3

Double Update today, because these two chapters go hand in hand. It didn't feel right to upload one without the other.

Chapter 7: Bird of Flame

You faced Todo off in a clearing. Everyone else was at the far side watching. “Just run away if it gets too much.” You worriedly said to Miwa and Mai pushing them back.

“It’s okay, I’ll hold off any attacks.” Noritoshi assured you. You beamed up at him, “Thanks senpai.”

“Someone’s being awfully friendly today.” Momo half coughed and half murmured out. Noritoshi just gave her the side eye.

As per your style of fighting, you stayed still if you did not know of your opponent’s cursed technique.

“I won’t immobilise you this time since we are sparring.” You called out to Todo. “Fine with me!”

You could hold out your protective space warping around you for several hours. You just had to make sure it was activated in the space around you.

Todo didn’t hesitate to start off with punches and kicks. Nothing moved you of course. 5 minutes passed with him getting nowhere. Is that all he has?

You narrowed your eyes, but lifted a hand to push him back into a tree. You manipulated its branches such that they were all pointing to him. He was about to hit them until he clapped his hands and suddenly, you were there.

Your eyes widened, barely having time to brace yourself as you guarded for impact. You hit the branches hard. “Shit.” Looks like you might have to use your extended techniques against him.

He was in front of you in a split second and you quickly moved to dodge. You tried to maneuver your way around him, but it was hard to pinpoint the exact origin of the hits as he kept swapping your positions before landing a hit.

Sometimes, when you brace for a hit, he doesn’t swap your positions. How annoying!!! Of course your spacial barrier is still active and taking the hits for you, but it does have its limits.

Moving at mach speed in a short distant range won’t help you too much as it’s better for transport rather than combat.

You breathed out low and slow, before channeling your concentration into your 6th sense. Spatial awareness. Faster and faster, you started bracing for his hits and pushing him back.

And when he was unprepared you lashed out with your hidden twin blade only for him to dodge it. You can’t deny that the 2nd year's have more experience than you in battle. And Todo's specialty is obviously close combat.

You had both blades out now quickly slashing at him dangerously. He avoids it and the slashes cut all the way to the trees behind him.

You gave in, sheathing your blades and turning around to recuperate but he was faster as he finally caught you by the arm. “I got you!”

You grinned. Who got who?

With one hand, you straightened 4 fingers out towards Todo and folded your thumb into your palm. “Extension cursed technique, focus range: Niflheim”. Your applied cursed technique slows down the movement of molecules in an enclosed area, forcing items to freeze.

A layer of ice covered Todo’s entire body. The branches that binded around him were also covered with ice, stretching behind him in an ice pillar.

You quickly released your hand from his hold and slowly breathed to the sky, releasing an icy smokey breath. You turned around with a slow smile. “Checkmate”

He struggled against the ice but, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That is way under 0 degrees celsius. You might lose a limb or 2 Todo senpai.”

He sighed, “I g-g-guh-give!” He could barely utter the words as his teeth chattered. You gently focused on raising the temperature, melting the ice off of Todo first. You couldn’t do it too fast or else he would combust.

As soon as he was free you reached out and applied your reversed cursed technique on him, healing the cold in his body. “Thank you so much for the match! It’s been a while since I felt that much fun in battle!” You excitedly said.

“Good game. As expected of my little sister, you’re very strong.” Todo patted your head. You stared, “Excuse me, whose little sister??”

“You should have buried him y/n!” Momo exclaimed. “Hear hear.” Mai chanted. Mechamaru just said, “I almost got buried by her once. She should have done the same with him.” You just laughed, “It’s okay, I’m satisfied with this.”

You turned to Noritoshi and he walked up to you and Todo went back. At this distance, the others couldn’t hear your conversation. “That was incredible.” He had a very proud smile on his face. “I hope you take our fight seriously as well. That’s all I ask of you.” He whispered.

“Of course I will senpai. But like with Todo senpai, I won’t use immobilisation techniques so we can spar properly okay?”

“Okay” he patted your shoulder and gave it a small squeeze before moving backwards. ‘Kamo clan, blood manipulation. They can manipulate their blood freely.’ you thought to yourself.

Your eyes zeroed in on his bow and arrows. The smell of blood was always on him, but you bet he had blood on those arrows. “Begin!”

He launched arrows at you only for you to stop them. Projectiles were the worst thing he could do. You frowned as you turned the arrows on him and sent them back. He dodged and shot more.

What on earth? This was so ineffective against yo-

He suddenly came from the side and punched you. Diversionary tactics dummy, you didn’t think about it.

You got pushed back from the force but stood your ground. He was insanely fast for a human. He is currently faster than Todo and any of the male cousins whom you’ve fought with.

It was a jarring experience. “Flowing Red Scale” He moved backwards, one eye wide open with a red blood x mark on it.

Your brain went into overdrive in a hurry to connect the dots while you defended against him. Blood. Red blood cells. Oxygen. He’s increasing his physical abilities.

You quickly lashed out with a double kick only for him to bring out a blood bag. “Blood manipulation: Crimson binding”. Blood strands wrapped around you and caged you in.

But you froze them and easily broke it in the process. You hurried to try and bring him down with mixed martial arts, not wanting to hurt him too much.

Sparring with him actually felt like a dance. You dodged and had an instinct as to where the next move would come from, and he was the same. Barely any hits landed on each other for a while.

Ah right, you promised to go hard on him. You put two hands out in a V shape, with palms facing him. Noritoshi’s eyes widened at the familiar hand signs. It’s the very first one you showed him.

“Tatsumaki” A huge horizontal cyclone hit him and forced him back. “Enhanced Gravity: Output level 4%”

“Aarghhh” Noritoshi groaned as he was forced to the ground. You didn’t notice his hands moving.

“Convergence! Piercing blood” a sudden fast stream of blood shot out and grazed your cheek. It would have been worse had you not moved your head aside. Noritoshi’s eyes widened as blood poured from the wound.

You quickly made tree branches hold his hands apart and forced him back onto the ground. You pointed both your twin blades at his head. “I give!”

You released your technique and knelt down. “Are you oka-”

“Are you okay? I hit your face!” He exclaimed in worry, hand hovering just over your cheek. You stared at him in amusement. “It’s a serious matter!!” he insisted.

You covered your face with one hand, then wiped off the blood to reveal a flawless cheek. He gaped, “Reverse cursed technique. I see. Good fight” He wheezed out.

"You actually hit through my defenses in battle. That was amazing Noritoshi senpai." You whispered in amazement. There was something different about the blood he manipulated.

His bond to it was far stronger than your hold over his blood. So if you tried manipulating his blood, it's a low chance that you could get it to attack him.

You can manipulate anything and everything, even at molecular levels to some extent. But you can't produce what's not there. There seems to be a limit to your manipulation over certain items.

"I still lost. Thank you for the match." He said.

You held his hand for the first time as you pulled him up, when suddenly a searing pain hit the inside of your wrist.

"Ouch!" You exclaimed while Noritoshi winced as well. You both pulled back your sleeves to see a large bird surrounded by flames just below the inner wrist on your right hand. Noritoshi had the exact same symbol, but it was in the inner wrist on his left hand.

You quickly pulled over both your sleeves to cover the markings, “Just say we both got wounds, let’s keep this a secret.” You pulled back and acted on purpose, “Good fight. You almost got me there.”

He naturally followed your lead, but there was a brightness to his eyes that told of something else. “.... Yeah you got me. I’ll do my best to catch up to you next time we spar.”

“What happened?” Utahime ran towards the both of you upon seeing you both flinch forward. “No, Utahime sensei we just got some scrapes that stung badly, nothing too bad.”

“I see. I have a first aid kit on hand, feel free to use it if you need to.” She said, and pushed you two back to where everyone else was.

You both stayed at the back watching the other students ask to spar with each other. Noritoshi quietly tugged at your sleeve, hidden from view with his own large and wide sleeves.

You tugged back twice on his sleeve and grabbed his hand to squeeze it. His hands were rough and calloused from fighting, but also had a tenderness and warmth from the way they tried to hold onto yours.

Both your marks flashed with heat when your hands touched. Noritoshi turned to you with all the world's curiosity in his face.

But you pulled back and put some distance between the two of you so it wouldn't look too obvious. "That binding technique that you did earlier was cool. Is it possible for you to manipulate the blood even after I freeze it solid?" You asked to try and divert the attention.

"Actually I haven't tried yet. But I should be able to as the main composition is still my blood." He admitted.

The remaining time left on the field was spent mostly on the others working on their cursed techniques against each other, and with you engaging in tactical discussion with the other students.

You all bid each other goodbye and went your separate ways. Except… Noritoshi mouthed "library" after he waved you off.

You lifted your eyebrows silently in agreement and walked back with the rest of the 1st year's.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 30

Ignoring an Injury

Ao3

For @fidothefinch, I really hope you don't mind how fluffy this one got.... This one gave me a lot of feelings about Dick and Damian.

Summary: Damian get's injured on patrol, and out of fear of being sent away, he says nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

The Batmobile came screeching to a halt inside the cave, and Damian did not waste a single second jumping out of the car and stalking to the changing rooms; his cape carefully placed over his shoulders and his hood pulled up to make it seem that he’s as grumpy as he looks.

He’s not grumpy. Not right now. But Grayson doesn’t need to know that. Damian just needs him to believe it for the moment.

“Damian, you did good out there,” Grayson calls, but Damian ignores him, biting the inside of his mouth. He’s sure if he turns around, he’ll see Grayson wearing a hurt face beneath his pulled down Batman cowl. Damian doesn’t care.

He shoves himself past the butler who’s holding two steaming cups of calming tea, something he normally looks forward to at the end of a patrol, but right now must be ignored. The second he vanishes into the changing rooms, he releases a shaky breath and locks the door behind him. He waits until Grayson begins to whisper worries to the butler, things about how he thought Damian was in a good mood tonight and sometimes he’s not sure how to read Damian...

Which is fine. Damian doesn’t be read tonight.

It makes it easier to shrug off his cape and look at his side, where his red tunic is stained a darker shade of the same color. He brings his fingers to his side and pokes his fingers through the hole in the fabric, wincing at how the stab wound in his stomach smarts angrily and dribbles a few streams of blood down towards his pelvis.

He winces and brings his hands away, wiping his gloves off on his tunic. Stupid. Pathetic. Reckless. Rash. He’s normally better than this. The thought that this wound was delivered by a druggie made his toes curl in shame. He was only trying to take the drugs away. He didn’t see the small switch blade until it was in his stomach.

It’s a good thing it hasn’t hit anything important. Damian can tell.

He’s learned to be able to tell from a young age.

He exhales as quietly as he can through his nose before looking around the changing room for his clothes. Thankfully, the change of clothes are all loose fitting and warm. Sweats, a long sleeved shirt, and a hoodie that he slips over his head with minimal breaks in between to force himself to ignore the pain in his side. 

He takes a deep breath, fixes his clothes, then stuffs his Robin tunic under his baggy sweater. 

It presses against his wound, which hurts, but it will be hidden so he can retreat upstairs with minimal questions. .

With a final, encouraging inhale, Damain exits the changing booth and makes a bee-line towards the manor stairs. Grayson seems to be inside his own changing room, and the Butler is simply standing by the computer giving Damian his normal narrowed eyes.

He’s not stopped leaving the cave, and he’s not stopped in his fast walk through the manor. He keeps his breaths even and he forces himself to ignore the stretching of his abdomin as he rushes upstairs. Eventually, he finds himself in his room, biting his lips to push through the pain. He locks his door behind him then kneels down by his bead to pull loose a single floorboard. He pulls out a small first aid kit filled with things he’s slowly stolen from the medical room in the cave over the few months he’s been here and then settles down on the floor. He slips off the hoodie and the shirt before digging through the first aid kit, bringing out a curved needle already attached to a long length of thread.

His stitches are perfect. When he wraps bandages around his belly, they’re perfect as well. It doesn’t take long at all before he’s stuffing the kit back under his bed and wiping specks of blood from the floor. As he’s forcing himself to breathe through slipping on his shirt, he hears a pair of footsteps approach outside his door.

Ignoring how badly his stomach aches, he runs to the door, unlocks it, then jumps into his bed. The door opens when he settles with the comforter over his head, his back towards the door and his face turned at the wall.

He recognizes Grayson’s breathing. Damian bites his lip raw until he hears a sigh and the door closes once again.

Damian then immediately goes boneless under his bed covers. With a single hand placed against his side, Damian closes his eyes, and meditates until he forces his aching body to fall asleep.

-o-o-o-o-

Ignoring the stab wound in his side for the entirety of the next day is a difficult feat to do. Luckily, Damian manages. It’s a weekend day, and Grayson has unavoidable meetings with Lucius Fox and the rest of the Wayne Enterprises board. So really, as long as Damian stays out of the way of the butler and doesn’t make any sudden movements, Damian will be fine. He’s even managed to sneak into the medicine cabinet and take some painkillers without anyone catching him.

Really, the closest he got to anyone finding out was just in the morning when Grayson wrapped him in a goodbye hug. Damian barely contained his flinch but redirected it into simply struggling out of the embrace. Grayson gave him a concerned look, but didn’t ask, perhaps just chalking it up Damian simply not wanting to be touched today. 

Not that Damian ever wants to be touched... especially if that touching is as useless as a hug.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and Grayson returns home haggard and wearing deep, black bags under his eyes, Damian has almost hyped himself up enough to not dread patrol.

It takes all of his strength to hide his relief when Grayson mentions being too tired to patrol tonight. Damian pretends to argue, and then retires to bed.

He sags against his bedroom door when it clicks behind him. His stomach still hurts badly, but at least he will not be forced to jump around and pretend everything is normal tonight, so he won't reopen his stitches. Besides… he hasn’t had time to clean and fix his tunic yet. He takes a few deep breaths, then wobbles over to his bed to once again pull out the first aid kit. He brings it to the bathroom his bedroom is connected to and then stands in the mirror as he slowly works his shirt up and off his sore body. His bandages... do not look good. There’s a weird stain where his wound is.

Apprehension settles in his gut as he slowly begins to unwind the bandages.

Soon enough, he’s staring in the mirror at his wound. The stitches look irritated, and his skin looks red. Near the sewed up seam of his wound, there’s little beads of almost transparent yellow liquid. 

Infection. How... how has that happened? He’s been careful today...

He looks at the festering stab wound and bites his lip, trying to remember what to do if you ever get an infected wound such as this.

It would be helpful if he could sneak down to the cave and grab some of that ointment the butler likes to use... except Grayson has an alarm on the grandfather clock, and the second Damian goes down there without permission Grayson will know. 

He can’t let Grayson know... Damian isn’t weak. He can’t let Grayson see his foolish mistake of an injury. 

He turns on the tap and wets his fingers, he then runs the water over the wound until he’s about to blink out tears from the pain. He pats the wound dry with a clean towel, then takes a deep breath and wraps his wound once again before he slips the shirt back over his head with close to laborious effort. Once he exits the bathroom and he’s close to crawling into bed, there's a soft knocking on his bedroom door. He sighs, wipes his cheeks to make sure no tears have fallen, then straightens his posture.

He opens the door to find Grayson standing sheepishly on the other side. 

“What is it?” Damian inquires with disinterest. Perhaps if he acts not in the mood for conversation, Grayson will leave sooner. 

Grayson smiles, and Damian glares. “Hey, kiddo,” Grayson greets, his voice deeper than what it normally is. He’s exhausted, Damian can tell. Not that Damian cares... “Alfred was just telling me that he was cleaning the uniforms, and your tunic’s missing. Any idea where it could have gone?”

Damian makes sure to keep his face straight. “Perhaps the servant just misplaced it.”

Grayson’s eyebrows lower slightly. “Dames...”

“I’m tired, Grayson. I do not know where the butler has misplaced my tunic, but I expect it to be found soon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to retire to bed.”

Grayson opens his mouth to perhaps argue, but Damian doesn’t allow him to. He shuts the door, locks it, takes a deep breath and then stumbles like a dead man to his bed. He can almost imagine Grayson standing outside his door, a worried frown on his young face, fist lifted to knock on the barrier separating them.

However, he can also imagine Grayson sighing and shaking his head; lowering his fist and walking away.

Damian doesn’t get much sleep that night. In fact, by the time he finally falls into something that can be mistaken as sleep, the last set of numbers he remembers being illuminated on his phone’s screen is 03:46. When he wakes up, it reads 05:23, and Damian feels like he’s tussled with the embodiment of death itself while he was in the laughable excuse of slumber.

His body is hot. Too hot. His brain is woozy and when he just barely manages to stumble to the bathroom, he finds his wound looking more awful than ever. He frowns, tries to wipe more water on it, but stops when the pain becomes too great. He just barely manages to rewrap the wound and crawl back into his bed.

It’s Sunday. Perhaps Grayson and the butler will leave him alone today and not notice.

A few hours pass, and his door ultimately has a fist politely knocking for entrance. Damain thinks that if he ignores it and pretends to be asleep, the intruder will just go away. Unfortunately, his hopes are squandered when the door opens anyway, and Grayson’s soft voice calls his name.

“Damian? You up?”

Damian bites his lip, glad that he’s at least facing the wall again.

He listens to the footsteps that trek across his floor, and he resists a flinch when a hand falls on his shoulder. 

“Dami, hey,” Grayson coos, like a worried hen. Damian scowls then opens his eyes before Grayson can begin shaking him. 

“What is it?” He demands, turning to glare at Grayson.

Grayson’s eyes widen, and Damian realizes his mistake too late. 

“Woah, kid,” Grayson breathes, and Damian can’t help but flinch when Grayson wraps his hand around Damian’s forehead.

There’s a scowl on Grayson’s face when he feels how warm his temperature must be. So, instead of dealing with Grayson’s worry, he smacks his hand away and shifts so his back is towards him. His entire stomach protests at the movement, but he has hope that he can get out of this without Grayson realizing anything. 

“Tt, I’m fine.”

“Oh no you’re not,” Grayson argues, and Damian immediately knows his hopes and plans are out the window. “You obviously have a fever... Are you feeling sick? Throw up? Diarrhea?”

Damian frowns. Then sighs. He might as well just rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “My tunic is under the bed,” he mumbles.

He listens as Grayson stills, then bends down to search under the bed. By the time Grayson comes back up, Damian is biting his lip so hard he’s afraid he might chew through the flesh. 

He can tell the exact moment Grayson finds the bloody hole in his uniform. He gasps harshly and... fearfully. Next thing Damian knows, he’s weakly struggling as Grayson rips off the comforter and tugs Damian up so he’s sitting. Fingers lift up his shirt and ghost over the bandages. 

“‘m sorry,” Damian mumbles as Grayson looks up at him with an intense worry in his eyes. It’s so odd that that look is directed at Damian. No one has ever looked at him like that before. No one ever cares about Damian that much. He swallows, feeling guilty and scared. “I think it’s infected... please don’t send me away...”

And that worry turns into shock. “Send you away? Why would you think I’d send you away?”

Damian goes to bite his lip again, but a hand curls gently under his chin and coaxes Damian to look Grayson in the eyes. 

Damian can feel those traitorous tears forming again. He takes a deep breath. “Because I’m weak. I got hit... Robin shouldn’t be weak... you shouldn’t have to worry about me getting hurt-“

And then the world blurs as Grayson tugs Damian forward into a tight embrace. It hurts Damian’s stomach. Badly. But he wraps his arms around Grayson before he can even think about how pathetic that is. Grayson’s arms are just so warm, and strong, and safe, that he can’t help it. He can’t help but feel at home in them.

Damian never quite feels at home anywhere else. 

“You don’t have to be strong, Dami,” Grayson whispers. “You can tell me when you’re hurt or scared or just feeling a little unwell. I will never send you away. Never.”

Damian chews the inside of his cheek before he nods his head. He believes Grayson. Grayson has never lied to him before. “Are you mad?”

“Just worried,” Grayson assures, “which is why I’m taking you to Leslie, and you’re gonna promise to never hide an injury from me again.”

“... okay.” 

“Good.” Grayson tightens his embrace and Damian lets out a shaky sigh. A single tear leaves his eye, but he wipes it away in Grayson’s shirt. 

Next thing Damian knows, he’s leaving Leslie Thompkins’ medical clinic already feeling a little better. Grayson has a paper in his hands for a prescription of antibiotics, and a plan to head to the nearest Walgreens and then the nearest restaurant that makes acceptable ice cream shakes.

By the time they head back to the manor, Damian is practically asleep on his feet. But Grayson doesn’t let him retreat to his bed just yet. Instead, he scoops Damian up into his arms and carries him to the living room where he turns on the TV and inserts a colorful looking disk that must have some sort of sort of childish Disney or Pixar film loaded onto it.

Once Grayson grabs a blanket and collapses into the sofa, Damian knows he will be helpless but to stay here in Grayson’s arms to suffer a movie beneath his level.

“This... is the story of how I died...” the movie begins, the animated screen zooming in slowly on a tree with a wanted poster on it. 

Damian sighs, then allows himself to curl into Grayson’s side. The movie begins, and admittedly it isn’t awful even if the singing is cheesy. Grayson’s arms squeeze him gently in a one armed hug, and Damian surrenders himself to a night of cuddles and Disney’s Tangled. 

He doesn’t know why he was worried. 

He falls asleep in Grayson’s arms, feeling safer and more wanted than ever

[set-phasers-to-whump]

falling through

prompt: abandoned

whumpee: kurt wallander

fandom: young wallander

hi! a brief bit of bg for this fic - it’s set after the show, in a timeline where kurt and reza are now partners in major crimes and rask is their boss. idk if this would fit with any kind of canon but also idc. my rules :) anyway i hope u like this!!!

It’s not their best idea by any means, but sometimes, to break open a case, you have to take a risk. You have to do something questionable and a little stupid, and you have to do it without the permission or even the knowledge of your boss. This usually works in the movies, at any rate. 

This isn’t a movie, Kurt thinks, as Reza parks the car in front of a long-abandoned, derelict, half-rotted house that Rask definitely hadn’t given them the go-ahead to investigate. This is just a bad idea. But they’re already here, and Reza’s already out of the car, and there is the possibility that they’re going to find something here, at the childhood home of their currently-on-the-run murderer, so he sighs and exits the car, jogging after Reza to catch up.

What’s left of the front door swings open the second Reza touches it, and he and Kurt share a look before stepping over the threshold. Inside, the smell of decay is overwhelming. There are moth-eaten skeletons of furniture and the occasional spray-painted symbol on the peeling, stained wallpaper and the occasional squeaking of a rat. “Lovely place,” Reza mutters, and Kurt laughs. 

Towards the back of the house is a staircase, which is missing approximately half of its steps. It looks less than safe, but upstairs is where the bedrooms (and the most likely sources of evidence) are, so they ascend, one at a time, in slow, halting steps. 

They make it upstairs without incident and end up in a hallway that extends in two directions. Silently, they agree to each take one. Reza goes straight ahead, and Kurt goes to the right. 

He pulls his flashlight out as he walks along, flicking it on and passing it in sweeping arcs over his surroundings. A hole in the wall here, a dead bug or three there, a bathroom with broken porcelain and a window missing its pane, and a bedroom that clearly had once belonged to a young girl and not their murderer. He’s about to turn around and see if Reza’s had any better luck when he hears a clatter from the end of the hallway.

He takes a step forward in the direction of the clatter, and there’s a rather ominous creaking sound beneath his feet. He looks down just in time to watch the floor give out from under him, and then all of a sudden he’s lying on his back on the first floor, the breath knocked right out of him, dazed and stunned and surrounded by rubble. 

For a few seconds he simply lies there with absolutely no idea what’s just happened, and then he hears a voice shout his name from somewhere above him. He opens eyes that he hadn’t realized were closed and finds himself staring upwards at a giant hole in the ceiling, and then he remembers. 

He’s just fallen through the floor. Or the ceiling, depending on how you look at it. The voice calls again, echoing around inside his head, and he recognizes it as Reza. He hears footsteps above him and tries to shout a warning that comes out as little more than a whisper. Fortunately, the footsteps stop moving, and he hears them retreat, and then come thumping down the stairs, and he listens to them approach, and then Reza is standing over him and asking him something that he can’t understand. 

Now that his body has gotten over its initial shock, it hurts. What feels like every single part of his body below his neck is aching and sore. His head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. He can feel stinging little cuts and scrapes all over his exposed skin and his right ankle throbs in time with his heartbeat and even his lungs ache from having had the air knocked out of them on impact.  

“Kurt!” Reza’s voice sounds different this time, serious and worried, and Kurt finally manages to think a coherent thought. That doesn’t sound good. He forces himself to speak. 

“Hi,” is the only thing he can think of to say, but it must be good enough for Reza, who at some point has dropped to his knees beside Kurt’s body. He smiles down at Kurt, and Kurt tries to smile back but feels himself failing. It hurts…

“I know,” Reza says, placing a very gentle hand on Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt blinks at him in surprise, not having realized that he’d spoken aloud. He lets his eyes drift closed for a second to try and better take stock of his body and his injuries, but Reza shakes his shoulder and tells him to stay awake. 

“‘M not sleeping,” Kurt manages to say. “Tryin’ to see what hurts.”

“Okay,” Reza replies, “but you try and go drifting off and I’ll kick your ass.”

“Got it,” Kurt whispers back, and then shuts his eyes again and focuses, starting from the top. His head hurts, but not badly enough to be worrying. There’s a rather large cut above his right eyebrow that’s slowly dripping hot, sticky blood down his face, and a few smaller scrapes across the rest of his face and down his neck. His chest and back still ache from the force of impact, but if he concentrates he can move his fingers and toes, so his spine is unharmed. His right sleeve is torn up, and he can feel little scratches all up and down the arm. The same is true for the right leg of his pants. He supposes that’s the part of him that went through the floor first. His right ankle is still aching, and he recognizes the pain as a sprain - irritating and painful, but ultimately harmless. He’s essentially fine. He just aches. 

That survey complete, Kurt opens his eyes again and finds Reza’s face. “‘M fine,” he reports, though he doubts Reza will be very convinced. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah. Banged up, is all. Nothing serious.”

“Good,” Reza says. “Because there’s no service out here.”

“Oh,” Kurt replies, suddenly very glad indeed that none of his injuries are critical, ambulance-worthy ones. 

“Yeah,” Reza says. “That means we’ve gotta get you out of here on our own. You think you can walk?”

“Dunno.” He’s willing to try, though. Kurt presses his palms down firmly into the pile of rubble, which shifts and makes unpleasant noises around him. He pushes his feet into it at the same time, and manages to scramble up onto his feet after several seconds of intense pain. He wavers and very nearly falls right back down, but Reza grabs his shoulders and holds him up. Everything is spinning and his legs are shaking and his right ankle isn’t at all enjoying having weight put on it. Kurt bites back a cry of pain and tries to take a step, because for this to stop, he has to get out of here, but his legs won’t let him move and he feels his eyes well up with frustrated, pained tears, and he tries again to make his legs move but it hurts too much and he can’t, and then…

Then he’s moving? But he’s not walking. His vision is still a bit fuzzy and his body is aching too much to feel anything touching it, and it takes him several seconds to realize that he’s being carried, slightly awkwardly but very gently. He doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about this situation, as he normally would be - honestly, he’s just grateful that he doesn’t have to move. 

He watches as his surroundings (which have become clear again, now that he’s not trying to stand up on legs that really don’t want him to be doing that) change, from the interior of the abandoned house to the outside, and then to the backseat of the car. Reza sets him down on the edge of the seat, positioned so that he’s facing out the door. 

“There’s a first aid kit in here somewhere, hold on,” Reza says, and walks around to the back of the car. It’s not really like Kurt has any choice in this matter, so he stays put. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks, when Reza reappears with a large plastic box in his hands. 

“You’re pretty cut up,” Reza replies, setting the box down on the ground and popping it open. He rifles through it and grabs several different things before standing back up and facing Kurt, sliding medical gloves onto his hands. “I don’t want anything getting infected, and I’m sure you would appreciate not having blood all over your face.”

Kurt raises a shaking hand to touch the side of his face. His fingers come away wet and shiny with blood, and he remembers the cut on his forehead. “That would be good,” he agrees, and then sits silently and waits for Reza to get to work. 

Reza begins with an item not from the first aid kit at all - a warm, unopened bottle of water from the front seat of the car. He pours the water onto a cotton ball and begins carefully cleaning Kurt’s face. Kurt flinches backwards out of instinct when the water first hits his face, but it doesn’t actually hurt, and after a while it actually feels kind of nice. Reza continues the process on Kurt’s neck, then sets down his cotton ball and picks up a pair of scissors. Kurt eyes them warily, trying to think of what exactly they might be for. 

“Sorry about this,” Reza says, and Kurt doesn’t have time to panic about what that might mean before Reza is cutting away the right sleeve of his shirt near the shoulder, and the right leg of his pants slightly above the knee. 

“So I can see what I’m working with without your torn-up clothes in the way,” Reza explains, after he’s finished mutilating Kurt’s clothes. Kurt just nods, glad that he hadn’t been particularly attached to this outfit. 

With his work area now exposed, Reza grabs and wets another cotton ball, then repeats the cut-cleaning process on Kurt’s right arm and leg, as well as his left hand. “Can you feel anything anywhere else?” he asks, and Kurt concentrates for a second, then slowly shakes his head.

“This next part might hurt a little. Sorry in advance,” Reza says, and Kurt watches as he grabs a pair of tweezers and a small bottle of something, which Kurt identifies by the smell as rubbing alcohol once Reza opens the bottle and begins pouring it onto the tweezers.

“I can only see a couple cuts with anything in them,” Reza says, which Kurt supposes is something of a reassuring statement. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

True to his word, the process is quick, but stinging and painful. Kurt knows it’s hardly that bad in the grand scheme of things, but it still hurts, and for a few seconds afterwards he sits there and takes deep breaths and blinks his eyes rapidly and mentally yells at himself to get it together. 

“You ready to keep going?” Reza asks after a moment, and Kurt nods. “This part also might be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t sting or hurt that bad,” he continues. 

“What is it?” Kurt thinks to ask, staring warily into the contents of the box. Reza bends down and grabs a small tube, turning the label so Kurt can see it.

“Nothing bad, just an antibiotic,” Reza assures him, and Kurt gives another nod. Reza dabs the ointment on with a gloved finger, and it does feel extremely uncomfortable on the big cut on Kurt’s forehead, but on the majority of the rest he hardly feels a thing. When Reza’s finished, he sticks a bandage to the large cut and to a few of the bigger ones on the rest of Kurt’s body, leaving the rest alone. 

“Done,” he announces, finally, and returns to the box to put away his items. Kurt watches curiously as Reza continues rummaging around in the box after everything is already put away, until eventually he stands back up triumphantly and holds up a small packet of painkillers. “Thought I lost these,” he says. “You want them?”

Kurt nods, and Reza tears open the packet, shaking two small, round pills into Kurt’s left palm, which is the less cut-up of the two. He passes over the now half-empty bottle of water, and Kurt swallows the pills and then drinks the remaining water. 

“How’re you feeling?” Reza asks, when he’s finished. Kurt attempts a shrug and winces in pain. 

“Okay,” he says, which is not really true. He does feel better than he had when he was lying on the floor, and certainly much better than he had when he was trying to stand. 

“Sure you’re okay,” Reza says. “Not like you just fell through a floor or anything.”

“Better, then,” Kurt amends, and Reza nods. “Good. Then let’s go.”

That sounds very agreeable to Kurt, so he turns - very slowly and carefully - until his body is all the way in the car. He tries to buckle his seatbelt but gives up very quickly, and Reza does it for him, then shuts his door and opens the driver’s door. He starts the engine, and Kurt watches out the window as the old, abandoned house disappears. As they rejoin the bustling roads of Malmö, a very worrying thought crosses Kurt’s mind for the first time.

“How are we gonna explain this to Rask?”

thanks for reading!!!! i rlly had a fun time writing this and i hope u liked reading it!

[indiavolojones]

“No stake to the heart?” Diavolo asks, but it’s lacking its usual charming force. Lucifer’s nails dig into the medical bag holding the supplies.

“You woke up before I could finish whittling it down,” he says, and Diavolo’s choked laughter looks like it hurts. Lucifer hates the tight feeling in his chest, hates that he has no name that he’s willing to call it. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he brings the kit up and places it on the nightstand.

“You need blood,” he says.

alt summary: *stares at index cards* uhhh diavolo sucks the poison out of lucifer’s body and then horny vampire bite, thank you for coming. this is in the same universe as this post.

1.7kish words, uh, tentative E, vampire!diavolo/legitimate businessman ;)!lucifer

-

If the last thing Diavolo sees is Lucifer, shirt pulled up to reveal his stomach with a snarl on his face, he thinks he could die happy. 

There’s the slight, less than sexy addition of the bleeding knife wound in Lucifer’s side, stinging from an unfortunately poisoned blade, but Diavolo’s on his knees before Lucifer can protest, his lips pressed to the wound. 

“What are you–ngh!” 

Diavolo sucks down on the cut, hard enough that it hollows his cheeks and Lucifer hisses above him. There’s a moment where Diavolo thinks that he should have explained and Lucifer’s about to slam an elbow down on the back of his head for his impudence, but some poison can travel unreasonably fast and Diavolo’s not about to take any chances. 

Humans are fragile, after all. 

His hands are firm on Lucifer’s hips, holding him still, but Lucifer doesn’t shove him away. He rests his hand on Diavolo’s shoulder, smearing his blood on the other’s obnoxiously bright Hawaiian shirt (an affront to the eyes and all of mankind, Lucifer had said not four hours ago, to Diavolo’s raucous laughter), but it moves to the nape of Diavolo’s neck of all places. 

It’s surprisingly gentle, Diavolo spares a moment to think, and a pleasant thought that gets him through the abhorrent taste of Lucifer’s poisoned blood. 

He doesn’t let up until the sour taste disappears. Unwilling to let any of it make its way back into Lucifer’s open wound, he swallows it down. Disgusting, absolutely disgusting–Diavolo’s body wants to reject the bitter taste, but the sight of Lucifer, already too pale, his heart still and no light in his eyes, no proud smirk to the curve of his lips–

Diavolo cuts that thought off with a finality that only the undead understand. 

When he’s sure that he’s taken enough and that Lucifer’s natural (or conditioned, Lucifer might have mentioned something about that once) immunity will take care of the rest, he pulls his mouth away. His tongue lavishes wetly over the wound to aide in its healing process, but he feels dizzy when he tries to stand. The traitorous ground shifts beneath him, and he blinks in surprise when his ass hits the cement. Gray starts to blur in his peripherals, even when he tries to blink it away. 

“That tasted like shit,” Diavolo grins, looking up at two Lucifers. Huh. That can’t be good.

And ah, well, at least he got to see Lucifer sort of shirtless. 

Diavolo slumps back, and hopes that Lucifer doesn’t leave his unconscious body behind.

-

-

-

“No stake to the heart?” Diavolo asks, but it’s lacking its usual charming force. Lucifer’s nails dig into the medical bag holding the supplies. 

“You woke up before I could finish whittling it down,” he says, and Diavolo’s choked laughter looks like it hurts. Lucifer hates the tight feeling in his chest, hates that he has no name that he’s willing to call it. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he brings the kit up and places it on the nightstand. 

“You need blood,” he says, hands working efficiently to unzip the bag and start laying out the necessary implements. The tourniquet, alcohol swabs, gauze, gloves–Diavolo’s eyes grow wide as Lucifer brandishes a large needle. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Is it too soon? Is there poison still in my system?” Lucifer asks, unbuttoning his long-sleeved shirt and shrugging it off, looking at Diavolo with a small frown on his face. 

“No, but...” Diavolo breathes, shifting to sit up. Lucifer’s free hand shoots out to touch Diavolo on the chest. Messily, they speak over each other. 

“If you’re still not feeling well–” he says, as Diavolo’s own hand curls around Lucifer’s wrist, “I won’t do it.” 

Lucifer balks at this, too stunned by the words to dispute Diavolo’s grip on his wrist, “You’re saying no to my blood? After all this time?” He’s quickly starting to feel offended, to think that he’s here, offering Diavolo his blood, after weeks of Diavolo begging for another taste–

“I’m not saying that,” Diavolo says, stopping Lucifer’s thoughts in their tracks. His hand around Lucifer’s wrist loosens, but it does not pull away; it slides up to cover Lucifer’s hand, pressed against his chest. Lucifer blinks, not realizing that his palm had been placed over where Diavolo’s heart rests. Slipping his fingers under Lucifer’s surprised hand, Diavolo brings Lucifer’s hand to his mouth. 

Lucifer’s breath catches in his chest as Diavolo places his lips against Lucifer’s palm, pressing a soft kiss to the skin there. His gaze does not leave Lucifer’s, pale gold eyes too sharp as they cut him deeper than any knife could. 

“If I’m going to drink your blood, the only way I’ll accept it is if you let me bite you.” Lucifer resists the urge to look away, Diavolo’s voice going soft, “I don’t want you to be in pain because of me.” 

Diavolo must be hypnotizing him. There’s no way he’s not using some kind of vampiric powers of persuasion to manipulate Lucifer into wanting such a thing from a monster. 

“I want to make you feel good, Lucifer.”

Yes, that must be it, Lucifer thinks. 

There’s no other way that Diavolo could draw him in with such intensity without the aid of supernatural gifts. There is no other logical explanation for the way that he allows Diavolo to reach one shaking hand out, curl around the back of his neck, and pull him in for a kiss. 

-

-

-

Kissing Diavolo is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. 

Though Lucifer does not believe himself to be in any danger, there’s an unshakeable thrum of anxiety at being so vulnerable towards someone that make his survival instincts scream predator in warning. While the kiss starts soft, as if Diavolo is giving Lucifer the option to push back, it quickly turns into Diavolo exploring Lucifer’s mouth when Lucifer gives silent consent into his space. After his initial bout of momentary surprise, Lucifer refuses to let himself be a passive participant, and he responds with equal fervor. 

Predictably, Diavolo is a biter.  

And yet, his kisses are far more gentle and nowhere near the level of ferocity that Lucifer expected, knowing the other’s personality. It feels like Diavolo is holding back, being actively careful with his fangs to the point that Lucifer feels a spike of irritation at the tender handling. His hand moves to also curl through the hair at the back of Diavolo’s head, roughly pulling him in deeper. 

Diavolo gasps into the kiss, Lucifer licking into his mouth and accidentally grazing his tongue against one of Diavolo’s fangs. 

The taste of iron fills his mouth, and Diavolo moans, both hands grabbing at Lucifer like he’s a lifeline. With only a moment for Lucifer to catch up, the pace of their kissing intensifies, Diavolo kicks off the covers to pull Lucifer on top of him. 

Diavolo’s hands cannot stay still, running over Lucifer’s naked torso, dragging his nails down to make bright red lines against his pale skin. Lucifer tries to stifle the gasp when Diavolo finally breaks the kiss to mouth at the skin of his neck. He cranes his neck back, baring it freely for Diavolo’s grazing teeth and worshipping tongue. 

Every time the sharp tip of Diavolo’s fangs brush against his skin, his breath catches–is he, will he–Lucifer wants to groan when Diavolo sucks on the spot instead. Lucifer will be furious with him later for the hickies Diavolo’s teasing has left, but he has other things in mind at the moment.  The rational part of him remains staunchly horrified at his desire, but the proud part of him is thrilled to have Diavolo here, to have Diavolo be so openly wanting for him. It fuels a heady sense of power within him, to have this over an apex predator.

With the element of surprise on his side, Lucifer is able to card a hand through Diavolo’s hair and yank back, pulling Diavolo’s open mouth from his neck. 

“What are you waiting for?” Lucifer demands, but he nearly stops mid-sentence when he hears the breathy quality of his voice. Diavolo makes a low growling noise, nose tucking behind Lucifer’s ear to nuzzle at the skin. 

“I am trying to be gentle with you.”

“You might be immortal, but I am not. I don’t have forever,” Lucifer murmurs, dragging his nails down Diavolo’s back hard enough to leave angry welts. Diavolo, pupils blown wide from the hint of blood from Lucifer’s mouth, gives a husky laugh. 

“Careful what you wish for,” he grins, licking his tongue over his fully extended fangs. In the next moment, Diavolo flips them over, poised over Lucifer. Lucifer’s throat goes dry at the sight, his head tilting back as Diavolo’s head dips down to where his pulse races.

Diavolo’s fangs break his skin, and the words die on Lucifer’s lips as the brief shred of pain is followed by a white-hot burst of pleasure flooding his senses. Eyes rolling back, there is no possible way for Lucifer to muffle the strangled moan that escapes his lips at the sensation. His entire body tenses in Diavolo’s arms, eyes fluttering shut as his hands scramble for purchase against Diavolo.

“Oh,” Lucifer gasps. 

Immediately, intimately aware of Diavolo sucking at the puncture wound, the flow of his blood leaving his body, Lucifer finds that he couldn’t care less. No, it is impossible to care less. 

The ecstasy curls his toes, cock painfully hard between his legs as he pushes his hips up against the firm line of Diavolo’s body above him. It is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, a white hot burn of pleasure that rushes through his veins, too much and not enough at the same time. He realizes that Diavolo could drain him right now, and Lucifer, blissed out of his mind, would be begging for it. At the action, Diavolo’s mouth pulls away from his neck, tongue lapping at the blood that pools there. 

“Fuck,” he groans, Lucifer’s head tilting invitingly to the side. Now that Diavolo’s no longer biting, the pleasure ceases to be overwhelming, instead fading to a heavenly throb throughout his body. He understands the appeal, and deep down, he understands that the apprehension accompanying it is also valid. 

“I told you should have let me bite you sooner,” Diavolo purrs, a healthier flush to his face thanks to Lucifer, licking a spot of blood off his lips. 

A fang peeks from Diavolo’s smile, glints in the low light of Lucifer’s bedroom. Sense has yet to fully return, but Lucifer can at least find some semblance of himself, grab Diavolo by the hair, and yank him into another kiss. 

[tiny-smallest]

in little ways

Rating: G Characters: Steven, Greg Warnings: none Description: The world changing is inevitable, but there’s one thing that will never change in Steven’s life.

Also on AO3!

—

Holy mother of god did I finish something? Slap a hammer in my hand and call me jesus because I’m making miracles.

—

Steven Universe is five years old. He wakes up in the little guest room of Miss Vidalia's house that he lives in every winter when Daddy says she goes to visit her family and crawls out of bed, gulping back tears as he pads his way down the hall to the living room where he shakes his father's sleeping form on the couch.

"Da-daddy?" His tremulous little voice sounds way too loud in the quiet house.

His father is awake in less than a few seconds, sitting upright with a soft gasp and rubbing at his eyes and Steven bites his lip, reaching up for his father's arms. Daddy reaches down and scoops him up and Steven nestles right under his chin with a sniffle, rubbing his nose on his pajama sleeve. "What's wrong, Schtu-ball?" he soothes, fingers stroking through his curls, eyes worried in the light from the street outside.

"Ba-bad dream!" he sobs in a wail, tilting his head back as it comes bursting out of him. "The-there was- there was a bi-big- a big robot! A-an' and it gobbled you all u-up and then it cha-chased me an'-"

"Shhhhhh sh sh shhhh." Daddy's hand is big and warm on his back, rubbing circles into it. "Deep breaths. A bad guy came and ate me?"

"Mmhmm." Big, wet eyes peek pitifully up at him from his chest. "A-an'- an' I was all 'lone."

His father presses a kiss to his forehead, his voice warmer than any blanket. "I'm sorry. That must have been so scary. But I'm right here, kiddo. It didn't happen and it won't ever, okay?"

"Mmmnnn."

"... How about this; why don't we make a plan in case it ever does? That way, you'll know just what to do."

He sniffs. "O-okay..."

"Okay." He smiles, and it is soft and gentle and nothing will ever hurt them ever, so long as Daddy is here. Steven lays his head against his chest. "So here's what we do..."

The rest of the world melts quietly away.

—

Steven Universe is seven and sitting in the van, plucking quietly at his ukulele. His tongue sticks out of his mouth, tiny fingers carefully working to coax the right notes from the strings.

Despite his hard work, the intense concentration, a string snaps. It avoids catching his fingers and the sound isn't even especially loud, but the suddenness of it pulls a sound that is part squeak, part yelp from him.

"How's it going, Schtu-ball?"

He looks up to find Daddy putting a knee onto the edge of the van floor, leaning over to pull a water bottle from the package they'd stopped to buy on their way here. His eyes stray from aiding him in freeing the bottle from the plastic to looking over at Steven with a smile.

The smile fades, a frown of concern taking its place. "Steven?"

Steven looks down at the broken ukulele string with a sniffle.

"Oh," comes the response, further softened. "Here, let Daddy fix that for you?"

He holds his hands out. Steven lifts the ukulele up and over his head, Daddy accepting the instrument and pulling out a repair kit from where it sat behind the box of water bottles.

Steven watches in silence as Daddy pulls out a string and sets about restringing the instrument. He watches as he slides the string through the hole in the back of the piece of wood--the bridge, Daddy had called it--and tied it in place, then pulls it a few inches past the tuning peg he was going to tie it to. He snips off the excess and feeds it through the tuning peg.

"You know," his father says as he worked, "you've been snapping strings more often than usual. Is something wrong? Are you stuck on something?"

Steven shakes his head without really thinking about it. "Jus' not payin' attention as much as I should."

"Oh, well- that happens sometimes." He looks up at him and smiles kindly at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. "It can be hard to focus if you're thinking about something else. Maybe that's a sign you need a break?" He lowers his head to resume his work, but keeps talking. "Remember that talk we had about burnout?"

Steven nods without really thinking about it. There is something really nice about watching him work. He watches Daddy's hands, rough with callouses, carefully work with the tiny pieces of the instrument to restring the ukulele, turning the tuning peg afterwards to tune it.

He wants to be able to do that someday. Maybe he should ask.

What would be the point if you can't play and your song's awful?

"What if they don't like it?" he mumbles.

Steven doesn't realize he'd said that out loud until his father's head jerks up with a look of surprise. "Huh?"

"Nothing," he says quickly, kneading his too-large shirt in embarrassed fistfuls.

Daddy reaches over to draw his fingers through his hair. "Kiddo, is this about the song you wrote for them?"

Steven hunches his shoulders with a wince, but the gentle touch coaxes his head up. His father is still smiling, eyes kind with understanding.

"It's scary," he soothes, "putting your work out there. I know."

He returns to the ukulele for a moment and finishes tuning it, handing it back to Steven before sweeping the small boy onto his lap. He cuddles him close, Steven laying his head back against Daddy's stomach.

"Sometimes you realize how what you made has your heart and soul in it, and it's really scary, exposing that heart to other people. But the gems love you, kiddo. And they'll be so proud that you wrote something for them- much less that you can play it for them!" Steven closes his eyes, listening to the smile in Daddy's voice. "They'll love it because it's your heart and soul. And honestly, also because it's really good."

Steven makes a little noise and his father gives him a light poke.

"I mean it, mister. You've got real talent!"

Steven blinks and looked up at him. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Another poke, to his side. That tickles! He giggles. "With your cute lyrics-"

Another poke. Steven squirms, giggling louder.

"And your nice harmonies-"

"Daddyyyyyyyy!" He tries to shove at the hands both poking him now half-heartedly, overcome with squirming laughter.

"And can't forget that nice angelic voice-"

"Eeeee noooooooo stoooooop!" Steven begins poking his father's belly, making his daddy laugh too. His father lifts the ukulele over his head and begins to tickle under his arms, making Steven shriek with laughter, but he stops after a second and Steven mimics him, prompting his father's own snorts and shouts.

It ends with his father lying on the floor on his back and Steven on his chest, smiling into his face.

His daddy smiles back, laying a hand on his head.

"You do your old man proud already." His eyes shine. "I can't wait to watch you grow up, kiddo. I love you."

Steven wraps his little arms around his father as best he can. "I love you too."

—

Steven Universe is ten, and the autumn breeze is cool on his back as he sits on the bench and swings his legs, ukulele on his lap, fidgeting with the strings. He is bored, frightfully bored, the feeling nails scraping along the inside of his brain, but he just has to try to be patient just a bit longer.

The wind blows a ballroom of fall leaves past him, dancing and twirling on the updraft. He could write a song to that, right? Yeah, he could!

little leaves fall from the trees come twirl up a dance for me! play on the breeze on your way towards the sea come twirl up a dance for me!

He's getting better at the ukulele, he thinks. Dad ran out of stuff to teach him ages ago; said he'd covered all the bases and now there was nothing to do but play. Hone his craft, Dad said. But don't overdo it. Burnout was an awful monster.

So he's careful to follow that advice. But it's hard to, sometimes. He loves to play and write music. He loves snatching new songs from thin air and breathing life into them. He doesn't think he could live if he couldn't create it, play it, learn it, listen to it.

It's like breathing. If he can't do it, he'll suffocate.

He assumed for awhile that everyone was like that. It was jarring when he learned the other children in town didn't experience the same thing.

It's still confusing, even now. Maybe he could understand if there was something they needed the way he and his dad need music, but one of them just... doesn't seem to have that.

It was when he realized that that he also realized this same boy was usually alone. And he always seemed so sad.

Steven swings his legs again, plucking a few idle notes. That song needs work, but he's not feeling it right now. Doesn't mean he can't try coaxing other music from his instrument, though.

How long does it take a bus to get from Ocean Town to Beach City, anyway? Drive faster bus man! I'm dying!

A honk startles him and his mouth falls open as the bright yellow bus pulls up. "I SUMMONED IT!" he crows as the children file off the bus. They all look at him, but he's only looking back for one boy-

And there he is!

"LARS!" He leaps up and waves, and the other boy flinches back, staring at him first in confusion and then... frowns?

The other kids are staring too. Weird.

"St-steven- what- what are you doing here!" He recovers fast, hands on his hips. Steven smiles despite the scowl.

"I waited for you! I thought we could go to the arcade-"

"No." He glares around. Steven isn't sure who he's glaring at. The other kids are gone.

Lars's face relaxes a bit when he realizes this, and without another word, he turns to walk away.

"W-wait!" Steven jumps up off the bench. "I- I thought-"

Lars doesn't stop.

"O-okay! M-maybe tomorrow then!" Still nothing. "Uh- Saturday! Saturday's fine!"

Lars turns the corner. Steven droops.

"They've got a Saturday special?" he pleads to no one.

The leaves whirl again. Steven watches them before sighing and grabbing his ukulele.

It's a quiet walk to the car wash. He finds his dad just inside the building with the big brushes, hosing it down, and can't find the will to wave when Dad waves first. The bright smile droops, and Dad turns the hose off as he draws near.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, setting it aside.

"Lars didn't wanna go to the arcade," Steven mumbles, folding his arms across his chest. His father pats his shoulder.

"Maybe he's just busy?"

"Maybe..." He looks away. Dad crouches onto one knee.

"Maybe he's just grumpy. Maybe he had a bad day and he needs space." He hesitates. "Maybe he's just- not a very nice kid."

Steven balks. "Oh no! He's not a bad kid! He's just sad."

"Those things aren't exclusive, buddy."

His dad's voice is gentle, but Steven isn't having it. "But he just looks sad! Maybe he's scared of anyone knowing."

He fidgets.

"Or maybe I'm just not doing it right," he adds in a sad little whisper.

"Oh- Steven, no..." Dad cups his face with both hands. "... One of the hardest lessons you'll ever learn is... sometimes you can be the nicest you you can be, and it still won't be enough."

He tucks a particularly unruly curl behind his ear, something in his eyes heavy. "Sometimes people just aren't compatible. And sometimes they're just mean. That's not your fault, son."

"... But he seems so... lonely. Won't he feel better if he just has a friend? Doesn't he just need a friend...?"

His father's smile was sad. "... He probably would feel better if he had a friend. But you don't need to be that friend."

"But I wanna be."

Dad kisses the top of his head.

"You're a sweet kid," he murmurs. "But you don't need to be everybody's friend."

"I wanna be his. He's nice. I like him."

His father let out a soft sigh, cupping his face. "Maybe he really is just grumpy today, or sad, and needs space. But there's no shame in leaving something be."

Steven's insides squirms. "I... I wanna keep trying. But... he doesn't wanna today. And I don't wanna go alone."

Dad straightens up and looked around the car wash, a hand still on his head. "... You know what? It's been a really slow day here, stchu-ball. Let me finish up here and I'll close up early, and we can go."

He brightens, feeling the stars return to his step as he starts bouncing. "Really!?"

Dad never closes up early, though!

He smiles at him. "As long as you don't mind hanging out with your old man."

"Never! Never ever! Oh my god c'mon dad let's go let's hurry up what do you need help with-"

His father's laughter echoes around the building as Steven grabs the hose and charges deeper inside.

—

Steven Universe is fourteen, turned fourteen three days ago, actually, and is standing side-by-side with his father at his bathroom sink, razor held in nervous, twitchy fingers. "Like this, right?"

"Yup, just like that. Now you want to put it against your face like this-" Dad demonstrated with a razor of his own, the protective plastic casing over the blade to avoid actually maiming his beard. "And then slowly, carefully draw it down. No need to rush."

Steven draws the razor down his face in a slow but shaky motion, letting out a soft gasp of pain. "Ah!"

Dad winces in sympathy. "Well- close, yeah. You okay? How good did it get you-" He leans over his son to check without waiting for an answer. Steven let him look at the cut on his chin for a moment before reaching for the box of bandaids, his hand touching his father's hand instead of the box. They look at one another and laugh.

"Sorry," Dad apologizes as he withdrew his hand to let Steven take the box, smile sheepish. "Guess you can uh- patch up your own cuts, huh?"

"Well I mean..." He looks at the weeping cut and winces. "... Yeah, but still. Thanks."

He blinks as Steven opens the box and fishes out a bandaid. "For what?" 

"For taking time out to help me," he answers as he peeled off the paper and aligned the cotton part with the cut. "I guess I was a little eager and a little too nervous at the same time?" He laughs, a little shakily. Like his hands. "I always mess up worse when I'm like that. Too excited to do the thing and too nervous to really stop and think and steady myself so I can do it right."

His father's warm hand comes to rest on his back, and when Steven looks up and over at him, it was to kind eyes gazing down at him with a fondness beyond measure. "Everyone's a little nervous about new things. Even good things. Especially big, new things, like milestones."

Steven thinks about the way Connie smiled at him, and cuddled into his chest, and how the wind had tugged at her curls in the summer sunset. Like growing up and falling in love? he wants to ask.

"Like shaving?" he asks instead.

"Like shaving," Dad ruffles his hair. "And sometimes you make mistakes, but that's learning any skill. Your old man will always be here to help you master them, however long it takes."

Steven looks back into the mirror, at the only facial hair he'd grown and yet still somehow managed to miss.

Connie declaring she liked him even if he didn't grow at the same pace as her, would always care about him, something that felt so, so obvious in hindsight by how she panicked when she thought he'd melted into a microscopic thing.

"Even if it takes awhile?"

"Always."

He stares at their reflections, side-by-side, the hand on his back, and picks up the razor again with a smile.

"Thanks."

—

Steven Universe is sixteen and sitting across from his father at breakfast, resisting the urge to swing his feet like a child because the buzz in his brain and the core of his being won't go away.

He meant it when he told Dad he thought he could pull off the new look, he really did. Dad is Dad and will always be Dad, no matter what his hair looked like.

And it is because of that fact that his gut still aches. As his father makes small talk about the weather and Little Homeschool and some of the new Beach City gem residents, Steven finds himself staring at the short hair, especially when Dad turns to address their waitress, removing the threat of him noticing Steven staring for about a minute.

He sees the look she gives them, too. Not many people know the Universes that well, but everyone knows of them. Dad is less invisible to the fellow humans of Beach City than he is to the gems that inhabited the town to work and learn and play. While they remain oblivious to the fact that something awful must have happened, the human townies sure aren't. Their waitress's look is one of nosy worry.

Steven prays she won't act on that worry.

He likes to think that all these years together means he can read Dad like a book. Every gesture, every crease and line in his face, every widening of the eyes. Steven prides himself on reading people in general, and he knows his Dad better than he knows just about anyone else. Better than just about anyone else knows Dad, actually.

And what he reads right now are glaring signs of upset. It shows in the slight shake of his hands when he goes to cut his waffles, the lines around his eyes, the slightly-too-wide look he throws the way of the door when it suddenly opens with too much force because quartzes never know their own strength ever.

It reminds him of when they escaped the Zoo. The tremors, the fake smiles, the frightened eyes that sometimes glazed over. The realization he'd failed in his promise to make sure gem stuff never touched his dad again was something that had hit him earlier, but it doesn't make the resurfacing of that realization suck any less. His gut feels like lead, filled with so much guilt he could be sick with it.

His dad trembles a little all over as the quartzes step inside, crowing about... something he has no context for.

He desperately doesn't want anyone to call attention to it. Dad's already not having a good time. Please don't make it worse.

Thankfully their waitress does not. She sticks around for a second as Dad cuts into his breakfast, left frozen for a moment by the sudden loud entrance of the quartzes, before smiling at them and going to see what the gems might want.

His father laughs, a little too forcefully, and shakes his head. "You'd think they'd learn how light wooden doors are sometime!"

"You'd think," Steven manages to chuckle, shoveling a bite of pancakes into his mouth. It tastes like sawdust. Maybe the cook's new.

Something must have shown on his face, because Dad pauses before lowering his fork and reaching across the table. "Hey," he says softly. "Are you okay?"

He asked that question not even an hour ago and somehow it's harder to answer this time.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He forces a smile. It must not have worked, because Dad's frown only deepens and the knot in his forehead only gets more pronounced. "Really," Steven adds.

"... I know what happened this morning was- scary." Dad's grip tightens on his shoulder before letting go. He doesn't return to his food so much as push it around on his plate a little. "I know you said you were okay earlier but- really- if you need to talk-"

"No, I'm fine," Steven promises. The words fall out so easily and naturally he barely hears himself say them, doesn't have to think about it. "Really."

Dad puts his fork down and looks at him with a gaze so strongly empathetic that Steven for a moment fears his father is actually staring into his soul. "... I believe you," he said after a moment. "But if it ever suddenly becomes... not fine, come tell me, okay? I won't be bothered by it."

Steven nods, still smiling. Dad said the same thing when he kept asking after the Zoo, kept getting the same answer, but really, how wouldn't it be a bother? Dad had his own worries then, and he does now.

Dad believed him after the umpteenth time of being promised he was fine, his gentle offer always present each time but especially stressed the last time before he dropped the questioning entirely, and this time is no different.

If only he had believed Dad's promise in return.

—

Steven Universe is seventeen and curled around his phone, under his comforter, trying to ignore the sunlight against his bed.

He should get up. He should go take a shower and brush his teeth. He should get something to eat. He should go sit outside. If absolutely nothing else, he should do just that really short list.

But he can't move. He should get up. He should get up. Why can't he move? He notices a pink glow against his phone and lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"Schtu-ball?"

He jolts, brain taking a minute to catch up to reality. Steven pushes his comforter aside a little to peek out, his father's worried face looking back.

At the sight of him, Dad's concern melts into a smile. "Hey," he says in hushed tones. "How're you feeling?"

Like I can't even talk. He gives his father a grimace. A knot of concerned sympathy set itself in Dad's forehead.

"Want food?"

Does he? He thinks he does. He should eat something anyway. So he nods. Dad smiled at him and straightened, leaving the room.

Steven isn't sure how much time passed in a foggy haze, but it's disturbed when Dad returns. The smell of pancakes make him blink, pushing his comforter aside to sit up.

"You didn't have to-" he starts, voice cracking as his father passes him the plate. His creaky protests are immediately smothered with a very careful hug.

"I did," Dad soothes. "And I wanted to."

"But-"

"Shhh. No buts." He draws back, smoothing back Steven's hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Is it a talking day? Or a quiet sharing space day?"

Steven hesitates before holding up two fingers.

"You got it." The large hand begins to rub his back in circles as Steven rubs tears from his eyes. Stupid! Why is he crying!?

He's nibbling at the meal when his father adds, very quietly, "It's a lot. Sometimes things overflow. It's okay to cry. It's okay to talk. It's okay to not talk. Whatever you need, I'm here."

He turns to look at his father's face, at his dark brown eyes filled with so much love, before he rubs his eyes and begins to eat, really eat- slowly, but surely.

He leans into Dad's side.

Dad pats his back.

—

Steven Universe is eighteen. The world snaps into focus with jarring, sickening suddenness, like he just fell from one plane of existence to another. In a way, he did.

He lays there, gasping in the silence that thunders in his ears, in the thick heat settling over the room. He shudders, feeling tears track down the sides of his face, head full of cotton and fog. Where is he? What day is it? What time is it? It's dark.

He doesn't like that it's dark.

He tries to get out bed. Falls. The thud shakes the house and Steven whimpers as he tries to kick away the sheets twined around his leg, the feeling of being pinned making his stomach turn. He succeeds, flailing to his feet, opening the door to the balcony.

He hesitates, slams it shut, runs downstairs, and flees out the front door instead, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly falling his way down them.

The sea spray is a nearly welcome bite against his skin at first, but despite doing better to draw him into reality, it doesn't make the sick pit in his stomach go away. He is now wide awake, painfully wide awake, and yet every fiber of his body still shrieks sirens. His pulse is near painful.

He slows to a stop along the beachfront, doubling over, hands on his knees, breath coming in gulps and gasps.

What now?

He could go find the gems. He has full access to the temple, welcome whenever he wants.

He doesn't want to find the gems. They can't help him here.

Steven takes a moment to contemplate the trembling of his body before he admits what it is he actually needs to do, and he straightens, turning to jog back around to the boardwalk. Reaching where the wood meets the sand of the beach and the grass of the hill, he runs up the block towards the car wash, feeling his gut churn. He doesn't realize until he stops running that he'd even started, chest heaving.

He hesitates at the sight of the van before he pushes back the faint this is dumb this is dumb this is duuuuumb you're too old for this sort of shit echoing in scolding bursts from the back of his head and stands on his tiptoes to peer through the diamond window in the back of the van.

There's Dad, asleep, bundled comfortably in what was probably a more orderly setup at some point and during the night devolved into more of a nest than anything else.

Overpowering relief sweeps in like the tide he had just been running adjacent to a few minutes ago. His knees turn to jelly and a powerful burn creeps into his eyes, Steven covering his mouth and putting his back to the van, sliding to the ground and stifling as a sob. The van is icy against his back even through the random yellow shirt he'd decided to designate a pajama shirt. His hand finds his hair, grasping fingers twisting themselves into his curls, his other hand still over his mouth.

It's unusually chilly for a summer night. In two weeks he leaves for his road trip. These are random facts that have nothing especially to do with the situation and yet they're dredged to the forefront of his mind. Why?

Steven takes a moment to sit with the thought. The former is probably just because it's miserable. He's miserable. He doesn't want to be here, in this moment, right now, and the chilly night air is compounding his inner turmoil. The second...

Can he really say he's ready for this venture when just a single nightmare is enough to rip him apart like this?

It's a thought so upsetting he yanks himself away from it like touching a hot stove. His therapist would be disappointed in him for not engaging with the thought. He really doesn't have the energy to do much but hate his cowardice for a brief moment and then try to move on.

Dad. Dad is fine. Dad is safe. You can go home now.

... But he doesn't want to.

The thought makes his stomach squirm. What is he supposed to do? Wake Dad up? Bother him with the figment of his imagination? Hey Dad, I know it's like three in the morning, but funny thing- I had a dream about Eyeball and Aquamarine using that knife to do exactly what they were planning! So, how about the weather, huh?

No, he really doesn't think he had to bring that up again.

... He could wake him up without telling him details, though. Should he wake him up? Would that be selfish?

He could hear his therapist. "Steven, people love you. Let them love you. It's not a crime to accept the different ways they love you even when it inconveniences them; relationships are give and take."

Well, guess Dad's getting his money's worth, he thinks, slowly, shakily rising to his feet.

It still feels wrong. It's the reminder that Greg would be even sadder if he didn't wake him--even if Steven knows that's not the proper motivation--that makes him swallow and knock on the window, finally.

Greg jerks, sitting upright so quickly Steven can hear his back crack. This was a mistake.

But it's too late now. Greg's head turns towards where the sound came from, blearily blinking sleep from his eyes, and freezes as awareness hits. He scrambles up to his knees and Steven can hear him fumbling to crawl over to the doors, throwing them open as Steven makes his way around to the back. "Steven? Steven what-?"

"Hi Dad," he whispers around the thick lump in his throat, feeling supremely stupid, standing there shivering the way he is.

Dad makes a soft hushing noise, ushering him inside with sweeping gestures of his arms, and Steven is too weak to resist, especially since he did just wake the man up. He crawls inside, Greg immediately bundling him in one of the blankets he'd been using for sleeping before hugging him tight. Steven watches as he unsuccessfully tries to close the door without letting go of him by hooking his foot on the inside handles, but he manages it before Steven can apologize and move to do it himself.

"You're freezing!" he laments, letting go of him just enough so as to lean back and get a look at him. "What happened!?"

Feeling his father's warmth retreat even just a little leaves a yawning yearning somewhere in his center. Without giving himself time to think much more on it Steven moves forward to follow his father's movement and buries his face into the crook of his neck. "Nightmare," he croaked, willing his voice to hold and disappointed it doesn't do anything of the sort. "I just- I just had to make sure you were okay."

The tenseness in his father's form melted a little with the promise of no imminent threat, Dad reaching up with one hand to softly stroke his fingers carefully through his hair. "Oh Steven..." He felt his father's face press against his head for a moment and only half swallowed the whine that slipped out. "I'm here. Everything's okay. You need to talk about it?"

"No no nO NO DON'T PLEASE STEVEN HELP-"

He couldn't shake his head, buried against him like this, but he untangled his hands from the blanket enough to fist them in his father's shirt. You can feel his pulse like this. This is him. He's okay. He's alive. They didn't hurt him. You didn't let them. He found a way out, and you made sure they didn't go into the house after him, and then the gems squashed them outside.

"... I can't," he pleads. His father's arms squeeze him tighter.

"Writing?" comes the soft suggestion.

"Not this time. Not-"

Would he be ready to share this anytime soon?

... No, he can't promise that. He can't say 'later' when he didn't know when that would be. It would be too much like lying.

"Not yet. Dunno if soon."

"Okay," Dad soothes. He begins rubbing circles into his back. "Do you want to stay the night?"

"... Do you mind?" His voice sounds pathetic even to him.

"Never," he promises.

Steven swallows back a sob with a gulp and nuzzles his face into Dad's shoulder. His father's chest begins to vibrate as Greg starts to hum; a low, soft, gentle white noise he's heard a million times.

And will a million more, Steven realizes.

And will a million more.

Steven lets the heavy tension begin to leave, feels the coiled bands in his muscles loosen.

He lets his heavy lids finally close.

The rest of the world melts quietly away.

[mermaidcashton]

all the pretty girls

author: claire (@mermaidcashton) ship/AU: calum hood/luke hemmings, genderswap!AU prompt: “Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met.”  wordcount: 1519 warnings: swearing, hint of sexual content  dedication: this one is for gay!sos group chat, and all the other wlw 5sos fans 💘 a/n: • so, i wanted wlw!5sos and established relationship, self-indulgent, domestic cuteness and i...think i have achieved that? lol • written for @maluminspace & @h0tsos​ ‘s 5sos fic writers collab (in which we all chose from a list of AU’s and had the above prompt quote to include - i will share the masterlist for you to see everyone elses when it’s finished!) • i do not give permission for this (or any of my writing) to be reposted, by anyone, on this or any other website. please don’t do it! • title from ‘honey’ by kehlani 

all the pretty girls ***

all the pretty girls in the world but i'm in this space with you 

***

“Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met.” “Oh!” Luke gasped, burying her head further into Calum’s shoulder. Calum was bemused. “Haven’t you seen this movie like ten times?” “Fuck,I think I’ve seen this movie ten times.” Calum would be seriously questioning her life choices if she hadn’t taken into account that every time she’d ever watched it, she’d had the hottest woman she’d ever met pressed against her. That seriously balanced the scales of shitty cinema, in Calum’s opinion. 

“It’s just so cute.” Luke sniffed. Calum pretended not to notice her wiping her nose on Calum’s sleeve; she looked cute enough in it to get away with almost anything.

Right now Luke was wearing avocado print pyjama shorts and Calum’s Santa Cruz sweatshirt (despite owning at least 300 separate items of clothing, in Calum’s most conservative estimations), with her blonde hair in a messy bun and the beginnings of a snotty nose. Her eyelashes were glossy with the tears she’d brushed away, and Calum thought she’d still be willing to watch every straight-to-video 00’s rom com ever made as long as it was what Luke wanted. 

“Does this seriously not make you emotional? He gave up Paris for her! Paris, Calum!” Luke whined, craning her neck to look up at Calum from her position under her arm, her lithe body laid across the sofa.  

Calum smirked. “Come on, babe; you know ‘Wall-E’ is the only movie that makes me feel anything.”

Luke rolled her eyes, but giggled all the same before pressing on insistently.  “It’s so romantic, though. Isn’t this the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?” “No?” Calum scoffed, settling back against the mountain of cushions that seemed to grow every time they went to Ikea. Then it struck her. “Hang on, are you saying that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?!” 

“Yeah…” Luke let out another dreamy sigh before stilling almost imperceptibly. Oh, shit.

“What?!” Calum said, already looking more indignant than the time Luke had accidentally cheered for Arsenal insead of Liverpool (“Your Liverpool shirt is red, Calum! What the hell is an away kit?! I hate football!”). “Obviously I wasn’t includi-” Luke tried to recover, but Calum was too far gone. “I write the sickest anniversary cards! My last Valentine’s Day card to you? Fuckin’ poetry, Luke! I mean, not literally because that’s lame as fuck, but I am romantic as shit!”

Calum knew that generally speaking, people would consider Luke to be the more romantic in the relationship. Everyone who lived within 5 miles of their apartment had probably heard Luke tell Calum she loved her, or seen her entwine their hands, or pout her lips for a kiss she had to have right that second, at least twice. She was more prone to posting photos of Calum on Instagram with captions that ranged from sweet to thirsty as hell. Every time she attempted to bake for Calum, it would almost always be using a heart-shaped mould or cutter she’d found at the pound shop down the street. And at Calum’s gigs, everyone always knew exactly where she was in the crowd because Luke was yelling about the incredibly sexy bassist with the best basslines in the history of bass at every possible moment. 

However, Calum thought her own brand of romance of just as valid, and Luke seemed to like it. Calum was a fan of surprising Luke with flowers, albeit wild bouquets of sunflowers and daisies rather than roses or peonies (“Wildflowers for my Wildflower.”), and of playing records on vinyl that she thought Luke would like - or that reminded her of her girlfriend - while they ate a dinner Calum had made from scratch because she’d seen a recipe online that she knew Luke would love. Calum also trusted Luke in a way that was rare for her, and lying in the dark of the their bedroom, speaking out loud things she’d never told anyone - childhood memories of her parents messy divorce, her deepest fears, greatest dreams, biggest secrets - whilst her girlfriend rubbed comforting circles over her hip and placed gentle kisses on her shoulder, felt intimate and special in a way Calum hoped Luke felt was romantic. And like she said - her card writing skills were sick.     

Luke sat up on the sofa, freeing herself from underneath Calum’s arm. She clicked the pause button on the remote, dropping it onto the rug as she threw her hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, I take it back; you are the most romantic I only meant in, like, movies and stuff! Obviously you are the most romantic and beautiful and I love you!”

Calum sniffed, trying to keep her sad face on without breaking. “Obviously not, as I don’t have a European city to not go to for you…”  Luke saw her girlfriend’s mouth twitch at the corner. Right. She tucked her long legs underneath herself, settling back on the sofa as she spoke. “Like I said, I take it back - I was wrong.” 

Calum could count on one hand the amount of time she had heard Luke say those three words during their relationship, and was ready to celebrate a substantial victory, until she clocked the smile spreading across Luke’s face that spelled trouble.

Luke continued in a purposely casual voice. “The actual most romantic thing I’ve ever heard was on our third date, when you drank all those daiquiris and told me that one day you were gonna ‘fucking wife me’.” Calum groaned and tried to sink back into the sofa so it could swallow her whole; this plan was thwarted by all the Ikea cushions.

“Shut up, that wasn’t me. You must have me confused with your other girlfriend. I don’t even drink daiquiris.” Luke’s distinctive laugh filled Calum’s ears; she loved that sound (it was in her top 3 sounds that Luke made), but right now she felt so embarrassed at the memory of her nerves getting the better of her in a Tapas restaurant that she couldn’t really enjoy it.

“Maybe not anymore! But Ashton told me how much of the morning after you spent with your head in the toilet, so I guess it makes sense you gave them up.” Luke teased, her blue eyes bright with mischief.

“I hate Ashton.” Calum mumbled, with nowhere near as much heat as was currently in her cheeks.

Luke’s giggles had taken on a unmistakable air of victory; Calum could not let this stand.

“Right, that’s it; we’re watching ‘Pulp Fiction’!” Calum declared, leaning down to feel around on the floor in the dimly lit living room for the remote where Luke had abandoned it. “Noooo!” Luke whined, reaching out to grab Calum’s wrists as she rose in triumph. “Cal!” She pouted as she missed entirely. It had always made Calum laugh when Luke tried to overpower her in any way; she was clumsy, and she wasn’t quick or strong enough to get the jump on Calum, unless she cheated (which she often did). In the past, Calum had hoped Luke wouldn’t notice the way she clenched her thighs together when the blonde would wiggle against her, bite her lip, whine or pant. Inevitably, as their relationship had continued, Luke had become fully aware of the effect she had on Calum, and now employed her sexuality as a weapon against Calum whenever she deemed it necessary. Nowadays, she tended to cut to the chase, as she was now. Calum barely registered the remote being extracted from her slackening grip as Luke held the grey sweatshirt and her cropped pyjama top up above her chin with one hand. She did register Luke’s small but perfectly formed tits, and wondered briefly what they had been talking about. Luke didn’t let her clothes drop back down to cover her breasts until she’d already unpaused the movie and stashed the remote underneath the armrest on her side of the sofa. 

“That...was savage.” Calum deadpanned, shaking her head as she clambered to her feet. Luke put on her most innocent smile (which was not that innocent if you knew her as well as Calum did). “Do you want another drink?” “Yes please, gorgeous.” Luke replied with her eyes still fixed to the screen, her lips moving in the time with the actress on screen with the dodgy bangs. Calum rolled her eyes fondly before making her way to their small kitchen in search of rosé.

She didn’t notice it until she closed the fridge again, but Luke had responded. 

Earlier in the day, Luke had used their alphabet fridge magnets to spell out ‘BUY MORE MILK’. Upon seeing this just after lunch, Calum had immediately checked she had the right letters to arrange the obvious reply; ‘NO FUCK U’, giggling to herself the whole time she’d been doing it. She let out a snort, picking up the personalised wine glasses Michael had gifted them when they moved in together. She set off back towards the living room, idly thinking about what movie she was going to demand they put on when this torture was over.

‘NO U’.

***

my masterlist   • please let me know what you think of wlw!cake and if you would like to see more of them here!

[dr-ground-zero]

Todoroki Roulette

(this is a bnha sickfic intened for fluff I’m not trying to ‘fetishize’ these characters. Sometimes I just like sickfics for the fluff so don’t come for me please)   Midoriya knew something was off about his boyfriend since this morning. He was quieter than usual and seemed unfocused which wasn't like Todoroki so it concerned his lover. Though during class he seemed to have a feeling, he noticed that the other was much paler than usual. He could also hear fain sniffling, see him rub at his nose with a knuckled finger and. Todoroki would constantly pinch at his nose and make a soft "Htch!" sound. Finally during lunch, Midoriya dared to ask the other who didn't look to be hungry and just picked at his food. "Todoroki-kun are you okay?" Suddenly raising his head then grabbing it and wincing, his answer didn't convince the 'All-might brat'. "I'mb fide b'Midoriya" His voice was hoarse and congested, Midoriya frown and sighs but then looks confused when he hears a soft. "Hehh hiieh heh heh" Then a loud "HEETSSHH! HET-knnk! Het-chiiew!" Trying squash down the sneezes didn't work this time as his body needed to let them out. Fire comes from his mouth and smoke from his nose that's starting to get an irritated pink around the nostrils. "bl-bless you Todoroki" Everyone around saw this and it only made Todoroki more embarrassed and upset, so he ran. Midoriya stood confused while other's were either scared, but it didn't stop the green haired male from chasing after him. Running down the hall and into the bathroom, Todoroki gasped for air then sputtered into a coughing fit as he leans against the cold tile wall. Shivering as his quirk was malfunctioning with his fever making steam as he pants through congested breathing. Midoirya's not far behind and walks in seeing a shivering Todoroki holding himself, wiping his nose on his jacket as it dripped chilly frost. "T-Todoroki-kun" His voice is soft as worry filled him, but Todoroki shrunk away. "G-get away, I'b dadgerous" Knitted brows of confusion showed on Midoriya's face. "Dangerous? Todoroki its fine, no one got hurt-" "yet..D'no ode got hurt yet" Sighing softly, Midoriya approaches with a comforting smile. "Well I'm your boyfriend so I don't care, its my duty as your boyfriend to love you unconditionally." He states in a matter of fact way, the closer he got the more he could see what the problem was. "Todoroki..are you sick?" He couldn't lie to the broccoli boy, not when he was willing to help him. "Y-yes I am'b" His words punctuated with a stuffy sniffle, they're only inches a part another step and now only centimetres. A sweet scarred hand reaches up to feel an un-naturally warm right side and forehead. "Oh Todoroki you're burning u-" Cut off by the same "heh heeeh heh" Midoriya ducks for cover to avoid which ever result would blast from the double quirked male. "HET-chiiew! Het-knnk! guh huxxiew!" The last one causes a flurry of snow flakes to come out, and Midoriya's already going through his book bag for tissues. "Here, and don't stifle next time, you'll feel better if you let the sneezes out." Holding a tissue up the runny nose of his boyfriend gently wiping it for him. "Why don't we go to the dorms? I'll just ask Uraraka to tell the teachers you're sick and that I'm taking care of you." He throws away the tissue and wraps an arm around the taller's waist to lead him to the cafeteria to grab their bags. "A-alright, I'll try d'not to be to b'much trouble for you." Midoriya rolls his eyes playfully "you're the good kind of trouble so don't worry about it, babe." With that the two boys made their way to the cafeteria and were greeted with many stares but Midoriya just leads him straight to their table. "Uraraka, can you do me a favor please?" Asked Deku kindly, Uraraka had a sweet smile "sure Deku what do ya need?" She didn't notice Todoroki leaning against Midoriya until he picked up Todoroki's book bag. "I need you to tell the teachers that Todoroki is sick and I'm taking care of him." The rest of the dekusquad hears this and frowns sympathetically. "Oh I'm sorry to hear your not feeling well Todoroki, that explains the fire.." Says Iida who joins along with Tsu. "Sure thing Deku, feel better Todoroki." "yeah get well Todoroki" Carrying both book bags, its time to head back to the dormitory. Leaving the cafeteria and soon the school with a sniffling, sickly Shoto Todoroki following close Midoriya kept an eye on him as they strolled. Entering the dormitory they head to the elevator, still leaning against Midoriya for support the older was trying rid of the teasing tickle in his nose by rubbing it, but it wasn't working. Feeling the tickle flourish and get worse, his nostrils began to flare and he tried to warn Midoriya. "B'mid-heeh hiih Midoirya aaah" Seeing the pre-sneeze look on his face Midoriya got behind the half n half boy, before flames burst from his lips. "HEEETSSHIEW! HEETTSIIEW!...heh heh HETTSSIEW!" Sniffling the smoke cleared but still left the stuffed up one coughing, so soothing back rubs were the temporary remedy. "Bless you babe" Now being the the private of the dorms and only Midoriya was around, Todoroki relaxed and seemed to melt more for the loving touch. "thagks" "You're welcome babe, come on." Guiding him out of the elevator and heads to their dorms. "My dorm or yours?" "It doesd't b'matter" Midoriya nods and goes to Todoroki's dorm, letting him unlock the door and then going inside. "You go and get changed, do you need help?" Midoriya asked while Todoroki sluggishly began to undress, he shakes his head so Midoriya goes to his own room to change. Coming back quickly after hearing a thud, Midoriya sees Todoroki laying on the bed. He'd sneezed and fell onto the bed when he stifled. Clad in a black long sleeve shirt, and a green short sleeve shirt over top of it with a bunny on it, and comfy blue skinny jeans. Midoriya huffed putting down his sick kit, and helping Shoto into bed. Shoto was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, once under the covers Izuku got set up. Setting the tissues on the bed, knowing his boyfriend would definitely need them. Then going through his 'sick kit', first getting a thermometer. He needed to get a number on that temperature seeing how flushed the other look. "open up Sho~" Slightly parting his lips for the tool to go under his tongue, Shoto leans against the pillows of his bed to sit up a little. When they hear a small beeping noise, Midoriya frowns when he takes the thermometer away. "38.6C (101.5 F) definite fever, lets hope it doesn't get any higher." Putting the tool away, and then getting out the cold medicine making Todoroki cringe. "I know it taste bad but, you have no choice." He made the other chug down the cold syrup, then giving him water to wash the taste out of his mouth. Sniffling and rubbing at his nose that starts to drip, it started another tickle in Todoroki's poor nose. Scrunching up his nose, trying to rid of the tickle, it wasn't working and icy mist was starting to flow from his open mouth while he hitched. "heeh hiieeh heh heh" Scrambling to grab a tissue, pressing it to his nose for him Midoriya braces for what will happen. "HEETSSIIEW!...HEESHIIEW! HETTSIIEW!" The tissue was basically frozen, and soft bites of frost stick to Todoroki's nose that was gently cleaned up. "Bless you Sho, come here." He pulls Todoroki into him and pulls the covers around them. Laying his head on Izuku's chest, Shoto sighs at soft back rubs he got. Todoroki was sleeping lightly in bed with Izuku, when he woke up stuffed up in the head and dizzy. "Oh god by head" He rubs his temples feeling his head pounding and full of what could be described like cotton. He coughs into his fist letting out a bit of smoke, then grabbing a tissue to blow his nose. Though the texture of the tissue was enough to bring out a tickle and a teasing one at that. Leaving the boy in a hitchy itchy nosed limbo with steam coming from his mouth only making the teasing worse. His chest heaving sporadically as he geared up, Midoriya wakes up to this and rubs his eyes groggily. "hm babe?" Though he grew fully away when the other sneezes explosively. "heEETSSIEW! HEETSSIEW!" Smoke fogging up while his nostrils twitched, "S-sorrry" Midoirya gave his nose a soft kiss. "You're not done yet." A sharp gasp when the tickle finally spread enough for him to sneeze again. "HEEXXIIEW!" Snot dripping from his nose, Midoriya fans the smoke away while grabbing a tissue to press against Todoroki's nose "Poor baby bless you" He cooed while adjusting Todoroki in his arms, soft soupy sniffle come from the nose that's starting to turn red. "thagks babe" Midoriya checked the time on his phone, seeing he'd gotten a few from the dekusquad. 'hey Deku u and Todoroki ok?' 'hows Todoroki?' 'try not to get sick Midoriya' So Midoriya texted back in the chat 'Todoroki and I are okay, he's just got a bad cold that's messing with his quirk..I'll try not to get sick but I don't care if I do' When he sees the time, he looks to Todoroki and says in a soft voice in case the boy had a head ache. "Baby I think you should eat something" "I'b dot hugry" Midoriya chuckles grabbing a tissue and handing it to Shoto. "Sho baby, blow your nose I can't understand you." Shoto does as asked and then throwing away the tissue. "I'm not really hungry" "Well you still need to eat, how about some soup? It'll help you get your strength back up." Todoroki knew the other was right, but he didn't want the other to leave him and lose the shared body heat he needed. "I wont take long alright" Giving a short peck to his forehead, Midoriya gets up from the bed to go and make Todoroki soup. Leaving the dual quirked sickie in bed alone to his own devices. So he laid up in bed and went into his phone, until he got bored and started to feel clingy. So he gets up and wraps the blanket around himself to keep his fever chills away and heads down stairs. In the elevator Todoroki was sniffling and sneezing rubbing his nose with a fist covered blanket. Shaking a little from weakness and slight chills, he waits until he reaches the common room ground floor. He then walks into the common room kitchen, some of the students were there as class was over finally seeing Todoroki some giggled some just stared. "Izuu~" Todoroki says while wrapping his arms around the other making him jump. "Sho baby, what are you doing out of bed?" Midoriya says turning to look at his boyfriend who'd wrapped himself into a blanket. "I don't like being alone right now" Nuzzling his chilly drippy nose against Izuku's neck, but that causes a tickle to make his nose twitch and his breath catch. "heh heeeh ieeh" Midoriya panicked a little and got behind his boyfriend trying to guide him away from lighting anyone up or freezing them. "HEETSSIEW! HEESHIEEW! HETTSIIEW!" It made a couple people jump but, no one was burned or frozen so that's always good. "bless you Sho-chan" Sniffling and rubbing at his nose he slumped forwards. "Thagks Izu" "what the heck was that?" Asked Uraraka who walked towards the two boys. "Todoroki's quirk malfunctioning" Uraraka nods in understanding, while Midoriya guides his boyfriend to a stool at the island counter. "How ya feeling Todoroki?" Todoroki peered over to the brunet who offers a sweet smile. "awful." He answered plainly with a soft snort, Midoriya's still working on the soup adding things to it. While the soup was cooking Midoriya gently ran his fingers through Todoroki's hair cooing at him sweetly. "I know you don't feel good Sho baby~" Todoroki opened his arms making grabby hands like a child, Midoriya knew what he wanted. Giving him a loving embrace and a short kiss on the lips. Uraraka 'awed' at the two commenting on how much of a cute couple they are. Parting away, Midoriya goes to grab a container to put the soup in and grabs a spoon, he ushers the other upstairs. "Bye Uraraka talk to you later." The round faced girl waves good bye to her friends while going on her phone. Back in Todoroki's bedroom, with a closed door Todoroki sat up in bed while Midoriya gave him soup. It was a sweet gesture that Midoriya didn't mind doing for his boyfriend who's hands shook too much to hold the bowl on his own. Soggy sniffles, nose rubs, from the warm soup making his nose run resulted in it turning red. His stomach full of said soup, Shoto grew tired. Setting the soup aside on nightstand next to the bed, Midoriya crawls under the covers and pulls Todoroki too his chest to use as a pillow. Their legs tangled around and strong arms wrapped to hold each other close, Midoriya's hands dance around to lull his boyfriend into a blissful sleep.

[side-effect-of-the-meds]

Whenever you can, can you write some Andrew bad mental health days angst with Nicky trying to help single-handedly? Maybe while the twins were living with him? With a hopeful ending of course. More importantly I wanted to ask if you’re alright? Your last post was worrying.

So I’m doing a lot better now. It’s just that sometimes I feel like my parents treat loving me like it’s a chore and neither of them really want to do it. They also just remind me all the time about how hard it is to love me and implying that my theoretical future husband would leave me over these flaws. I made the mistake once of implying that maybe I should have a wife instead and my mother looked ready to murder me. Which u literally see me project in almost exact words in this piece. Sorry. Anyway.. that’s how my efforts at coming out are going :)) It’s fine tho. I’m going to college in a year which is its own headache. 

Thanks again for your concern and your patience. I hope this is what you were looking for <3

A bone-deep sense of exhaustion had been weighing Nicky down for so long that he almost didn’t notice it anymore. Almost. Dragging himself into the backroom of Eden’s, he felt another wave of it crash over him. 

“Nick,” Roland called. His eyes were wide and his legs were trembling. His lips were swollen and bruised too. A smile curled the edges of Nicky’s lips. Before he could prod Roland about his disheveled appearance, Roland said four words that always sent every thought careening out the window. “Something’s wrong with Drew.”  Shoving him aside, Nicky raced down the hall. From the end of the corridor, he heard labored breathing. 

“Andrew,” he called as he nudged the door open. Nicky felt his stomach plummet at the sight of his cousin curled on the floor. Tears were welling in his eyes. “Hey, man,” he started. 

“Get. Out!” The words tore from Andrew’s throat, low and guttural. Fury was written into every crevice of his face. Nicky stumbled backward, falling onto his butt. The door slammed shut in his face. Crawling up to the door, Nicky lay his head up against it. From behind it, he heard Andrew’s breath coming in ragged gasps. “No. No. Please, no.” Nicky’s heart stuttered. When he’d first met Andrew, he’d made the mistake of saying please. He’d been rewarded with a none too gentle warning about using that word in Andrew’s presence. For Andrew to be saying it now…

“Andrew, let me in,” he begged. 

“No!” Andrew screamed. “Leave me alone.” Tears raced down Nicky’s face. His fingers ached for they’d been clutching tightly to the doorframe. 

“Let me help,” he whispered. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. A week ago, Nicky had been summoned by the school to pick Andrew up early after a similar episode. According to Aaron, it had happened a few times when they’d lived with Tilda too. However, they’d been occurring more frequently since the twins had moved in. Was it something Nicky had done? Had he hurt Andrew? 

Nicky didn’t know how long he sat there, begging softly for Andrew to let him in before the door finally creaked open. Andrew stepped out, dry-eyed. His blank facade had resettled over his face but his eyes were red and puffy. 

“Water,” he croaked. Nicky scrambled to his feet and checked a few of the back rooms until he found some bottled water. Offering it to his cousin, he chewed on the inside of his cheek as Andrew down the whole thing in one go. 

“Andrew,” he pleaded once more. 

“Home,” Andrew ordered. Nicky’s shouldered sagged but he obeyed. Shuffling down the hall, he did his best not to look back at Andrew. He gathered up his jacket from the front before grabbing Aaron. As they walked to the car, Nicky felt a cool breeze blow past. From the corner of his eye, he caught Andrew shivering. Shedding his coat, he waited for Andrew to pass him before throwing it around his shoulders. “I don’t need your shitty jacket,” Andrew snarled. 

“Whoops. Guess you're so small I mistook you for a coat rack.” 

“You’ve got three seconds to start running, Hemmick.” Nicky was running before the words were out of Andrew’s mouth. It was less than three seconds before Nicky heard Andrew’s footsteps pounding the asphalt behind him. 

“That’s cheating,” he cried. “Doesn’t matter, though. My legs are longer anyway.” 

“They won’t be after I break them,” Andrew gasped between breaths. Nicky should have known better than to rile Andrew up. While Nicky was the faster of the two, Andrew had incredible endurance. He didn’t have to outrun Nicky. He just had to wait for Nicky to run out of steam. Hooking a left, Nicky headed for the park. Vaulting over the chain-link barrier, Nicky risked a glance back. Andrew had banked to the right and was now running around the perimeter of the barrier. 

Looking back was a mistake. Nicky tripped over the playground border that. Falling face-first into the mulch, he felt several pieces of it embed themselves into his flesh. 

“Not so fast now, fucker,” Andrew said. For the first time, Nicky saw a smile tug at the edges of Andrew’s smile. It was a sharp, cruel thing but a smile nonetheless. As Andrew’s eyes roved over Nicky’s face, he saw the smile slip away. “You idiot,” he muttered as he grabbed Nicky’s sleeve. Too dumbfounded by the fact that Andrew was touching him, Nicky didn’t protest to being dragged across the park. He still couldn’t find his voice as Andrew shoved him onto a swing and rolled up the sleeves of the coat. 

A first aid kit appeared in Andrew’s hands. Producing a pair of tweezers and antiseptic, Andrew set about picking the mulch from Nicky’s face. All the while, Nicky whined about how much it hurt. It didn’t hurt. He just needed something to fill the silence. Plastering a bandaid over the final cut, Andrew stepped back to inspect his work. 

“I thought you didn’t need my shitty coat,” Nicky said. Andrew looked down as though he were just noticing what he was wearing. With a scowl he shucked it off and threw it in Nicky’s face. Andrew sat down on the swing beside Nicky. For the first time in a while, his legs were long enough to touch the ground. “Hey,” Nicky started. Andrew groaned as though the conversation was already too long. “I know you don’t want to talk but I need to know what I can do to make this easier for you.” 

Silence settled over the pair of them. Just as Nicky was about to give up Andrew answered. “I just need space.” 

“I’ve given you all the space I’ve got. I gave you a room. I gave you the keys to the car. I let you come and go as you please. I know you didn’t ask me to come here. You didn’t ask me to stay but I’m always going to be here. No one else really wants me anyway.” A sad smile settled over Nicky’s face. It was true.

Every person has their own love language. Nicky’s was touch. Growing up, Nicky’s parents hadn’t understood that. No, they’d chosen not to. Loving their child was their duty as parents, nothing more. Luther and Maria treated loving Nicky like a chore, never failing to point out how his every flaw would prohibit him from finding a respectable wife. Well, then maybe he didn’t need a wife. Maybe he needed a husband. 

Telling his parents as much resulted in them pulling away entirely. Any semblance of love that they’d shown him was now gone. Where Maria woke early to make Nicky’s favorite breakfast, he’d begun coming downstairs to a table set for two. Where Luther brought home little things that he’d thought Nicky may have enjoyed, Nicky watched as his father actively shifted his gift-giving to Maria. It knocked Nicky’s self-confidence to a low he’d never thought possible. Suicide was something Nicky had never understood. Why would anyone want to die? Well, what point was there in living if you had no one to live for? 

For as long as Nicky could remember he’d spent his life trying to please his parents. The most he’d ever gotten was a five-second hug for winning a national art contest. Shut out by the only people that had ever meant anything to him, Nicky had spiraled into depression. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Krauss’s push to send him to Germany, Nicky might not be alive today. 

In Germany, Nicky had found love. Not just in Erik but Erik’s family loved him. Erik’s friends loved him. They breathe life back into Nicky and offered him a place to stay. And he’d wanted it. Going back to America, Nicky had been okay with facing his parents’ disappointment because he’d known that it didn’t matter. Soon he’d leave Columbia and he’d never look back. Everything was finally going to be okay. And then, Nicky’s world turned itself on its head. Learning about the twins had brought all of Nicky’s plans to a grinding halt. 

Nicky knew what living with Luther was like. There was no way he was going to force Aaron and Andrew to brave all of that alone. Germany meant so much to Nicky because he’d been greeted with open arms. The Klose's didn’t love one single aspect of Nicky. They loved him as a whole and Nicky hadn’t had to fight for an ounce of their affection. 

The twins were broken and battered and bruised, just as Nicky had been. Luther and Maria weren’t going to welcome them into their home with open arms. Nicky doubted anyone would. There wasn’t anything that Nicky had learned from his father that he’d truly taken to heart, save one: there’s always someone that needs saving. Sure, Luther had meant converting people to Christianity but, from the moment Nicky lay his eyes upon the twins, he knew that no one in the world needed saving more than them. 

Nicky didn’t know how to fix them (or even if they could be fixed at all) but he’d take care of them until he found someone that could. He didn’t know how long it would take for them to each find their own Germany, but he was more than willing to stick around until they did. 

“I do,” Andrew said. Nicky looked up to find Andrew’s eyes already on him. 

“You what?” Nicky’s voice broke halfway. 

“I want you to stay.”

[spectorbarnes]

Secret

Summary: You’re getting tired of being stood up on dates by your boyfriend Peter. He cancels last minute, coming up with the strangest excuses and you’ve had enough. Peter decides to tell you the truth.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1,698 words  Warnings: fluff, slight angst

You tapped the top part of your pencil on your desk, impatiently waiting for the final school bell to ring. Your mind was rushing to the various things you had to do to get ready for tonight. As soon as you would be home you’d jump quickly in the shower to get ready for your date with your boyfriend.

The bell rang and you raced out of the classroom with books in hand. The hallway of Midtown filled with students rushing out the building. You managed to dodge a few sprinters as you approached your locker.   

You shoved your thick science books in the locker. Glancing at the small mirror attached to the locker door, making sure your hair and makeup were in check.

“Are you excited about our date tonight?” You hear a voice speak. You turn around to see Peter in his Midtown sweater and jeans, leaning against a locker. 

“Very excited.” You give him a small peck on the lips before closing your locker door.

“Can I have another kiss?” Peter wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed your back against the lockers.

You answered with your lips against his and wrapped your arms around his neck. Normally, you would wait until you were out of the building for the PDA to begin but it was your 6th month anniversary. You couldn’t wait. 

“I hope you don’t ditch me for Ned this time.” You jokingly said. A few weeks prior Peter had canceled last minute on you about some project he had with Ned that was due the next day. Actually, you could think about several other times he had to cancel. “Or have an upset stomach.

“It will not happen again.” He seemed to be thinking hard about something else.

“Pete,” You said. He turned his head towards you. “Is everything okay? I was just joking.” 

“Right.” A smile formed on his lips again. “Just lost my train of thought. I have to say for some decathlon stuff. I’ll pick you up around 7?”

“I’ll see you then.” You closed your locker door and kissed him again. You both parted separate ways in the hallway, occasionally looking back to catch the other looking back as well. You were both looking forward to your date.

You paced around your bedroom all dressed up for your date that night. But too much time had passed. You are far from upset but the heavy thunderstorm outside made you think of the worse scenarios. 

Hey, Pete. Just wondering if you are okay. It’s late. You haven’t answered my texts or my phone calls. I get it if something came up. I just need to know you’re okay. 

You hung up the phone. You were debating on calling his aunt, checking in to see if he was there. You chose to call Ned instead.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Ned. Listen, Pete was supposed to pick me up for our date tonight but he won’t answer my calls and I am worried something bad happened. Please tell me he is there?” You ask.

“U-Uh yeah, he’s with me,” Ned answers. You sigh in relief. “Sorry, we lost track of time after school building Lego Star Wars,” He says. 

“I thought you two were at the Decathlon practice.” You say, stopping in the middle of your bedroom. 

“O-Oh yeah! He came over after practice.” Something was definitely off. 

“Can I talk to him?” 

“Oh, he can’t really talk. He’s in the bathroom but I can give him a message.”

“Ned.” You spoke in a more serious tone. “He’s not really there, is he?” 

The line on the other end was silent for a few moments.

“I saw him earlier.”

“Ned! Where is he?” You paused. “Did you really ask him to work on that project a few weeks ago?”

“Look, it’s better if Peter explains everything himself. I’m going to try and find him right now. Don’t worry.” 

You were woken up by your phone’s ringtone. Your dress was up your thigh and your hair was no longer nice. You reached for your phone and saw the caller, Peter, along with 50 other notifications of Peter’s texts, missed calls and voicemails. 

You placed the phone back on the nightstand and pulled the scrunchie out of your hair along with a few hairpins. The thunderstorm was still going on and the sound of rain hitting your window only made you want to fall asleep again. 

There was a loud knock. You sat up on the bed, probably one of your little siblings trying to annoy you. You hear the knock again and realize it is coming from outside your window. 

You stand up and look out the window frame and see a shadow move under the big light from a few apartments up. You nearly scream but realize it’s Peter on the fire escape by the sound of his voice.

“Please, let me in.” He said. You immediately unlock the window and push it up, letting Peter into your bedroom. You lock it shut and find Peter soaking wet with a dark hoodie and sweatpants.

“What are you doing here? You’re all wet.” You walk to your closet and pull out a clean, dry towel from your shelf and give it to Peter. He pulls off his hoodie you see his face with bruises. His white shirt has bits of blood. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh.” He brings up a finger to your lips. “I don’t want your parents to see me like this, let alone the fact that I sneaked in through the window late at night.” 

“I think I have a first aid kit in the medicine cabinet. Wait here.” You managed to sneak out of your room, tip-toe down the hall and get the kit from the bathroom. You head to the kitchen and put some ice cubes on a small plastic sandwich bag. 

You come back to see Peter looking at a collage of photos of the two of you pinned on the wall behind your computer desk. Lightly touching the most recent photograph you put up. “I like this one.” 

The picture was taken on your last date, Peter’s lips were pressed against the temple on your head as he held the camera in position with one hand and pulling you closer to the other. He snapped the picture just as he began to tickle your side. Your eyes are squeezed tight as your lips had a mouth-open smile. Peter was also clearly grinning at your reaction.

“Me too.” You respond, patting the edge of your bed. Peter walks over, places the towel on your bed and sits on it. You pull out the ice pack and place it on the side of Peter’s mouth. “What happened to you?” You asked. Peter held the pack in place as you began to wipe the blood off his face.

“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” He groaned when the antiseptic wipe reached the cut. “Ned told me you two talked.”

“You mean when I figured out that you were lying?” You said. He groaned again. “Sorry, that wasn’t on purpose.” 

“Peter, I don’t get it.” You walked over to the trash bin in the corner of your room. You felt your eyes water and a knot form in your throat. “All the lying, saying you’re with Ned when you’re not. You want to be with me but you cancel at last minute. If you really don’t wanna be with me, break up with me, don’t avoid me.” You threw the wipe away and turned around to see Peter standing by the bed with tears in his eyes.

“I c-can’t lose you.” He whispered. A few tears slid down his cheek. “I want to be with you. I really do.” He wiped away the tears. 

“Then what’s stopping you?” You step closer towards him. 

He grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Your eyes immediately widen as you realize what he was doing and even surprised when he wasn’t half-naked as you expected. He’s wearing a red and blue long sleeve under his shirt but you later realize it was not just a shirt but a whole suit. 

You stand there in shock. He couldn’t be- No. he had to have bought it somewhere.

“Are you-?” You couldn’t dare to finish the question. It seemed silly saying it out loud. 

He extends his arm, shoots a web to the hoodie he left on the floor and picks it up. 

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You walk across the room and wrap your arms around him. “What are you thinking?” Tears begin to spill from your eyes.

“I have this great power, I need to use it for good and protect people.” He pulls away and grabs you by your arms, looking into your eyes, putting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Pete, you’re putting yourself in danger. Look at you right now.” You argued. “I swear if something happens to you-”

“Nothing is going to happen to me. I promise.” He pulled you in for a hug and held you tighter.

“I’m guessing Ned is in on all of this.” You looked up at him.

“He’s the first one who knew about it,” Peter answered.

“I freaked out on him earlier, I need to apologize to him tomorrow before class.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive you. Will you forgive me?” He asked. 

“Of course.” You lean up and kiss him. Peter gently pushes you down on the bed and you both lay there holding each other. “Not to be rude, but, aren’t you supposed to be home?” 

“Aunt May thinks I’m having a sleepover with Ned.” Peter chuckles when you give him your playful glare. “I promise it’s the last of lies I’ll tell.”

“Good.” You yawn and Peter pulls you closer to him. You reach over to the nightstand and turn off the lamp. 

“Hey, did I tell you that you look beautiful tonight?” He asked. You giggled and kissed his cheek.

“Good night, Spider-Man.”

First spidey fic I’ve ever written! Please let me know what you think! Check out my other works as well!