#and i don’t usually feel frivolous but also it’s hard not to when you’re almost in tears trying to decide between shirts

[livingdeaddoctor]

wailing wailing rent to smithereens How do people pack without wanting to fucking implode into a miserable pile of goop

[talenlee]

Habits

As I write this, it is 4 in the morning, in mid June. It is not a time for this kind of thing. I have work to do in the morning and I am now at an age where I can’t just bully my way through how that makes me feel.

Last year I wrote about making new habits. Earlier this year I wrote about alt texting consistently. Today, I spent about two hours on my blog going through older posts and adding alt text, and finding new posts where I had stopped putting images, because alt text makes images just that little bit harder. When I’m up late and can’t write and I’m struggling, and I don’t want this to be a post about how hard it is to write every day, but when I’m struggling with it, the thought of ‘but alt text’ makes me route around the use of images.

This is potentially a good thing. After all, if using images in a post is a kind of responsibility to use alt text appropriately, then I’m going to be encouraged to take alt text seriously and therefore, not use images frivolously in a way that makes posts worse for screen readers. The followup problem is that when I’m running low on effort juice, the first thing to go are images entirely, which means that the resistance of adding alt text is enough to make me jettison the entire idea of using a visual medium in the hypertext format. See also how often I link things when I’m not trying to make sure I don’t get yelled at for not sourcing.

And that’s part of the whole system of shame-based internet writing. I don’t say some things or do some things not because I consider them virtuous but because I find it embarrassing to get told off for not doing them. And imagine if I said something like ‘I don’t do it that way because the results are not important enough to me, considering the effort involved to do it.’ That’s just going to make everyone feel bad, even if it’s true. It’s one of those things where you’re kinda better off not talking in the first place.

Anyway, one of the habits I’ve been trying to keep to is always adding to the writing queue every day. This week, during the marking period, has been very bad for that. I’ve been extremely glad to have the backlog of writing I do. The target goal is a queue of 51 things ahead of me. That means that if I just add something new every day, the queue will be 50 when I wake up. This is obviously made more difficult by situations like now, where, again, it’s 4 in the morning and I haven’t written anything. I tried to get in the habit of drawing every day in my cheap little drawing pad. I haven’t done that, but instead I have an almost full cheap little drawing pad, with very little in the way of what feels like progress, but also, the proud and true statement on the cover that nothing has to be any good. I’ve even tried drawing the New Garfield, which is such a niche and pointless reference to try and be any good at but the effort was made and the paper holds the memory.

Here’s a habit, though.

I am trying to keep the sink clear.

The sink is the big communal point of presence in our house. It’s a single room apartment, basically, with a bedroom and a living area that includes the kitchen. The kitchen is a place where I do, well, a lot of the cooking, but not all of it. Cooking is something that requires space and implements, and for a time I thought of it as a division of labour that Fox cleared the sink and I filled it. I made the food, she cleaned it up afterwards. And this isn’t an unreasonable division of labour, in my opinon; I wasn’t doing something bad that made Fox have to adjust. We have different chores, we’re different people, we do things as best we can.

The thing that’s changed recently is the unfortunate realisation that sink chores are infinitely easier when there’s only one of them.

If after a meal, all the things that make up that meal are dealt with, then that’s it, there’s very little work to be done. Almost everything that makes a meal can be put in the dishwasher, immediately, and what can’t, is usually easiest to clean hot. Which means that every time I’ve passed through the kitchen lately (such as roaming to and fro and fro and to), if I see a thing that I can put in the dishwasher – just one, it doesn’t have to be a lot of effort – I put it in there. Single fork or spoon, whatever. And the result is that over the past few days, the kitchen has gone from being a major chore Fox has to decide to do right before bed to just…

Y’know, clear.

Almost always.

I don’t know how good a job I’m going to do maintaining that habit. It seems unlikely. I feel like, in this moment, every habit I could have is about to collapse around my ears because I’m up late and I’m upset at unrelated things. But the task of the sink is a habit I think I can maintain, and at least right now I can hold onto that. It’s all easier if we do things together, and doing it that way means I have more clear space to do the cooking with. This habit hypothetically, feeds itself. Just like how drawing every day I get the whim to hypothetically encourages me to keep drawing, and keeping those drawings private helps fight against the need for them to be presentable or any good.

Maybe I can get a little bit better every day, like they say.

Good grief.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[daizymax]

risk another goodbye | kmg (m)

summary: months after the breakup, a spontaneous tryst gives mingyu a chance to reconcile with you, but this time, he finds he’s the one at risk for heartbreak.

pairing: mingyu x fem reader

genre: angst, smut

word count: 4.4k

rating: mature (18+)

warnings & features: angst without a happy ending; ex-boyfriend!mingyu; profanity; self-loathing & unspoken thoughts/emotions on mingyu’s part; graphic sexual content; oral (f receiving); vaginal fingering; choking; protected penetrative sex

author’s note: reuploaded from my old blog thanks to some encouragement from a sweet anon. hope you enjoy!

{ click here if you prefer to read on AO3 }

---

“Come on, girl, you’re right there, I can feel it.”

Mingyu can also feel his own breath on his face as it breaks across your cunt. He tries to focus on that instead of worrying whether you picked up on how he almost added the word ‘baby’ before the ‘girl.’ You might be allowing him near your cunt again, but he has no right to call you pet names anymore. He knows that, and he wants you to know he knows that, but he’s not sure you do.

He’s making an effort for the first time in a long time and you don’t even know.

“J-Jesus fuck, Gyu,” you swear, breathless and beautiful. Nicknames are in line with pet names, and you may as well have called him every sweet old thing you did for years by the way Mingyu’s heart clenches. His lips would probably go dry if they weren’t coated in you. At least some of his efforts are not going unappreciated.

He takes another swallow of your juices and concentrates on pumping a finger into that spot he memorized inside you long ago. “Come on, Y/N, come,” he urges again. He doesn’t add the ‘for me,’ but fuck, he wants to.

You’re panting his name in both half and full syllables, begging him to do exactly what he’s already just told you to do. “Yes yes yes, keep going, Gyu, make me come… Don’t fucking stop, Mingyu, please…”

I would never do that, he wants to answer, but it would probably feel a lot like the boy who cried wolf. Even in this context, he can’t risk the words being salt in the wounds. He likes to believe they’re still as fresh for you as they are for him. Maybe that makes him cruel. (‘You mean more cruel,’ this stupid voice in his head corrects.)

But you’re lying here with your legs spread for him, so maybe you’re not so high and mighty, either.

Mingyu opens his mouth to keep from grinding his teeth. He grazes them on your plumped clit and flickers his tongue the way he learned makes you shake. Once you start, he adds another finger, and you welcome it with a cant of your hips.

“Th-there! Mmm, I’m r-right there, Gyu, fuck, keep going, keep going…”

For old times’ sake, he wishes you would clutch his hair like you’re clutching his sheets. He wishes you still shared his sheets. He was going to wash them today - he was always better about staying on top of that sort of thing than you - but now he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to bear stripping the smell of your perfume from them, let alone strip them from his mattress. As proud as he is of his ritualistic chores, he is also painfully self-aware of how prone he is to giving things emotional bearings. You always did tease him for hoarding the most frivolous things for their supposed sentimental value - a ticket stub, a hair clip, a sticky note with a faded but sweet ‘Thinking of You’ message. You were always the one with sensibility and impulse control, not him.

Then again, you’re the one lying here with your-

Mingyu closes his swollen lips around your bud - now is usually when you start to get impatient for it - and sucks just hard enough to make it good. You gasp and hold your breath there. Your muscles pull taut, including those inside you, and that’s how he knows without a doubt you’re about to tip over. You’re usually whiny and vocal as you climb to your climax, but you always fall tense and silent when you’re about to crest.

He curls his fingers with stronger intent. His arm is burning and his jaw is numbing, but he forces himself to keep every movement perfectly consistent like it’s the least he can do for you. (‘She deserves so much more,’ the voice tsks. ‘She always did,’ he agrees with himself for once.)

Although he could sense it coming, the series of tight clenches on his fingers still surprises him. You don’t cry his name when you come; the high-pitched squeak is wordless and barely audible by the most liberal standards, but to Mingyu, it’s everything. He replies with a deep moan and flicks his eyes upward so he doesn’t miss his favorite part: you, in the throes of a high he gave you.

One of your hands slaps against the headboard in search of purchase stronger than cotton. Your head whips to the side, and Mingyu gladly lets you rock against his face to wring that pleasure for all it’s worth because you’re so fucking gorgeous it hurts.

Even as he works proudly to keep you riding that high as long as possible, he can’t help but reach down with his free hand to adjust the unbearable strain in his jeans. He has to do it now while you’re too caught up to notice how weak he is. (‘Oh, she already knows,’ the irritating voice demeans.)

Mingyu carefully withdraws his soaked fingers and flattens his tongue along your slit. He traces his fingertips gingerly along your folds just to smear you with his spit and your cum and then lick it right up. The trembling in your limbs tells him you can’t take much more stimulation, but he lingers greedily, nuzzling and lapping you as clean as he can. He has no intentions of ever coming up for air.

“You’ll prune your pretty face if you stay down there much longer.”

It’s lewd, but it may be the nicest compliment you’ve given him in months, indirect as it is. He’ll take the crumb; he’s been starving. And he’s not sure if you actually intended to make him laugh, but it expands throughout his chest and huffs out of his mouth anyway.

With a smile on his glossy lips, he finally draws back from between your hips and props himself up on his hands to get the full survey of you in your post-bliss glow.

Your chest is still heaving gently beneath your shirt. Neither of you had bothered to remove it because your bottom half had been in more urgent need of nudity at the time. You are not looking at him; your head is still bent to the side, eyes closed as you collect yourself. The shaky hand still on the headboard comes down to rub across your sparkling forehead. There is also sweat on your neck and cheeks, and your eyelashes look damp, too.

Suddenly, Mingyu wonders if he will witness a wave of shame and regret wash over you in real time once you come all the way down and realize what’s just happened. If you’re still half the person he thinks you are, you probably should be ashamed of falling into this tryst with him. He does not believe himself to be nearly half the person you are, yet he almost regrets this.

Almost.

The amusement over your little joke a moment ago drops like lead, straight to his stomach, and his dick steadily shrinks soft. He pushes backward off his hands to wipe his nose and chin off with the inside of his t-shirt. He considers leaving it on, but eventually sighs and yanks it up over his head to toss it toward the hamper on his way to the bathroom.

He returns with a clean towel, but you don’t reach to take it when he offers it. You just sit up and stare at his face. Mingyu stares back, trying to discern what you’ve disguised your shame and regret with.

After several seconds, he gives up on the puzzle and gives the towel another shake in your direction. “Here, you can take a shower if you w-”

He thought you would appreciate his hospitality, but instead you interrupt him by tugging hard on his forearm with both hands. He drops the towel and lets you pull him back down to sit on the bed. You slide onto his lap, and his hands automatically go to grip your waist, thinking you might need his help for balance, but you’re perfectly steady.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, looking straight in his face.

His dick stirs optimistically, but he doesn’t want to make any bold assumptions about where the question is leading. “I- what?”

“A condom,” you repeat patiently. “I’m… I’d believe you if you said you’re clean, but I haven’t been keeping up on my birth control, so...”

The supposed faith you have in him leaves Mingyu temporarily dumbfounded. You have to lean in closer and raise your eyebrows questioningly before he remembers what you were asking him in the first place.

“You- I- Um…” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I have one. Some.” He mentally winces at the hasty clarification. What does it matter if you know he has more than one condom on hand? So you know he’s prepared in case it breaks? No, now he just sounds too hopeful you’ll entertain the idea of sticking around for multiple more rounds.

For the sake of his sanity, he has to ask, “Did you want to…” And then he’s not sure how to finish wording it. Have sex? Fuck me? Let me make love to you?

“Yes,” you answer his half-formed question. “Do you want to?”

If he wasn’t helplessly trapped in the pools of your eyes - and if his head wasn’t currently somewhere in the bulge of his crotch - he might give the question more than half a second of deliberation before croaking: “Yes…”

You pick apart the fastenings on his jeans, and it’s his turn to hold his breath when you pull his cock free. He is equal parts excited and apprehensive watching you stroke him back to full hardness. You used to hail praises over his cock and all the things you claimed it did to you. Did you really mean all of it, or were the things you said just byproducts of the feelings you had for him? Your feelings for him have definitely changed since the last time you had his dick in your hands. (‘That tends to happen when you break someone’s heart,’ the wise voice chuckles.)

Mingyu pats your hips and guides you off his lap to kick off the last of his clothes and retrieve the condom you asked for. As much as he would like to feel you raw again, he still tears open the packaging and rolls the latex onto himself without complaint because no matter what you might think, he’s capable of being responsible.

He’s making an effort.

When he looks back to the bed, you’re sitting topless against the headboard, dropping your bra to the side and watching him with what he thinks is your own look of excited apprehension. He sinks his knees into the mattress and asks the first thing he thinks is sexy while crawling toward you. “How do you want it?”

You move aside when he gets too close. “Sit here,” you direct with a nod of your head.

He trades places without taking his eyes off you. You straddle yourself across his knees and run your hands up his twitching thigh muscles. His cock jumps into your fingers the moment they stretch toward it. You smile at his body’s automatic reaction and tug your fist along his shaft to test the security of the condom (he guesses), then drop a ball of spit onto the tip and spread it down. The molten pit in Mingyu’s stomach flares through every nerve ending in his body when you move forward and line yourself up with him.

“O-oh, holy fuck…” he groans, resisting the urge to thrust upward and rush your pace. Physically, your pussy feels more or less like any other Mingyu has been inside, but it is also undeniably comforting to feel your unique weight on his lap and your warm walls hugging him again. To think he left because comfort had started to feel stagnant… (‘You’re such an idiot,’ the voice sighs.)

You drag your hips in a slow circle, and Mingyu pretends he can feel every soaked crevice on his bare skin. “Oh my god, that’s tight,” you voice his thoughts exactly. “I forgot how big you are.”

His dick pulses harder at the stroke to its ego, but Mingyu doesn’t say anything. He skitters his hands down your naked frame, from your shoulders to the sides of your breasts down to your hips. He wants to keep his grip there on your soft skin, but you yank his hands up above his head and lean in to push him into the headboard with your tits while you buck against him.

“Right there,” you breathe against his mouth, pressing his raised arms into the cold wall. Mingyu licks his lips and nods. He tries to lock his fingers between yours, but you pull away too soon and brace your hands against his chest instead. “Right there, Gyu,” you repeat, so he keeps his hands right where you left them. He’s not entirely convinced this is real, so he’s happy to do anything you say.

You rock against him quick, keeping your pelvis as close to his as possible to leave him as deep as he can get. Gradually, your hands slide up his chest until they’re clutching his shoulders, and the leverage helps you ride him faster. It’s not graceful; the way you’re moving against him is messy and crude. It’s not love-making; you’re just using his hard cock as a means to a spine-tingling end. It makes him feel dirty. Dirtier when he realizes he desperately wants to be used.

“Choke me,” he whispers out of the blue. You snap your eyes to his and slow your movements. When you don’t answer him or do as he says, he says it again with more conviction. “Choke me.”

You stop rocking against him altogether and tentatively splay a hand over his Adam’s apple. “Are you sure?”

It doesn’t even take him half a second this time to answer, “Yes,” because even now, in the After part of your relationship, he still trusts you as much as he always did. (‘Too bad she can’t say the same.’ If the voice had a face, Mingyu is sure it would be smirking, and he’s sure he would want to punch it.)

You run your thumb gently along the column of his throat from one side to the other. “Do you remember the safe signal?” Your voice and your touch are so gentle it makes Mingyu’s heart seize, then sprint. He vaguely wonders if you can feel the spike in his pulse. Surely you can.

“I th-think so,” he murmurs, suddenly shy.

“Pinch me on either thigh and I’ll stop,” you spell out plainly, confirming his suspicions. “But you can only move your hands if you need to pinch me, otherwise I want them to stay up above your pretty face, okay?”

Mingyu takes your words as law and nods. Then he blurts, “Thank you,” before he even realizes what he is saying or why exactly. Maybe because you’re complimenting him a little more directly this time? A pitiful blush burns the tips of his ears.

You let out a breath that might be the start of a laugh, but you don’t comment on his sudden appreciation. You just readjust your weight over him and apply more pressure on his neck as you continue moving your hips, this time by lifting up and dropping back down slowly.

Mingyu’s whole face goes slack at the return of the slippery friction. His mouth drops open and his eyes fall shut. Only a few seconds in, he already wants to take you by the waist, not because you need his guidance, but merely to ground himself against the dizzying heights you’re taking him to. He doesn’t dare disobey you, though. He needs you to praise him for his good behavior, so he keeps his fists clenched above his head and lets you choke his whimpers.

He’s making an effort, god damn it.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you pant, squeezing and picking up speed. “S-so fucking good, Mingyu…”

He peels his eyelashes apart again at the sound of his name. He loves when you say it like a hymn. Your own eyes are clenched shut and your sweaty eyebrows are furrowed. He loves when you’re concentrated on your pleasure.

“So good… feels so f-fucking good,” he echoes, raspy with lust and decreased oxygen. His hips twitch restlessly every time they come into contact with yours. His toes curl in on themselves. He still feels dirty from being used, but he fucking loves it. “H-harder. Do it harder, Y/N,” he begs.

You don’t look at him when he says your name, but you do question him. “Mm, you sure you want it harder?”

Mingyu writhes and whines, “Y-yes… Want you to make me f-feel it.”

His words cause just the reaction he was hoping for. A grin crosses your lips as you reopen your eyes. “Alright then. You’ll let me know if it’s too much, right?”

“I will,” he promises, nodding once again. He gingerly twists his neck to challenge your grip and hums gratefully when you clench tighter with both your hand and your pussy. He tries to encourage you with a, ‘That’s it, baby,’ but the words can’t quite make it through his windpipe now - just the way he likes it. Probably for the best, anyway. He had no intention of curbing the pet name this time.

Your hips are slamming into his now. The slaps of your ass against his thighs are ringing throughout the room, possibly throughout Mingyu’s entire apartment. The smell of sweat and sex is going to linger for a while, but he doesn’t mind. All he cares about right now is the way you’re engulfing him and giving him ideas by staring at his lips with hooded eyes. You watch him move them in an attempt to make yet another request, and you graciously ease the pressure on his neck to let him voice it.

“Kiss me.”

Your breath hitches in a way he can’t tell is good or bad. Same with the way your eyes darken. You look back and forth between his eyes and his lips a few times, then raise your hand from his neck. He doesn’t have time to be disappointed before you’re grabbing him by the chin and sending his heart racing again. You dig your fingers into his cheeks not too gently, but not harsh enough to scare him, either.

“Say it again,” you breathe across his face, tilting your head to the side as you regard him with scrutiny.

“Please, Y/N. Kiss me.”

Mingyu grunts at the impact of your lips. You hold tight to his jaw to guide him deeper into the kiss the way you want, slipping your tongue between his teeth to stroke inside his mouth. You taste like sugar. He probably tastes like the juice smearing across both your laps. You don’t seem to mind.

You’re on him, around him, holding him, drinking him up in rough drags, and he still can’t get enough of you. His arms are starting to tremble where they’re still folded against the wall above him. But just as he considers making another greedy request, you give him an answer to his prayers.

“Touch me,” you pant into his mouth.

He practically growls as he lunges to obey, instantly taking the back of your head in one hand and the small of your back in the other to better mould you to him. You whimper and let him pull you close. It’s a tiny sound and a fleeting moment Mingyu cherishes a little more than he should. Before he knows it, you draw away with one last nip of your teeth to his bottom lip.

“Touch me, Mingyu,” you repeat, reaching for the hand he has behind your head and pushing it down between your bodies. “Finish us both.”

You don’t realize the salt your words put in his wounds, even in this context. You probably don’t think he has any wounds. He broke up with you, after all. You don’t even know…

Mingyu shakes off the oblivious jab and licks his thumb with a generous amount of spit to press it against the stiff button between your legs. You moan loudly on contact, and the pace you’ve been keeping loses all rhythm. It’s just vague motions at this point, up and down, back and forth. Everything is saturated in heat - the air, the sheets, your skin, his blood.

“So close, so close, I’m so fucking close,” you chant.

Mingyu uses his free hand to take one of yours and place it back around his throat. “M-me too. Come with me, Y/N.”

You toss your head back and squeeze his throat like you really mean it this time. Mingyu rubs your clit faster and fucks up into you with rough, determined thrusts.

You explode before him; he can tell even without you announcing your climax with a tempered shriek of his name. Your pussy clamps around him to take him with you, and he follows you right over the edge. Deep grunts rumble in his chest and flashes of light and shadow burst behind his eyelids as his climax scorches him from the inside. He can’t feel anything but heat and pleasure stacked endlessly over one another as his cock spurts ribbons of cum into the condom.

Eventually, his taut body releases whatever pent up energy he has left, and he slumps against the headboard with a surprising thud. He hadn’t realized how far away from it he had arched.

You, too, slump down as your high gradually fades, falling into him weightlessly. Mingyu isn’t sure when you let go of his neck; he’s only now realizing he is able to breathe freely again. He circles his arms around you and instinctively presses a kiss to your temple, then lies his cheek against it with a nuzzle. If you’re put off by the tender intimacy, you don’t let him know.

When both of your breathing patterns and heart rates settle to somewhere closer to the calm side of the spectrum, you squirm against him. Mingyu reaches to grab the base of his softening dick and keep the condom in place as you pull off his lap and plop down beside him. He sits up to remove the condom, tie it off, and gently drop it aside on the floor to deal with later.

“That was-” His voice comes out like sandpaper. He clears the cracks in his throat and tries again. “That was amazing. Wasn’t it?” He looks down at you for confirmation.

You smile up at him softly, and Mingyu swears he’s never seen anything prettier than your afterglow. ���Really amazing,” you agree.

He starts to sidle himself comfortably beside you, but you twist away to stand up and start searching around the room.

“Going to shower now?” he asks. He hopes it comes out more casual than hopeful.

You shake your head. “No, I have to get going.” You find your bra first and strap it back on, then fit your arms back into the sleeves of your shirt.

“You don’t have to…” Mingyu’s voice is weak, and not just from the burn in his throat now.

The look you give him while stepping back into your underwear is chastising, as though to say, ‘You don’t know what I do and don’t have to do anymore.’ And you’re right.

“You could stay,” he continues anyway.

You take the time to relocate your pants and slide them back on before you reply, “Stay and do what?”

“I don’t know. Talk?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about,” you decline flatly.

Mingyu swings his legs off the bed and reaches for you on your way to the door. He catches you by the hip, and with a sigh, you let him turn you to stand between his spread legs.

“What do you mean there’s nothing to talk about? What about what we just did?” he asks.

You meet his eyes for a second, then drop them to the floor and shrug. “It felt amazing, like I said. But it was probably a mistake. What we just did hasn’t changed anything, has it?”

He swallows dryly and rubs half-circles into your hip while he searches for the right thing to say - (‘Tell her you want it to. Tell her you fucked up back then. Tell her nothing feels right anymore without her. Tell her you’ll make an effort and keep making efforts this time because it’s what she deserves.’) - but the weight of the moment is making him dizzy and he can’t think of a single thing.

After a long moment of deafening silence, you step back. “I have to go,” you remind him quietly.

(‘She’s leaving before you can say goodbye to her again. Don’t let her.’)

“I shouldn’t have-” Mingyu blurts.

You freeze with your hand on the door and turn your head over your shoulder to give him one last chance.

Mingyu looks you in the eyes and sighs. “I should have handled things differently.”

“Yeah, you should have,” you agree. There is a bite in your tone that makes him flinch. “You should have had the guts to tell me when you didn’t love me anymore. I mean, I always knew I was the one who loved you more, but-”

You let the words hang in the humid air. Maybe you hope they’ll smother him. Maybe they just will.

(‘Tell her that’s not true. Tell her how ridiculous it is for her to even think that. Tell her you still love her, so much so that you don’t even know what to do with your stupid self anymore.’)

All Mingyu can think about is how he doesn’t want to say to goodbye to you again. So he sits in silence and stares at you helplessly. You nod your head like you’ve convinced yourself of something, then leave.

He sits numb on his bed where you left him. The sun tints the room from yellow, to orange, to pink, to gray, and still he sits.

Tonight, he’ll sleep in his dirty sheets, ruminating on how he foolishly ended a good thing, let it slip right through his fingers again, and everything he should have said and done to make a better effort for you.

---

if you enjoyed, please consider re-blogging and/or leaving me some feedback. take care! ♡

copyright © 2019 - 2023 by daizymax. all rights reserved. back to masterlist

[lubdubsworld]

GIFT .

Genre : Brother-in-law Jungkook x OC!

Warnings : Yandere Jungkook! Non Consent. Manipulative behaviour. Explicit Sexual Content, Violence, Murder

Author's Note : I love reading Yandere fics so I just wanted to write one!! Its very different from what I usually write... So proceed with caution.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time I met Jungkook , it was five years into my relationship with Namjoon.

Namjoon had told me all about his baby brother, a final year student in SNU. Jungkook majored in Business , training to take over the company business . Namjoon often mentioned that it was Jungkook's offer to switch majors that had helped him pursue his own dream of being a music producer.

So when he told me that Jungkook was on a break from university and his parents were looking forward to having a proper family dinner with all of us, I was excited to meet the boy , I'd heard so much about. Namjoon was endlessly fond of his little brother and I wanted him to like me just as much.

Namjoon and I had met seven years earlier in the University Library and had become fast friends. We were both quiet, intellectually driven individuals, preferring to spend our time in the library as opposed to partying with our friends. And yet, in a twist , against our family’s wishes, we had chosen not to pursue an academically driven career either. I’d always felt out of place in my own friend group, most of my friend from Journalism being extroverted and fun loving. Namjoon for his part had only two very close friends, Yoongi and Hoseok and preferred spending time by himself as well.

So it was only natural that we fell in with each other with ease. His beautiful dimpled smile tugged on my gut, even as his gentle nature and gorgeous mind made my heart pound. I fell in love with him, between the late night laughter in the library and the soft secrets whispered against my skin, in the privacy of his bed.

“Nervous?” His voice drew me to the present, fingers inking with mine as he lightly knocked his shoulders against mine, staring down at me with a dimpled smile. I shook my head quickly, squeezing his hand gently.

“Of course not. I just want him to like me.” I whispered and Namjoon chuckled.

“Jungkookie isn’t very expressive so don’t worry if he isn’t very vocal in his affections. He’s very shy with new people but I’m sure, he’ll love you.” Namjoon reached out and lightly, brushed the hair off my face before leaning down and giving me a quick kiss.

I gripped his waist, pressing in closer, lips parting instinctively  , eager to chase the taste of him. He groaned and gripped my elbow, pulling me around to press up against the tall , lean strength of his body and this was it, this endless need to touch him even after seven whole years of being together. I moaned when he bit down on my lips, my back arching a bit to press into him.

“Hyung?”

We parted, surprised and I felt my face flame, lips slicked wet and no doubt red from where Joon’s teeth had sunk in.

What a first impression.

“Ahh… Jungkook-ah… You came out?” Namjoon looked a little flustered, dimples peeking out in an abashed smile as he laughed embarrassedly I found myself smiling at Jungkook, who looked nothing like I’d imagined.

I’d been expecting someone cute and friendly.

Jungkook was dressed in all black, tall and intimidating. He was also almost surreally beautiful, gaze piercing and steady as he stared at me. I felt an instinctive urge to hide, not missing the way his gaze trailed up and down my body, lips parting gently to reveal a pair of bunny teeth that looked jarringly adorable on a face that was , quite simply put, arrestingly gorgeous.  

He hummed, still standing in the doorway, eyes trained on me and I swallowed when he smiled , wide and open. His tongue darted out, lightly licking his lower lip .

“Hi, Hana.” He said softly and I startled.

“Hana? I’m sure you mean noona…..” I laughed nervously and even Namjoon looked surprised and Jungkook merely smiled, shrugging.

“You don’t feel like a noona.” He said casually.

I merely stared at him, not sure what he meant. Namjoon laughed a little as well, moving over to lightly hug his brother.

“Yah! You’ve just met her. Isn’t it too soon to start being a brat?” He ruffled his hair playfully before turning to me.

“Come on, Hana. Come say hi to my parents.” Namjoon walked in and I rushed to follow him, pausing when I reached the doorway. I smiled at Jungkook, holding a hand out slowly.

“I’ve heard so much about you Jungkook, I hope we can be friends…” I said sincerely and he stared at my hand, not taking it. Instead he gave me another soft smile. Before leaning down and pressing a kiss to the back of my hand, making me jump .

“You don’t feel like a friend either.” He said with a shrug , before moving away, leaving me stunned on the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two years later :

“Seven months? Namjoon we’re getting married in seven months! How am I supposed to plan a whole wedding , with you away from the country?” I asked desperately, watching as Namjoon sat with his head in his hands. He looked stricken, regretful and pained and I felt terrible for being unreasonable but it was impossible not to feel hurt.

“I know..  I know hana, I’m so fucking sorry. But this is such a huge opportunity and its not just me : Hoseok and Yoongi depend on me. I can’t screw things up for them too.” He whispered and I exhaled.

Namjoon had been offered a chance to produce for a very high end recording label based out of the US and they wanted him to stay there for a minimum of seven months. The offer had been a complete surprise, out of the blue and the timing couldn’t have been worse. I’d been accepted into an internship at a popular magazine and it would be impossible for me to go with him. And I was so desperate to go.

We’d never been apart for more than a few days, in the entirety of our relationship and the thought of not seeing him for months made me want to throw up.

“I’ve spoken to Jungkook. He’ll help you with all the things that have to be done. And I swear that I’ll be back at least a month before the date, alright? No matter what happens.” Namjoon said firmly. I swallowed, nodding nervously.

It was true that I didn’t like the idea of being away from Namjoon. But the thought of keeping him away from a dream that he had worked so hard for, was almost unfathomable.

Besides, Jungkook was reliable and sweet. The perfect gentleman. Especially now that he’d taken over as his father’s Executive Assistant, Jungkook was incredibly good at organizing and planning things out.

With his help, I could plan out our wedding to perfection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next five months were spent in a haze of appointments and fittings and bookings. Jungkook had arranged for a shift in my internship hours, so he and I could spend a solid four hours every day, visiting different vendors, picking out the perfect floral arrangements, napkins, brocade and what not. And for once, I found myself completely enthralled by the idea of spending money of frivolously pretty things. Whether it was the florists or the patisserie, the dress fitting or the invitations, I felt my excitement bubbling over , amazed because marrying into Namjoon’s family meant an unlimited budget and for once, I didn’t mind being extravagant.

What was more, I didn’t miss Namjoon nearly as much as I thought I would. Because deep down , I knew that he wouldn’t have enjoyed this all that much. And I would have felt guilty , dragging him everywhere.

And Jungkook was the one to thank for all of it. He picked me up everyday for an early breakfast , followed by hours of combing the streets for ideas and appointments. He was funny and enthusiastic, eager to help me in every way and I was so grateful that I couldn’t thank him enough.

“I owe you so much, Kookie. You’ve been a life saver.” I groaned, collapsing on the couch and dropping my head back against the backrest. Jungkook chuckled, sitting down on one of the Turkish ottomans and lightly grabbing my ankle, pulling my foot onto his lap. I flushed a little, still not used to how touchy he was.

Jungkook liked wrapping his arms around my waist when we were out and about, fingers fluttering up my sides or brushing hair off my face with easy familiarity. I didn’t mind. He reminded me of my little brother back in Ilsan.

Most of the people we met assumed he was the groom and Jungkook told me it would be better to keep up the ruse because wedding planners were more comfortable when couples came together and I’d agreed, albeit a little reluctantly. I missed Namjoon and I wondered if he would mind. But when I mentioned it in passing to him during one of our daily video calls, he’d merely laughed it off.

“You’re so tense, Hana. You should relax. Everything is going to be okay.” Jungkook said softly, soft fingers digging into the curve of heel before brushing the arch of my foot. I smiled when he tugged my foot close, placing it down on the firmness of his thigh.

I gazed down at him, feeling uncomfortably nervous. This whole thing seemed oddly intimate somehow and I felt the first tendrils of guilt begin to curl around my gut. I swallowed, hating myself for tainting something that was no doubt innocent. I ought to be grateful that my future brother in law was this kind to me.

“I know. Thank you. I just miss him sometimes.” I said softly. The fingers stilled on my foot.

“Only sometimes?” He teased, eyes narrowed and tone just a little colder and I hesitated.

“I don’t miss him when you keep me company. You help me forget that I’m doing all of this by myself.” I said honestly. Jungkook inhaled sharply, his gaze flicking to mine, holding mine with an intensity that made me balk a little.

“You mean, that?” He asked quietly and I laughed at how serious he looked.

“Of course I do.  I was so sure this whole thing would be me being miserably lonely but you’ve kept me laughing and happy. I’m going to ask Namjoon to buy you something expensive and amazing when he comes back.”

“He already has something amazing. It’s the only thing I really want.” Jungkook said quietly, fingers stroking up, gently massaging my foot all the way up my calf. I groaned at how good it felt.

“Really what is it?” I asked curious.

Jungkook squeezed my knee before carefully placing my foot down , reaching for the other one.

“You’ll know soon, Hana.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

True to his word, Namjoon called me exactly a month before our wedding date.

“Guess who’s leaving the God forsaken place this weekend?”

I felt warmth flood my insides, heart racing with pure joy, tears brimming over because I’d honestly resigned myself to the fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it back on time.

“Monday i, I’ll be there. Can’t wait to kiss you, my love.” He whispered and I nodded, laughing.

Finally, Everything would be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Namjoon’s flight was due to arrive late night ,somewhere between twelve and one in the morning. I’d taken a nap in the afternoon, so I could be up to welcome him back. Jungkook arrived at around seven with Takeout and flowers.

He didn’t ring the doorbell, letting himself in with the spare key I’d given him for emergencies. I found myself scrambling for my robe because I’d taken a nice long shower and slipped on a silk negligee, short and ending just over my knees . I could feel his eyes on me as I hastily tied the sash together, flustered. The robe wasn’t long either and I felt absolutely exposed, even worse than when he’d stepped into the dressing room during my fitting, offering to help me with the zipper.

“ Jungkook, what are you doing here?” I asked nervously and he shrugged, eyes still trailing over my legs, the skin bare. I felt his gaze like a caress and some instinct told me I was in danger. I shook my head to clear it. How ridiculous.

This was Jungkook. Sweet, wonderful Jungkookie. My best friend these past few months. There was no one else I could be safer with.

“I knew you’d be excited, what with hyung coming back and all. So, I thought I’d drop by and at least make sure you’re well fed.” He grinned, holding the tae out up. I smiled and nodded, moving to get plates and glasses from the kitchen.

I heard Jungkook moving around in the living room and when I went back in , I found that he had two glasses of wine ready on the table, an expensive bottle of merlot opened nearby. I smiled a bit, shaking my head.

“What are we celebrating?” I asked curiously and he shrugged.

“Namjoon hyung is coming back right? It means I’ll be getting my amazing gift tonight.” He said softly, picking his glass up and taking a sip and I rolled my eyes.

“You’re such a child. You can’t wait for a day to get your gift?”

Jungkook hummed. He looked ethereal in the dim golden light of the apartment. Like something out of a fairytale. All dark ebony hair and porcelain skin. I wondered, again….why he never dated. He was easily one of the most beautiful humans I’d ever seen in my life. And that voice.

The voice of an angel.

“I’ve been waiting for years, Hana. I’m sick and tired of waiting.” He said softly, voice low and eyes somehow dark and I tried to hold my smile.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it.” I grinned and he smiled, all teeth.

“Oh, I intend to. Thoroughly.”

I took my own glass and took a deep sip , before holding it against his.

“To no longer waiting and finally getting what we want.” I said cheerfully, thinking of the long months without Namjoon and the few hours till he would be back in my arms. Jungkook chuckled and clinked his glass against mine.

“To you, Hana.” He said simply and I blushed, surprised and flattered.

We ate the take out but just a few bites in, I felt my eyes getting heavy which was so unfair. It was barely eight. And I’d slept in the afternoon. What was wrong with me? I was supposed to be up till Namjoon came home.

“You alright, love?” Jungkook asked sweetly , getting out of his chair and making his way over when I almost knocked the glass of water over, fingers trembling. I pouted, even as his fingers curled over my shoulders, gripping lightly.

“Why am I so drowsy?” I whined in desperation and he leaned down, lightly resting his chin on my shoulder.

“You need to rest, hana. Come on, let’s get you to bed…. “

Eyes heavy and limbs turning to jelly, I could barely blink as he reached down and scooped me into his arms , carrying me into the bedroom. I felt his fingers tug on the sash of my robe, a protest building up at the action but he shushed me gently.

“I’m just helping you out of this, Hana. Rest now… Namjoon hyung will be here soon and we have a long night ahead of us, you and I.”

I could feel my mind churn at that, confusion warring with apprehension because why was Jungkook inserting himself in tonight? What did he have to do with Namjoon and I ?

Sleep beckoned and I found myself slipping into the darkness before I could fully ponder on his words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up sweaty and damp , body overheated and my head foggy. I made to move and felt my heart pound when I realized my hands were tied up to the headboard. I blinked, only to be met with darkness because there was something tied around my eye as well.

“Jungkook?!” I called out panicking and there was a low chuckle.

And then a very familiar scent.

Namjoon.

I sagged in relief.

“Joon…it’s you….” I breathed out . “ Come on, do we really have to do this right away? I wanna see you…” I whispered desperately.

Fingers brushed over my ankle and I jumped.

“Namjoon?” I whispered . The bed dipped next to me, and I felt the brush of his shirt against my bare arm. It was soft and silky , familiar because I’d bought it for him for his birthday and he’d sent me a pic of him wearing it, from the airport today.

“Okay��� I’ll play.” I laughed softly. “ Just untie me… I wanna touch you..”

“Sshhh…..” A finger pressed against my lip and I startled. Throat dry, I gulped.

But I didn’t say anything, biting my lips nervously as I felt him climb over me, one knee on either side of mine, fingers curling on my thighs, lips pressing against my cheek. I sighed, relishing the soft press of his lips, up and down my neck, the damp wetness of his tongue as he licked the skin right after, teeth nipping gently and then with more force.

I trembled as soft fingers tugged on my negligee tugging the fabric up and away from my body, raising it up till it pooled near my chest. I felt the tug on my panties, yanking the fabric off and then the weight of him went away, a breathy exhale that sounded both calm and somehow desperate, his body moving down to lightly hold my knees, parting my legs.

I bent my knees, spreading my thighs the way he clearly wanted me to, hearing him groan in return. He used his thumbs to gently part the damp folds of my centre and I felt my entire body shudder at the press of his tongues against the most intimate parts of me.

Choking, I could only lay there and take it, his tongue licking the slick folds, over and over again with an almost curious insistence, like he was tasting me for the first time and I could feel his body trembling on the bed as he did. I felt his teeth tug on the hardened nub, bruising hard and yet somehow almost playful and cheeky and I found myself squirming in pleasure, wetness seeping out of me .

The tip of his finger found my slit, running up and done the length of it in a slow, gentle caress, gathering the moisture there and I trembled when he reached my clit, gently rubbing circles on the little bundle before moving back down to trace my entrance. I was so wet, getting wetter by the second and I’d never wanted to be fucked so bad.

“Please…..baby… I want you ….in me…” I choked out and he chuckled, a little mischievous and unlike him.

The finger dipped in, shallow and barely in and I whimpered in desperation.

“More.. Please…. I want more.. Want you… Its been so long…”

I felt him move back at that and then he was there, right between my legs. I felt the clink of metal as he unbuckled himself, the sound of his zipper and the rustle of fabric as he pushed his trousers off. I could feel the hard muscles of his thigh against the back of mine as he scooted closer, felt the brush of his hard length against my center, the head dipping in just lightly.

He pushed forward, driving in with so much force that my entire body shuddered in shock. And in just that second, I knew, with dawning horror…….

This was not Namjoon.

I screamed, so loud my own ears rang and  a palm pressed down into my mouth, forceful and unrelenting. And terrifyingly unfamiliar.

“Hana…” Jungkook’s voice near my ear made me choke on my tears, my mind splintering in shock and betrayal, body going rigid in terror as he pulled out , only to slide back in.

“Knew it would be worth it, keeping myself pure for you….” He crooned against my skin and I whimpered, wetness spilling over my eyelashes as I tried to squirm away, my mind body and soul only screaming for the man I loved.

“Don’t worry about anything ….Hyung’s in a better place now. “ Jungkook chuckled deeply and I felt my skin go ice cold at the implication. He moved his hand away and I coughed, choking.

“Jungkook….”

The blind fold came off and he kept pumping into me, hips moving erratically, no rhythm or grace and it was obvious he’d never done this before, obvious in the way he looked : blissed out and feral, eyes unfocused as he stared down at me. I felt him tremble and shake, before going still . I felt warm wetness flood my insides and bile rose, nausea making breathing difficult. He stayed on me and inside me, his body so large and immovable, heavy and suffocating over my own.

“what are you doing Jungkookie?” I sobbed out in disbelief and he glared at me.

“What does it fucking look like I’m doing? I’m taking what I fucking deserve….” He snarled. “ Two fucking years…. He doesn’t deserve you. Spends all his days and nights holed up in that studio of his with his friends….leaves you to fend for yourself. You deserve to be waited on, hand and foot… you deserve the world, hana…and he wouldn’t let you experience any of it. Fucking bastard….

“No… No.. God …no..” I choked out. It was the shirt.

He was wearing Namjoon’s shirt. And his cologne. The shirt I knew my boyfriend had been wearing today. How did he get it??

Jungkook brushed his fingers on my cheeks .

“What’s wrong baby? Are you worried about him? Wondering where he is…” He chuckled. “ I told you..he’s in a better place right now..”

“No… you’re lying..you wouldn’t…”

“Wouldn’t I? You know me that well , hana?” He teased.

No. No I didn’t I didn’t know him at all.

“How about this? If you marry me…. If you let me have this dream wedding with my dream girl…. “ He smirked,” If you let me love you the way you deserve , maybe I’ll take you to visit him…someday. ”

I closed my eyes.

I couldn’t process what I’d just heard… I didn’t know… if he was bluffing. What if he had actually killed-

I couldn’t believe that. I couldn’t. It would break me.

“Okay… Just…please don’t hurt him…” I whispered.

Jungkook smiled.

“Just relax Hana. Everything’s going to be okay.”

AUTHORS NOTE : THIS IS LITERALLY MY FIRST TIME WRITING SOMETHING LIKE THIS PURELY OUT OF IDLE CURIOSITY

~~~~~~~~~~~

[saintshigaraki]

the sun has not yet fallen

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!reader

word count: 2.2k 

excerpt: You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe.

a/n: me: i hate angst

       also me: writes this fic

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, sometimes love requires work 

in case you want to read it on ao3!

Katsuki is in a bad mood. He was uncharacteristically quiet when he walked through the door which is more often than not a sign he was trying his damndest to hold back saying something just a bit too cruel. And you appreciate the effort, truly you do. 

On any other day, you would’ve let him be to work through his shit alone. He usually does that by cooking up something far too elaborate for a weekday night, and then after decompressing for a bit, he tends to slink back into whichever room you’re in and lay his head on your lap so you can work your fingers through his hair. 

You’ve found over the last two years that that is what tends to work best. Giving him space and letting him come to you.  

But today you’re feeling just as raw as he does. You can’t remember the last time you spent quality time together. You can’t remember the last time he didn’t go to bed so exhausted he was out before his head hit the pillow. You can’t remember the last time you didn’t feel this heavy cloud hanging over your head. You can’t remember a moment where there wasn't a timer counting down and down and down while you do nothing but wait for it to hit zero. You’re not quite sure what will happen when your time is up.

It’s selfish, probably, to want to be with him right now when you know he’s so weary, but you won’t even bother him, is what you tell yourself. You just want to be around him for an hour (or two) you want to stand so close to him you can smell the ever clinging scent of caramel and help him with dinner and think of brighter days. Better days. 

(You want things to go back to the way they were before. You want to cling to him, just for a short while, stuff your face into the crook of his neck while he tells you everything’s okay. That you guys are okay.

But that’s for another day. It has to be.

How many times have you told yourself that?)

You follow him as he stomps towards the kitchen. 

He aggressively grabs the ingredients for whatever he’s making and slams them on the counter, grumbling under his breath the whole time. You stand in the doorway worrying your hands, feeling awkward, and hating that you feel awkward in your own kitchen with your own boyfriend. 

It makes that awful nagging voice in your head grow just a bit louder. 

You approach him slowly while he sets up a pot filled with water and turns on the stove. He’s still grumbling to himself by the time you place your hand softly on his forearm. 

He jerks away immediately and narrows his eyes. You viciously stamp down exactly how awful that makes you feel. How small and unloved. 

“What do you want?” he says bluntly (and a little cruelly but a part of you says just ignore it, maybe if you close your eyes and cover your ears you can pretend that everything is fine, that you guys are fine) . 

That was part of his charm when you two first started dating. You loved that he was blunt, that he got to the point, there was really no guessing what Katsuki was thinking because he’d simply tell you and if it were any other day perhaps his words wouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did now. 

And it’s partly your fault, or maybe even mostly. Because you let it get this bad. You could have told him something was bothering you, that lately, you’ve been feeling a little insecure in this relationship. Katsuki was blunt but very rarely if ever cruel with you or your feelings. He would’ve understood, probably. 

But anytime you thought about broaching the subject with him, he always looked so, so tired. Bone tired. And you thought maybe it was selfish, to want him to comfort you over something this dumb. Over something as frivolous as this. He just needs time. 

(How much time, you wonder. How much more can you take? you ask yourself.)

“Are you fucking braindead or something,” he snaps, dragging you out of your spiraling. 

“I was just wondering if I could help. It’d be nice to cook dinner together.” We use to do it all the time, you almost say. Now you can’t even remember the last time you did. 

“You’re a shit cook,” he says. 

It’s true, and on another day, a brighter day maybe, you would’ve laughed. Or at least smiled. Because it was true. You are an awful cook, a shit one, as he so eloquently put it, especially compared to him. But that never mattered to Katsuki before. 

He always let you cook with him, always wanted you to cook with him, even if the majority of the time you ended up sitting on the counter swinging your legs and watching him do all the work. 

To be fair, afterward, you always cleaned the dishes. It was a lovely, simplistic give and take, one you wish you had again so, so dearly. 

“Yeah, I am,” you agree. You try to smile, but it feels forced. You’re tired, you realize, bone tired. 

You don’t say anything else and he turns away. You know that’s technically a dismissal but you elect to ignore and start unwrapping the vegetables. 

Just as you reach for a knife he grabs your wrist. 

“What the fuck is up with you right now?” he grounds out. 

“I just want to spend some time with you.” 

Your voice sounds frail, even to your own ears. 

And before he even opens his mouth you know what he’s about to say is going to bring all this to a head. And from the look on his face and the awful, gnawing in your gut, you know you’re not going to like it. You know that more likely than not, it’s going to break your heart. 

(A part of you can’t help but wonder if maybe your heart has already been broken. That it’s made up of haphazardly glued together pieces. Perhaps that’s why you feel so fragile. Perhaps the damage is done and you’ve just been waiting for Katsu to bring down the axe. To scatter the pieces. To finish the fucking job.)

“God,” he spits out. And it’s like a dam has been broken and every hateful thing he’s ever thought about you can’t help but come pouring out.  

“You’re so fucking needy, you can’t do a fucking thing by yourself. It’s like all you ever do is breathe down my fucking neck and tell me everything I’m not doing for you.” Distantly, you wonder if that’s true. It might be. Maybe it’s that ugly selfishness you’ve never really been able to hide. You thought you’d done a better job of tucking it away. You were wrong, it seems. 

“So I can’t spend every single fucking second of every single day with you, sue me. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, my own problems, or have you forgotten that I have a life outside of you?”

No, you think. I haven’t. Or maybe you have. You’re not really focusing so hard on his words. You tune them out as much as you can. You’re staring at his face, taking in all the details. The deep red of his eyes, the pale blond of his hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the slope of his neck, the little scars peppering his face. You used to sit on his lap and kiss each and every one, no matter how faint. 

You’re so weird, he’d say as you did it, but the tightness of his arms around you always spoke a different story. 

You’re going to miss that, you think. Holding him. Loving him. 

It takes you a while to realize he’s still yelling. It’s all hateful and cruel and so sharp. Like he’s taken a knife to your skin to flay you open, exposing every crack, every vein, every shattered piece of heart that makes you. You let it wash over you, like a particularly violent ocean wave.  

“Sometimes,” he says, his voice finally quieting to a bearable level, “I wonder why I’m still with you.” 

The breath you let out is shaky. No matter how ready you thought you were, there’s simply no amount of time that prepares you to hear those words from him. From the person you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with. From the person you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. 

The silence between you two is deafening. And heavy. So heavy it feels as though your chest will cave in from the pressure. 

“Yeah,” you say at last, though you have to force the words around the burning iron poker in your throat. And then you laugh, you can’t help it. It’s all so fucked. You hate that it’s come to this bitter monstrous ugliness. 

When had this all started to fester, to rot? you wonder. Is this really all that’s left?

“I can’t help but wonder the same thing.” It comes out more bitter than you'd like. A small jab to try to even out the gaping wound he’s torn open in you. 

But it’s also true. 

You can’t see his reaction through the tears clouding your vision. You don’t really want to anyway. What’s done is done. What’s said is said. 

You grab your phone and keys and walk through the front door, closing it softly behind you. 

He doesn’t say a word.

You think if there was any part of your heart left unbroken, his silence has shattered it to oblivion. 

+

You walk for an hour or two. Until the sun has dipped almost completely below the horizon and it’s surrounded by hazy blood-red waves. 

It’s a good place to think. To set your jumbled thoughts in order. 

It takes a special kind of selflessness to love a hero, you realize. A type you don’t possess, not even nearly. You’ve always been just a little selfish when it came to love. But there’s no room for that when with people like Bakugou Katsuki. 

And that’s okay, you tell yourself. 

It’s a lie. It’s not okay. And the hollow aching in your chest that beats in time with your heart agrees. 

You look down at your phone. 

33 missed calls from Katsu 

You look back towards the setting sun just once. You don’t really know why. Perhaps to find some bravery in the beauty of it, to steal yourself a few extra seconds of this limbo you’ve found yourself in. Where everything is hazy and beautiful and hurts so bad you can hardly breathe. 

It’s not long before you’re biting the inside of your cheek, turning on your heels, and heading home. 

+

You don’t even have your keys fully out of your pocket before the door swings open, with Katuski on the other side looking a bit worse for wear, though you doubt you’re one to talk. 

His eyes are bloodshot and his nose is a bit pink. He’s been crying. You can’t remember the last time you saw him cry. 

(That’s a lie, you realize. You had gotten in the crosshairs of a particularly brutal villain versus hero showdown. The resulting injuries you suffered were severe. You’d apparently been a bit touch and go for a while. When you opened your eyes for the first time after everything, Katsu was right there, looking like hadn’t slept, showered, or eaten for days. Later you found out it’s because he hadn’t left your bedside since you returned from surgery. 

Katsu, you’d croaked out weakly, stretching out a shaking hand toward his face. 

He broke down into sobs so violent they wracked his whole body. It took him over an hour to calm down.)

You got about half a foot through the door before he threw himself at you. Wrapping his arms around you so tight it bordered on painful. He sinks down to the floor. You sink with him. 

He’s sobbing into your shoulder repeating a mantra of, I’m so sorry and I didn’t mean it. Please, please. I didn’t mean it. 

You think about that old saying. What a person says in anger is how they really feel. You don’t necessarily believe that. You yourself have said things out of anger that you in no way meant, that were purely thrown to hurt the person on the other end. 

You want to believe he didn’t mean it, more than anything you do. Because you love him. Because you really do think that Katsu is it for you. That he’s always been it for you. 

You pull away about as far as he’ll let you. 

“Do you love me, Katsuki?” 

The words hang in the air. You feel raw. Like you’re the one who has taken a knife to your own skin and flayed it all open for him. 

You don’t quite know vulnerability until you ask someone if they love you. It’s a different sort of weakness. 

“Yes,” he responds. His voice rough from his tears. “More than anything.”

You watch one last tear fall from his eye.

You hold his face in your hands and wipe it away. Softly. Gently. Lovingly. 

+

You guys are not okay and now that you’ve accepted that you think there’s a chance that one day, you will be. 

[starshine583]

New Girl on the Block (18)

(Hey, everyone! I have an announcement to make! After posting this chapter, I am going to be taking a temporary leave due to family matters. They’re fun family matters, so don’t worry! but they will prevent me from writing any further chapters at this time. I plan to post the next chapter on June 27th. Sorry for the long wait! That’s just how things worked out, but I hope I’ll get to see you all then, and please enjoy this new update! Feel free to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch. 1 / Ch. 17 / Ch. 19 (ao3)

Chapter 18: It’s the Little Moments

Felix grumbled to himself as he picked up his tie to pull it around his neck. Valentine’s Day parties were bad enough already with all of the love-sick couples that tended to crowd around him throughout the evening. Did he really have to further his torment by dressing up as well? His previous suit was perfectly fine for an event such as this. Fashionable, sleek, formal- there was no reason to change. Especially when it came to this ridiculous, unseemly-

“Oh, lighten up.” His mother told him, shooing his hands away so she could tie the tie herself. “It’s just a Valentine’s Day suit, and you’re wearing it for one night. There’s no need to scowl over it. I’m sure the other boys will be wearing some form of pink too.”

Felix scoffed. “Mother, don’t patronize me. You know I don’t care about the pink color. It’s the fact that you’re dressing me up to match the theme.”

Bridgette eyed him. “And?  You’re supposed to match the theme for parties. That’s why it’s called a theme.”

“But if I match the theme, other girls at the party will probably think I approve of the theme too.” Felix argued. “And then they’ll be asking me to dance or trying to talk with me in general. I’ll have to spend the entire evening trying to shoo them off.”

A laugh tumbled from his mother’s lips. “Aw~, it must be so exhausting having all of the girls fall in love with you.”

Felix shot her a flat look. “Would you want to spend an evening rejecting people?”

Bridgette tilted her head in a nod. “I’ll give you that one, but you know Allegra could always scare them off if they become too overbearing.”

Felix blew out a relenting sigh. He supposed that was true.

“Besides, even if the girls are chasing you, you still need to look nice Marinette, don’t you?”

Felix furrowed his eyebrows, confused. “No? Marinette’s not going to care what I look like, so long as I’m not a fashion disaster, that is.”

Which, in this suit, he might very well be, to be honest. Perhaps he should text her a warning.

“I thought you two were supposed to be going on a fake date tonight.” His mother replied, tugging lightly on Felix’s tie to straighten it.

Felix’s gaze snapped to her. “Where did you hear that?”

Bridgette chuckled, offering him a teasing glance as she said, “Oh, please. You know Allegra and I talk.”

Felix tisked and rolled his shoulders, making sure his suit wasn’t too tight. Of course Allegra would mention that ridiculous suggestion to his mother. Those two loved to gossip together, specifically about him.

“Well, we’re not.” He remarked, leveling out the annoyance in his tone. “That was just some frivolous idea that Claude came up with the other day.”

“Really? I thought the idea sounded rather exciting.”

Felix resisted the urge to scoff again. Her too? “Why on earth would it be exciting? You galivant around with someone, probably doing the exact same thing you would do with them on a normal basis, but you call it a ‘fake date’ for what? A good laugh when someone assumes you’re a real couple? I can’t wrap my brain around the reasoning.”

Another chuckle came from Bridgette. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, but consider this: If you and Marinette pretend you’re dating for the evening, you might not have so many girls coming to ask you for a dance.”

Felix paused, his eyes widening slightly. That.. actually wasn’t such a bad idea. He might even consider it if the thought of asking Marinette didn’t sound so incredibly arrogant. ‘Would you mind being my fake date to help me escape the supposed hoards of girls who are going to chase after me tonight?’ You can’t convince him that that proposal didn’t sound anything less than tacky. She’d probably tease him about it the whole night.

“If it bothers you so much, though,” his mother spoke again, “why not ask Marinette out on a real date?”

Felix sputtered a bit at the comment, blurting out a bewildered, “Excuse me?”

Don’t get him wrong, Marinette was an extraordinary person and anyone who ended up with her would undoubtedly be lucky, but the very thought of him asking her out on a date felt.. strange. He couldn’t imagine asking her for anything more than what she was giving him right now, and he didn’t think there was anything she’d want from him when it came to a relationship anyway. Their dynamic was comfortable as it was. Why should they try to complicate things?

“Alright, alright, I was just asking.” his mother assured, almost seeming to laugh as she did. “You two are only friends. I understand.”

Something about the smile in her eyes told him that she didn’t understand, but he simply glanced to the side, electing to ignore it. Arguing wouldn’t change her mind either way, and in the end it was just a question. His friendship with Marinette wasn’t going to change over it, because neither of them harbored romantic feelings for each other. He was perfectly content to keep it that way. 

~~~~~~

Marinette stood in front of her vanity mirror, twisting her hair into a side ponytail for the fifth time that evening. She’d spent the last hour trying over and over again to perfect the hairstyle, but she could never seem to get it right. The ponytail was always too lopsided or too messy or the braid tied into it would begin to unwind. Now, the ponytail was tied tightly enough, but the braid was crooked, and there were too many stray hairs flying around for it to look neat. How can she still be struggling after practicing this for an hour?

“Ugh! I give up!” She huffed, throwing her hands down and staring ruefully at her nearly knotted locks. This is what she gets for taking the easy route and always putting her hair in pigtails. “I’m just going to stay home.”

“No, don’t do that!” Tikki quickly spoke up, flying to her holder’s side. “You’ve worked too hard on your dress to stay home! And your hair really doesn’t look all that bad. I’m sure no one will think twice about it.”

Marinette tisked, plopping into her rolling chair and crossing her arms. “But I’ll think about it, Tikki, and I’ll be more self-conscious than I was going to be before.”

Tonight wasn’t just a Valentine’s Day party for Marinette. That was mainly what it was, of course, but she also saw it as a sort of debut. With the amount of time she spent hanging around Allegra and Claude and the others, she hadn’t had time to truly meet her other classmates at Rosemary, but tonight, they would all be gathered together for her convenience and she would finally have a chance to introduce herself to the school as a whole. It was exhilarating.. and a tad frightening. She’d seen plenty of students in passing that appeared to be less than friendly. How were they going to react to her? Were they going to be as sweet as her current friends? Or did she happen to run into the best group in the school first? There was no telling.

“Try not to overthink it.” Her kwami said softly, though they both knew she would. “Why don’t you try a different hairstyle?”

“Because I don’t know any other hairstyles.” Marinette sighed. “Well.. I know a bun, I guess, but I really wanted this hairstyle for tonight. I feel like it would really bring the dress together, you know?”

“It would.” Tikki agreed. “And it does. But if you think you can’t figure it out-”

“Marinette! Felix is here to pick you up!”

Panic seized Marinette’s chest at the call, and she leapt out of her chair to look in the mirror again. Felix was there already? The party wasn’t for another thirty minutes! Why did he always have to be early? 

“Uh- j-just a second, Maman!” She called back, frantically trying to straighten her braid and smooth the wisps of hair around her ponytail. It didn’t work, unfortunately, so she threw a silver pin in her hair as a last ditch effort and made her way downstairs, trying not to whimper too much.

“Oh, Marinette, you look wonderful!” Her mother cooed as Marinette descended the stairs. “I need to go get Tom. Oh, and a camera!”

Marinette pulled a wince. They were going to have photo evidence of this failure of a hairstyle? 

“Maman, are you sure that’s necessary? I get dressed up like this all the time.” She tried to dissuade, but Sabine merely waved off her comment. 

“Of course it is! This is your first party at Rosemary. We must have pictures.”

“Best be prepared.” A voice cut in, catching Marinette’s attention immediately. “Claude will undoubtedly be thinking the same thing when we arrive.”

Marinette turned towards the front door with a smile, but a gasp escaped her when she saw Felix standing there. She knew it would be him, of course. She simply hadn’t expected him to be wearing a different outfit. 

“You..” She paused, briefly wondering if it would be rude to finish, then continued, “you changed your suit.”

Logically, she knew he had more than one suit. No one can wear the same suit forever, and Felix seemed to be too proper to do it even if he could. However, when he didn’t wear his usual suit, he continued to maintain the black and grey color scheme, so it never quite stuck with her that he’d changed. Tonight, though, his suit was entirely red, so deep a red that she might acquate it with blood, and he had a wonderfully pink tie on, along with a pink cloth folded in his front vest pocket to complement it. The sight nearly knocked her off her feet. He was even matching the party’s theme! She didn’t think he cared for things such as that.

A smirk ghosted Felix’s lips, and he nodded. “Yes, courtesy of my mother. I see you changed your hair as well.”

A blush crept across her cheeks, and Marinette reached up to feel how horrible the hairstyle was again. Here Felix was, doing his best and looking great as always, and she was just standing there looking like a mess. Typical.

“O-Oh, yeah, I mean.. I tried to change it. I don’t think it worked out too well..” She muttered, glancing down at the ground. Maybe she still had time to take it out before they left? 

Felix’s footsteps brought her gaze back upwards, and she watched him cross the room to her. His eyes were squinted ever-so-slightly, the way they always were when he was pondering something, and once he was close enough, he reached out, his hand lightly tracing over the side braid she’d attempted. 

Marinette stood still, allowing him to ‘examine’ her for a moment before saying, “It’s awful, isn’t it? I couldn’t get anything to stay where it was supposed to.”

Felix hummed absently, bringing his hand down to let the tip of her ponytail slide off of his fingertips. “No, not awful. If you practice a few more times, I’m sure it would be perfect.”

Marinette blew out a small sigh. That meant it wasn’t perfect now.

“Do you have the reference you used? If I see it, I might be able to straighten the braid out before we leave at least.” Felix inquired, causing Marinette’s eyes to widen. Oh?

“You know how to do hair?”

“Not quite,” he admitted, “but I learned some of the basics during a few sleepovers. For some reason, Claude and Allegra thought it important that I had a decent grasp on the subject.”

A smile came to Marinette’s lips. That sounded like something they would do. “And you think you can fix my hairstyle from your limited knowledge?”

“Possibly, if you have reference,” Felix smirked, “but it’s alright if you prefer to keep what you have.”

“Oh no, please.” Marinette said, quickly pulling her phone out of her heart shaped purse. “Anything’s probably better than what I have in now. Are you sure we have time, though?”

Felix nodded. “I always leave around ten or fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, so we should have plenty of time.”

Marinette nodded as well and opened the reference video she’d used for her hairstyle. Felix took the phone from her and watched it once or twice as she pulled out the pins in her hair. Then, when everything was down again, Felix handed the phone back to her and let it play in her hands for a third time while he set to work. His fingers brushed through her hair, carefully separating the different locks and tying them together. The feeling behind it was quite strange, mostly because she could hardly feel it at all. His hands were so gentle, so cautious that even when he had to tug on her hair to tighten the braid, it seemed as light as a cloud. Felix was always soft like that. He spoke harshly to others and liked to scowl often, but when it came to his actions, she couldn’t recall a single time he’d been rough. 

Recently, she’s been hearing that secret softness in his voice too, and it never failed to make her smile. 

“Aw, did her hair fall out?”

Sabine’s voice brought the two’s gaze to the living room doorway. She was standing there with Tom, a camera in her hands and a slight, disappointed frown on her lips.

“No, I took it out.” Marinette assured over her shoulder. “Felix offered to do the hairdo himself so it would look better.”

“Oh, how gentlemanly of him.” Tom chimed in with a satisfied smile. 

“Do you mind if I get a picture?” Sabine requested, prepping the camera in her hands.

“Uh..” Marinette looked to Felix as best she could. “Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t mind.” Felix shrugged. “Mother already bombarded me with pictures before I left. What’s a few more?”

Marinette chuckled. “You said she was the one who gave you the suit right?”

“No, she’s the one who made me wear it.” Felix corrected. “Something about having to match the theme.”

“Ah, I see.” Marinette said. She should have known Felix wouldn’t throw away his black and grey color scheme willingly. “She has great taste. You’ll have to let me meet her sometime so I can tell her ‘thank you’.”

A playful scoff passed his lips and brushed against her ear. “You know, I’m sure she would be delighted to do just that.”

*Click!*

The camera flash brought the two’s attention back to Sabine and Tom, who were both holding giddy smiles at this point.

“I think you both look fantastic.” Tom grinned. “Those boys will be falling over each other to get to Marinette tonight, I’m sure.”

Felix hummed as he twisted her hair to pin it into a side ponytail, muttering, “I quite agree.”

The comment was soft and absent, and it sent a blush exploding across Marinette’s face. That’s the second time he’s agreed to her being pretty and a supposed ‘boy magnet’. Does he ever think about what he’s saying or is it just some logical fact to him that shouldn’t mean anything? She’s not sure which one she prefers. 

“Done.” 

Felix’s hands fell back to his sides, and Marinette reached up to feel the hairstyle- gently, though, so as not to mess it up. The pull of the bobby pins was comfortable and tight, and her braid felt nice and straight as she grazed her fingers over it. Overall, it felt perfect, which was exactly what she’d wanted.

“Thanks, Felix.” She said, offering him a quick smile as she checked the reflection in her phone. “It looks great. You’re a life-saver.”

“And you two are going to be late if you don’t hurry up.” Her maman cut in. “Now gather together for a picture so we can send you off.”

Marinette rolled her eyes with a smile and tucked her phone back in her purse, then turned to stand next to Felix. He, in turn, straightened slightly next to her and clasped his hand behind his back for the picture.

“Alright, say cheese!” Sabine coaxed, holding up her camera.

The pair smiled. “Cheese!”

*Click!*

~~~~~~~

Claude’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he watched his fellow Rosemary students pile into the Mandarin Oriental. As usual, people of all shapes and sizes were here. The ‘cool’ kids, the music kids, the nerd kids, the geeks, the dancers- anyone and everyone who had a popular status at the school, along with a good group of others who counted as the stalking crowd. The younger, less-popular students who tended to follow the social hierarchies like loyal dogs. The ‘baby paparazzis’, if you will. They were all crowding inside with an urgency that only his- and Allegra and Allan and Marinette and Felix’s -parties could bring. Soon, Marinette and Felix will be there as well, and then the fun will really begin.

“Alright, Marinette just texted.” Allegra spoke up behind him. She was currently hovering around the buffet table to ensure the punch drinks were being dispersed properly. Claude, of course, was hovering around Allegra in case she needed his help with anything. 

“She said they’re parking now.” His ‘fake date’ continued, glancing over her phone screen as she re-read the text. “You remember what to do, right?”

Claude huffed out a playful scoff, reaching for the platter of shrimp as he replied, “Of course I do. Take her onto the dance floor to help her get comfortable in the ‘party atmosphere’, convince her to dance with Felix while you convince Felix to dance with her, and-”

Allegra slapped his hand, coaxing a yelp from the brunette.

“Don’t touch the shrimp until the other guests have some first.” She scolded.

Claude rubbed his hand with a pout. So touchy. Why should he have to wait for the guests to eat? If they wanted shrimp, they should come up and get some. Why can’t he have the food that he helped pay for? (Well, the food that his parents helped pay for.)

“And keep your voice down too.” Allegra added, flipping her hair over her shoulder when it fell in the way. Wearing it in a half-up-half-down style wasn’t nearly as convenient as her casual braid, but he had to admit, the free curls that fell around her shoulders were extremely nice. “Do you know the amount of people here who would love to get their grubby little hands on the fact that we’re trying to set stubborn, stuck-up, stone-faced Felix with the new, cotton-candy-sweet, bakery-girl Marinette? The gossip would reach both of them within seconds.”

“Yeah, it probably would.” He agreed. “But at least they’ll both know they like each other then. Saves us the trouble, right?”

Allegra shot him a flat look, meaning he probably said something wildly inaccurate again.

“Claude, the only gossip that would be spreading would be the fact that we’re trying to get them together. Not that they like each other. How do you think Felix is going to react when he realizes we’re playing matchmaker? What about Marinette? I think they’d probably be a little uncomfortable considering neither of them probably think that the other person likes them. Which is why we decided to be subtle about this in the first place.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That makes sense.”

“Yes, it does.” Allegra said, crossing her arms. “So keep your voice down when talking about it from now on, please.”

Claude nodded, leaning back on the buffet table as he faced the crowd again. “Sure, sorry.”

This was going to be a tough evening, trying to get Marinette and Felix together while not blurting the scheme out to the world. He just felt like everything would be easier if they simply talked to each other about it openly. But Allegra was more perceptive than he was. She probably knew things he didn’t about the situation. So he’ll go along with her plan and hope it works out. 

Besides, this way he gets to mess with Felix as much as he wants. And he won’t get scolded, this time! 

And if everything does work out, Marinette and Felix will be all the happier for it.

Win-win-win-win.

“Hey, guys.” Allan spoke up, joining them at the table and swiping a shrimp. “Do you know if Felix and Marinette are here yet? I haven’t seen them.”

Allegra opened her mouth to scold him about the shrimp as she had Claude, but Allan popped it into his mouth before she could. Claude held back a snort, watching Allegra purse her lips in annoyance. If he couldn’t have a shrimp, at least Allan got one.

“They’re on their way up now.” The blonde replied with narrowed eyes, unbeknownst to Allan. “They just parked a few minutes ago.”

“Cool. We’re still having Claude do his thing, right?”

“Yep.” Claude said, a devilish grin spreading across his lips. “And I am so ready to cause mischief.”

Allegra snorted and lightly nudged him in the arm. “Not too much mischief. This is supposed to be romantic, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Claude waved her off. “I’ll get them to be romantic. After I get to mess with them.”

“Claude-”

“Oh- there they are! Hey, guys!” 

Claude perked up at the interruption, the familiar voice drawing his gaze to the front of the Mandarin Oriental. It was the very voice they’d been waiting for, and the source wasn’t hard to find.

Marinette and Felix were making their way through the crowd towards them, Marinette clearly excited as she waved them down with a bright smile. The designer dress she was wearing looked fantastic, as Felix had predicted, and the hearts littering it matched the theme perfectly. She even had her hair all done up tonight! (Which really brought out the elegance of the dress, in his opinion.) An outfit like that was only going to make his job of setting up a romantic thought process between the two that much easier.

(Of course, with the way Felix was staring at Marinette right now, Claude had a feeling that that thought process might already be set up.)

“Hey!” he greeted, meeting the pair halfway to give Marinette a hug. Was it the flowers on the table or did this girl actually smell like roses tonight? Did she use a special perfume? Oh, Allegra was going to love this.

“You two look awesome! I was starting to think you’d never get here.” He teased, stepping back again to get a better view of her face. She decided to go with a pinker shade of lipstick tonight, along with a glittering, light pink eyeshadow, and it’s a wonder that Felix hasn’t collapsed from swooning at this point. (Though maybe Claude can catch that when the two dance later. The video footage would be priceless!)

Marinette let out a light laugh, touching the tip of her side ponytail with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, sorry about that. Felix was helping me with my hair.”

“Aw, Felix!” Allegra cooed, coming up behind Claude just then to join them. “You did Marinette’s hair? It looks lovely.”

“I knew those lessons would come in handy.” Claude smirked. 

“Yes, who would’ve guessed?” Felix muttered, briefly rolling his eyes, but Claude wasn’t fooled. He could hear the almost airy tone to Felix’s voice, see his eyes soften anytime he so much as glanced at Marinette. That guy had probably been ecstatic to do Marinette’s hair, and he just didn’t want to show it. 

He would, though.. Soon enough.

“Hey, guys.” Allan chimed in, finally joining them as well. “You both look great. I haven’t seen Felix wear that dark of red in a while.”

“Or red in general.” Allegra remarked with a smile. 

“Or pink.” Claude added, eyeing Felix’s shirt sleeves. “Actually, I haven’t seen you wear anything besides gray or black since Marinette had you wear that green, plaid shirt after the ‘flour incident’.”

“In other words.. Your mom made you wear that, didn’t she?” Allegra asked lightheartedly.

“Of course she did.” Felix said. “Why else would I wear it?”

“Well, I imagine you’d just want to look nice.” Claude joked, wrapping his arm around Felix’s shoulders and ignoring the blond’s scowl. “Either way, remind your mom how awesome she is for me when you get home.”

“I’m sure she already knows.” Felix replied curtly, shoving Claude’s arm off of him again.

A giggle brought Claude’s attention back to Marinette, who was now observing the party with sparkling interest.

“Everything looks incredible, you guys!” She nearly squealed. “The lights, the flowers, the food.. But I thought the party started at six. Did I get the times mixed up again?”

“No, it does- er, did.” Claude said. “People just get excited and like to get in as soon as they can.”

“Oh.” Marinette muttered, relief smoothing out her features. “So we’re not late?”

“Not at all. In fact..” Claude swept into a bow, offering his hand to her with a grin. “We were just about to start the dancing. Would you mind giving me the honors?”

A surprised laugh fell from Marinette’s lips. “Me? I thought Allegra was your ‘fake date’ for the evening.”

“She is, but I have to save the best for last, right?” Claude threw a wink at Allegra, who also let out a laugh and rolled her eyes. The slight blush on the her cheeks gave her away, though, and it caused his grin to widen.

Marinette gave an “Aw~.” and slipped her hand into his. “Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to dance with you.”

“Great!” Claude cheered, pulling her close. 

They glided onto the dance floor, quickly catching the attention of the room, and with that, the first part of the plan fell into place. Claude was dancing with Marinette. Now he needed to convince her to dance with Felix.

Out of the corner of his eye, Claude could already see Felix starting to flounder. He simply stood there, quietly watching them dance with that neutral expression of his and occasionally looking elsewhere. Without Marinette to anchor him in a room of people, the blond would no doubt resort to being a wallflower again and wander over to some corner. A nice, hidden corner where Allegra could easily- and discreetly -convince Felix to dance with Marinette. They all knew him too well.

“Are we the only ones dancing?” Marinette asked, bringing Claude’s attention back to her.

“For now,” he confirmed, “but someone has to start it, right? Look, they’re already joining in.”

“I guess that’s true..” Marinette said, glancing at the few couples that had indeed started to join them. “I don’t normally dance all that much, to be honest. So it’s a little weird for me to be the one starting it for once.”

Claude laughed and took a step back to spin her around. “Really? You’re a natural at it!”

“Oh, thanks. That’s a relief to hear.” Marinette smiled, hobbling into a spin.

“Course. But you know who else is a natural at it?”

Marinette hummed. “Let me guess.. Is it you?”

Claude snorted. “Well, duh, but I was actually talking about Felix.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Felix?”

“Yeah! He takes waltzing classes at the school and everything, but he never dances! Can you believe it?”

A chuckle passed Marinette’s lips. “Kind of. This is Felix we’re talking about. Maybe his mom wanted him to take dance lessons like she wanted him to wear that tuxedo.”

“Maybe.. But it’s still a shame to waste such carefully crafted skills. You should try to get him to dance tonight.”

Marinette snorted. “Oh? And who would I get him to dance with? He doesn’t like getting close to random people.” 

Claude hummed. “Now, that’s a question, isn’t it? Who should dance with Felix tonight..” 

He made a show of looking around the dance floor as he and Marinette waltzed in a circle, then looked back to her. “..Why don’t you dance with him?”

Marinette nearly tripped over her own two feet at the suggestion, and Claude had to hold back a smile. Was she getting flustered? That’s a good sign.

“You want me to.. Are you sure he’d be comfortable with that? I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even want to dance.”

“Come on, who else could get Felix to dance?” Claude insisted. “He’ll say yes if it’s you, and we can’t let him be a wallflower forever.”

Marinette let out a soft laugh, looking quite bashful as a blush curled onto her cheeks, and she glanced over at Felix. He was already standing next to the wall near the punch bowl, looking idle as he watched the dancing crowd. 

“I don’t know, Claude. I think he rather enjoys being a wallflower.”

Claude chuckled. “Just say you’ll try? At the very least, it’ll make Allegra happy to see Felix out and about.”

Marinette turned her attention back to him and smiled. “..Alright. I guess I’ll try, but no promises about actually getting him to dance.”

“Deal.” Claude grinned. Mission success!

“On an entirely different note, though, your dress is incredible. You made that yourself, right?”

Marinette brightened and nodded. “Yes, I did! I had lots of fun with it so I’m glad you guys like it.”

“Aw, I’m pretty sure I’d like anything you make. You always put a cool twist on things.” Claude smiled. “By the way, how’s my prince suit coming along? Have you started it yet?”

“I have! It’s actually pretty close to being done. I’m on the ‘details’ stage.”

A gasp of delight escaped him. He hadn’t realized how close she was to finishing it! 

“Oh, sweet! You’re gonna have to come over to my house when you finish it. We can even have a mini-fashion show for you!”

Marinette giggled. “That sounds like a blast.”

“Yes!” Claude briefly let go of Marinette’s waist to pump his fist. “Man, am I glad you came to Rosemary. I mean, not just because of the prince suit- even though that is pretty awesome -but also because you’re a fun person to be around, ya know? Everyone thinks so.”

“Really?” Marinette’s steps lagged slightly, clearly taken aback by the statement. “That’s.. Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

For a moment, she almost looked relieved.. Or even sad. But another blinding smile appeared before he could figure out why.

“I think you guys are fun to be around too.” She said warmly.

Claude smiled, feeling his uneasiness melt away. She didn’t sound sad or solemn at all. He was probably just imagining things, or seeing a trick of the light.

“Excuse me.”

Claude and Marinette slowed to a stop, turning to another boy who had come to interrupt them. 

“Mind switching off with me?” He asked, offering his hand to Marinette. Was that even allowed during an informal dance such as this?

Nevertheless, Claude caught Marinette’s eye. “What do you say, Mari? Wanna switch off?”

Marinette blinked. “Oh- uh -sure. If you’re okay with it.”

“Absolutely.” Claude smirked, jokingly spinning Marinette into the other boy’s arms. “Just don’t forget your promise to try!”

Marinette chuckled as she re-situated herself into the dance position. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Claude watched the two dance away, smiling proudly at the seed he’d sown for Marinette and Felix’s romantic evening. Allegra was surely going to be pleased with his work, and he was going to be pleased watching it unfold.

Now to get that shrimp.

~~~~~~~

Felix leaned against the wall, quietly observing the other party members dance, specifically Marinette. Her smile shined brightly as a boy twirled her, and her shoulders shook with giggles when the boy dipped her a second later. She appeared to be enjoying herself, and Felix was enjoying watching her. He had a feeling the other boys from Rosemary would be showering her with attention tonight- it was one of the rare times when she wasn’t being smothered by himself and the trio, after all -but he was admittedly surprised by the amount of stamina she possessed. It’d been at least an hour or two since the dancing started, yet she was still going as strong as ever, non-stop.

Well, he supposed it wasn’t non-stop. She had spun over to his little corner a few times to talk, which was how he ended up carrying two cups of punch instead of his one. Still, she should probably take a seat soon. Those heels she’d decided to wear were bound to be painful after a while. Perhaps he should grab her attention and find an empty table-

“U-um, excuse me, Felix?”

Felix glanced to his right, meeting the face of a girl that seemed vaguely familiar and a tad timid. She stood a certain distance away from him, her lips stretched into a nervous smile, and gave a little wave. Was that all she intended to do?  

“Can I help you?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Oh- well-” The girl faltered, as though she hadn’t expected to get this far, and rubbed her arm. “A-actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to.. Dance? With me. Of course.”

Ah, Felix thought, heaving a mental sigh. He should have known that that would be her intention. Now her visible anxiety made sense.

“Apologies, but I don’t dance.” He replied smoothly.

The girl’s shoulders sank. “Oh.. really? I thought you took waltzing classes at the school.”

Felix schooled a neutral expression, if only to avoid glaring. What, was she stalking him or something?

“I assure you they are for my Mother’s pleasure only, but I myself do not dance.” He said, a flatter note in his voice than before. Take the hint.

Thankfully, she did, but not in the way Felix was hoping.

“Ah, I see.. How about I keep you company then?” The girl suggested, getting entirely too comfortable next to him. “You’ve been over here by yourself for a while now.”

Felix’s grip on the cups tightened. So she was stalking him. 

“While I appreciate the gesture, it’s quite unnecessary. I’m simply waiting for my friend to get back.”

“Your friend?” The girl asked, glancing into the crowd curiously. “You mean the black-haired girl who gave you that drink, right?”

Felix held back another scowl, his eye twitching. Seriously, how long had this girl been watching him? Didn’t she have someone better to bother? There were plenty of other guys here that would be willing to dance or talk with her. Why did she have to choose to annoy him specifically?

“Her hair is raven, and yes, she’s the one that gave me this drink.” He responded curtly, taking a sip of his own punch.

The girl nodded thoughtfully, blissfully unaware of his thinning patience. “I guess her hair does have a blue shine to it. Do you want me to hold one of the drinks? I imagine they get heavy after a while.”

Felix pulled the drinks away from her grasp, finally fixing her with a look. 

I want you to mind your business, you little-

“Felix!”

Marinette’s punch was plucked from his hands, and an arm settled on his left shoulder. He whipped to the new interruption, thinking what now? and about ready to snap at someone, until he saw Allegra’s smiling face. She must have noticed him getting irritated and came over to investigate.

“You look like you’re having fun.” She said brightly, swirling Marinette’s punch in her hand. “Thanks for holding my drink for me.”

Felix winced, practically feeling the gears in the girl’s head turning. He’d just told her that the drink was Marinette’s, not Allegra’s. She was no doubt going to pick up on that. (Unless she was dimmer than he gave her credit for. That could always be a possibility.)

“Wait-” The girl said, her brows furrowing. Great. “Your drink? Felix just told me that that raven-haired girl gave him the drink.”

Felix gave Allegra a tired look. Try getting out of this one now.

At least she got Marinette’s hair color right that time.

Allegra ignored Felix’s look, instead throwing the girl a sharp smile. It was a rare sight to behold, but a welcome one. (So long as it wasn’t directed at him, of course.) It meant she was preparing herself to tear someone apart.

“Yes,” She replied shortly, “I gave the drink to Marinette, so she could give it to Felix. Is there a problem?”

The girl frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I saw her-”

“You don’t believe me?” Allegra cut her off. “That’s rather rude to say to the hostess of the party, don’t you think? Go ask her yourself if you’re so skeptical. I wouldn’t recommend coming back to me afterwards, though.”

The girl huffed and crossed her arms, but turned around anyway, marching right off to a small group of girls that must have encouraged her to come talk with him in the first place. They swarmed her quickly, asking what happened and glaring at Allegra, but all Felix cared to do was take Marinette’s punch back from the blonde.

“I’m grateful, but I’m still going to need this back.” He said.

Allegra laughed and straightened to throw her hands in the air as a sign of surrender. “Fine with me. I didn’t realize you’d grown so attached to the beverage.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I didn’t. You just might drink it by accident while we’re talking.”

Allegra tilted her head in a nod. “That’s a fair assumption. So what did that girl want from you?”

He sighed. “A dance. What else would people be asking me for at this ridiculous party?”

“Hey, it’s not ridiculous.” Allegra argued. “Marinette’s having a pretty good time.”

Felix’s gaze swept over the crowd again, finding Marinette easily as she switched off to a new dance partner. Her smile was contagious as always, and it spread onto Felix’s lips with little resistance.

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He agreed, taking another sip of his punch.

Allegra leaned against the wall next to him with a light chuckle. “You know, I bet if Marinette asked you to dance with her, you would.”

Felix scoffed at the implication her tone gave. Of course he would dance with Marinette if she asked, but only because it would make her happy, not because he wanted to dance with her. (Not that he particularly minded dancing with her either-)

“She wouldn’t ask me to dance,” he said before his thoughts could get out of hand, “because she knows I don’t fancy it.”

Allegra hummed. “Maybe you should ask her then.”

Felix shot her a look. This was going to be as tiresome as the other girl, wasn’t it?

“And why would I do that?”

“Because you need to not be a total wallflower this evening.” Allegra smiled. “And it would make Marinette happy. She’s already danced with Allan and Claude tonight, but with your professional lessons, I’m sure she’d have a blast.”

“I believe we just established that she is already having a blast.” Felix remarked, to which Allegra groaned.

“Just think about it, alright?”

“Unlikely.”

Why should he have to entertain an uncomfortable idea when Marinette was already enjoying herself? Granted, dancing with her didn’t sound awful, but the thought that it might encourage others to attempt dancing with him did. People were already asking him to dance while he was hiding near a wall. Imagine how many girls would come out of the woodwork once they actually saw him dancing.

Allegra rolled her eyes and waved him off. “Alright, whatever. I’m going back to the buffet table. Feel free to walk over if you start getting the urge to snap on someone again.”

Felix smirked. “In other words, I’ll see you in a few minutes?”

Allegra snorted as she walked away, and Felix settled back against the wall.. Just in time to see Marinette making her way towards him from the midst of the crowd. She appeared to be out of breath, though she offered him a tired smile when they locked eyes, and he moved forward to meet her halfway. That way she won’t have to trek all the way across the room for a drink.

“Are you finally taking another break?” He asked, handing her her punch when they joined at the edge of the crowd.

Marinette breathed out a laugh and took her drink with a “thanks”. It amazed him how well her outfit was staying together. The bow that held the dress together over her shoulders hadn’t loosened at all, and her hair seemed to be in place as well, save for a few stray strands. One would think that that amount of dancing would have her looking more disheveled.

“Yeah, just for a second.” She panted. “I’m starting to get dizzy from spinning so much.”

Felix chuckled. “Would you like to go find a table for a bit?”

“Uh..” Marinette glanced around the room for a moment, thinking it over. “You know what? Sure. I could sit for a bit.”

Felix smiled and gestured for her to lead the way, though he did point out an empty table that he had spotted earlier.

Marinette sat down first, with Felix pulling out her chair for her, and he sat down next to her. Their position faced the party rather than the wall, which allowed them- or at least Marinette -to continue enjoying the party atmosphere while they spoke.

“So are you having a decent time?” Marinette asked, taking a quick sip of her punch. “I know parties aren’t your thing, but you’re not too miserable, right?”

A bitter laugh escaped him, and he twirled his cup on the table as he said, “Miserable is certainly a good word to describe this evening.”

“Aw~, I’m sorry. Do you think going out to get some air would help?”

Felix offered her a smile. “That sounds delightful, but it’s as you said: Parties simply aren’t my preference. This party especially.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “Because it’s a Valentine’s Day party or because there are so many people?”

“The Valentine’s Day theme.” Felix confirmed. “Not only are people more inclined to invade my personal space, but they also like to make the ‘Day of Love’ about romance exclusively. It diminishes the other definition to a ridiculous amount in my opinion.”

“Other definitions?” Marinette inquired. “What do you mean?”

Felix allowed a small, humorous smile to catch his lips. She’d just inadvertently proven his point right there. People were so focused on the romantic sense of love that they seemed to forget the several other types of love that exist. 

“There’s more than one type of love, such as platonic love or familial love. In fact, the Greeks had seven different words for love. I believe they’re all important, so to see them all be dwindled down to just romantic love is aggravating.”

“Huh..” Marinette muttered, absorbing his words. “I never knew about the Greeks using seven different words for love. What were they?”

Felix briefly glanced up in thought. “If I remember correctly, they were Philia, Ludus, Storge, Philautia, Pragma, Agape, and Eros.”

“Wow.” Marinette smiled. “They sound beautiful. What do they mean?”

Felix smirked as well. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Always willing to listen and learn from my random facts.

“Well, the meanings are all decently complicated, but I supposed they can be summed up to this: Philia is the type of intimate love between friends. Ludus is the playful and ‘exciting’ type of love that one would get with a random crush. Storge is familial love, Philautia is the love of self, Pragma is the enduring type of love- which is the type of love needed for marriages or serious relationships -Agape is the unconditional love for humanity as a whole- which I clearly do not have-” He gained a snort from that “-and Eros is that of sexual love.”

The meaning of the last one felt a bit awkward on his tongue, but he pushed away the uneasiness. She had asked for the definitions, after all.

“I like those definitions.” Marinette said, a soft look coming to her features. “It’s cool that you know so much about them.”

“I have mentioned that I enjoy knowing things.”

Marinette giggled. “So you have. Just out of curiosity, though- and this may be a bit contradictory to the conversation -but have you ever had a crush on anyone? Or just, you know.. Been in a relationship in general? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Felix’s eyes widened slightly. He honestly hadn’t expected her to ever ask him such a thing. It made sense, considering the topic of the conversation they were having, but it was still surprising coming from her.

Nevertheless, he answered. 

“No, neither. I’ve never been interested in anyone enough to pursue them, and anyone interested in me has always been too clingy. If I wanted someone to fawn over me constantly, I would simply invite Claude and Allegra to my house more often.”

For some reason, his answer didn’t feel quite right as he said it, and he found himself gauging Marinette’s reaction. Did he answer the question incorrectly? Was she going to be upset? Or possibly disappointed? Why would she be either? How could there possibly be an ‘incorrect’ answer to the question he’d just been asked?

Marinette snorted, clearly not upset at all, and it left him wondering why he’d bothered to worry.

“I figured you’d say that. You don’t seem like the type to get caught up in feelings like that.”

Felix nodded, though he silently questioned what she meant by the comment. Was she implying that he couldn’t get caught up in those types of feelings? Why did that seem so offensive to him?

“What about you?” he asked, brushing his thoughts to the side. He was just being ridiculous anyway. “Have you ever had romantic feelings towards another or been in a relationship?”

He already knew about her affections for Adrien Agreste, of course, but he’d yet to find out how far they went. And, on top of that, there was always the possibility of her having more than one lover. So it only made sense to ask the question, especially since she had asked him first.

A grimace overtook her features, clearly telling him that she had, in fact, had a romantic encounter before.

“Well.. I’ll admit I’ve had a lot of crushes, but there was this one that really got me. You, uh, you’ve actually met him already. Technically, anyway.”

Felix took a guess. “Adrien Agreste?”

She nodded, a bitter smile coming to her lips. “Cliché, right? The baker girl falling for the famous model..” She glanced down at her drink, absently tilting the cup to watch the liquid swirl. “I didn’t like him because he was a model, though. I liked him because he was sweet, and he was thoughtful, and.. I don’t know, I guess I thought.. that we could live a happy life together.”

Felix frowned at the cloud that seemed to pass over her, the pain that swelled in her eyes. He hadn’t realized how strong her attachment to Agreste was.

Marinette shook her head, breaking free of the thought process, and plastered on a smile. “I’m sorry, you didn’t ask about that.”

“No, it’s alright.” He assured her. “You can’t let things weigh on your mind unattended. If you feel you need to talk about it, then I’m willing to lend an ear.”

Marinette’s posture relaxed, relief making her smile a bit more genuine as she said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.. I don’t have any feelings for him now, but the pain is.. It still comes back, especially with how things ended. Sometimes I wish it had been different, sometimes I wish I had been different, and sometimes I wish I hadn’t fallen for him at all.. but mostly, I’m just glad it’s over.”

“What happened?”

“Well.. nothing happened, to be honest. And I think that was the hardest part.” Marinette drew in a deep breath, allowing herself to relax before continuing, “He came to my school a little over two years ago. Everyone was excited, but I didn’t even know who he was. When I did find out, though, we actually had a little bit of a misunderstanding. It’s funny when I think about it now, the way things turned out during that first day.”

“He apologized about it later, even though it wasn’t his fault, and I think that’s when I started to see him as something more than a friend. The more I got to know him, the more I started falling head over heels, and soon my friends found out about it. They thought we would be a great couple too, which kind of made me excited, and we all started planning these elaborate schemes to get him to notice me.”

She put her head in her hands and groaned. “It was so embarrassing, Felix, you should have seen them. One even involved me dressing up like a cat since he loved Chat Noir so much.” 

Felix grimaced, though he tried not to show it. Marinette dressing up like a cat for some random guy’s attention? He couldn’t even fathom it. Who came up with that suggestion?

“Did it.. work?” He almost hesitated to ask.

Marinette laid her head on the table then, shaking it with a whine. “Not even close. This group of dogs saw me on my way over, and I guess my costume was too convincing because they chased me all around Paris. I ended up muddy and scratched up when Adrien actually saw me, which didn’t help at all.”

Felix was careful not to react, but he almost felt the need to pat her on the shoulder. How had she not died from embarrassment yet? If someone put him through that, he’d never go outside again.

“You see? That’s how all of it was. All. of. It.” Marinette said, lifting her head again to lean her chin into her palm. “Two years I spent chasing after him, making all of these plans and trying to catch his eye just once, but no matter what I did, I was only ever his ‘good friend’. A-And I’m not saying I hated being his friend or anything, I just.. I was trying so hard to be more, wondering why I wasn’t enough, and my friends were constantly cheering me on to keep going. It was exhausting.”

Felix offered her a sympathetic look as she went on, though he couldn’t help feeling annoyed by the story. What kind of ‘friends’ did she use to have that they would willingly push her to make a fool of herself in front of her love? What kind of friends would encourage her to continue chasing after someone who clearly wasn’t interested in her? That wasn’t healthy at all, and he could only imagine how miserable it would have made her.

Wait..

“Is that why he’s coming to see you now?” Felix asked. (or more of blurted out.) “Because of your previous feelings for him?”

“Oh, no.” Marinette said, going so far as to let out a laugh. “No, I doubt he’s ever going to see me in that light, but it’s still frustrating that he’s trying to visit me. Moving to Rosemary was supposed to be an easy break, but he just has to follow me here too.. Again, it’s not that I mind being his friend or anything, it’s.. I need time. To get over him. I don’t like the person I became when I only lived to gain his affection, and it’s hard to get over that mindset, ya know?”

Felix nodded. He didn’t quite understand her experience since he’d never loved someone himself, but he knew that old habits were hard to break, and that love can be known as an intoxicating and addicting emotion. It wouldn’t be easy to get rid of.

“You’re strong for deciding that.” He said sincerely. “It takes an immense amount of will power to let go of something that you think will make you happy, but I believe you’re right in thinking you’ll be better for it.”

Marinette pulled a small smile, twisting the small tip of her ponytail. “Thanks. I hope I am.”

Felix smiled as well and turned his chair to face Marinette more fully. He wanted to ensure that she would hear the words he was about to say.

“Marinette, you are.. an incredible person. And I’m not just telling you this to lift your spirits, I am saying it because it’s true. You are talented, intelligent, kind, and capable all on your own. You don’t need anyone to validate how amazing you are, because it’s evident in everything you do, and I truly hope you don’t ever doubt yourself because of Adrien’s foolishness.”

A blush bloomed across Marinette’s cheeks, and she glanced down to fiddle with her hands. “O-Oh, uhm.. Thanks.. Again. I won’t.”

Felix smiled, satisfied with the reaction, and picked up his cup to extend it towards her.

“Here,” he said light-heartedly, “to finding someone new, someone who appreciates you, even if that someone is yourself.”

Marinette giggled and picked up her drink as well, clinking the glasses together. “To finding someone new.”

Felix took a sip of his cup to complete the toast, but to his surprise, Marinette set hers to the side, instead standing up and offering her hand to him.

“Let’s go dance.”

Felix choked on his drink.

“Pardon?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Marinette insisted. “I mean, you only have to come if you want to, of course, but I haven’t danced with you yet, and Claude said that you took waltzing lessons at the school.”

Felix held back a scoff and glanced around the room, hoping to catch Claude’s eyes so he could glare at him. Why did that dolt keep telling people he took waltzing lessons? It only made it harder for Felix’s to reject people when asked to dance. 

However.

He looked back to Marinette, who held a fresh, bright smile, waiting for his response.

“I bet if Marinette asked you to dance, you would.”

Allegra’s words resurfaced in his mind, unwelcomed. Why did she always have to be right? It only made her more smug as a person.

Nevertheless, Felix took Marinette’s hand. “Alright, but only one dance. I don’t want anyone else thinking I’m open to the idea.”

Marinette chuckled and pulled Felix to his feet. “Of course not. We’ll dance near the darker spots of the room so your face won’t be seen.”

They moved to the dance floor, and Marinette put her hand on his shoulder, while Felix wrapped his arm around her waist. It was a bit awkward pulling each other close, since the only other person he’d been this close to was his mother and father, but once they actually started to dance, his years of practice easily took over. Felix slid into the role of leading, and Marinette followed him willingly as he spun her around the party room, smiling when she laughed during a dip.

Such a fool.. He thought, tugging her back up to him. How anyone could pass up Marinette’s affection was beyond him, but in a way, Felix was delighted that Adrien had. He might not have been able to meet her otherwise.

With the two being so enveloped in each other’s movements, they didn’t notice Allegra, Claude, and Allan watching them from across the room, nor did they catch the smiles and high-fives that the trio shared.

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[voiceless-terror]

And Many Happy Returns

a sequel (or companion piece) to Inseparable, my childhood friends AU. chapter 1 of 2.

“Next week?” Jon shrieks, slamming a hand down on his desk and startling the nearby students. “That’s not nearly enough time to prepare!”

Martin does that blinky-eye thing that means Jon’s being too loud, but he can’t help it! Martin’s turning eight in six days (less than a week!) and didn’t think to tell him. They’re best friends, he should know these things. He curses himself for not asking about this at the beginning of their relationship, when he was collecting Martin facts. Favorite color and book seemed more important at the time. 

And while Jon doesn’t think birthdays are that important, it’s still a fact he ought to have known. Well, his Nan doesn’t consider birthdays important. These past two birthdays he’s gotten one new (!) book and a dessert after dinner, but that’s about it. Nan doesn’t have money to spend on frivolous things, and Jon’s never needed much, but he wouldn’t mind a bit of fanfare. His mum always made sure he felt very loved- he got plenty of hugs, a fun cake, an outing where they would do his favorite things. But maybe that’s something only mums do. Nan, with her rare, stiff hugs and general stand-offishness was never one to put up much of a fuss.

“It’s not that big a deal,” Martin mutters, his pencil twitching in his hand as he refuses to meet Jon’s eyes. He doesn’t like it when Jon starts fretting about him. “We never do anything for it, anyway.”

Martin’s mum isn’t anything like Jon’s, that’s for sure. It’s not every day you turn eight. It’s a nice number, very even and divisible. Much better than boring old seven. When Jon turns eight, he’s going to get fifteen extra minutes added to his curfew, and he’ll be able to walk to the corner store all by himself. He’s already walked there several times, but it’ll be nice to have permission. That’s the real treat.

“So you’re not going to bring in cupcakes for the class?” he asks, remembering the last birthday they celebrated- it was Lydia’s, a quiet, unassuming girl that Jon doesn’t mind but also doesn’t think much about. As soon as Jon asks it, Martin gets that sad look in his eyes again, the kind that’s always followed by an “I’m sorry” or something equally nonsensical. Jon hates that he’s the cause of it, him and his stupid mouth. Think before you speak, that’s what Nan always says. She says that for most anything he talks about, though, so he takes her advice with a grain of salt.

He reaches out to pat Martin’s arm consolingly, giving him his best sympathetic head tilt. “It’s alright. I’ve never brought any in either. Just thought I’d check in case you needed help bringing them to school.” Jon’s not very good at carrying things, but for Martin he would make an attempt.

“That’s nice of you,” Martin replies, though it’s not really nice, it’s just a normal thing a friend would do. Jon’s read books about it, he ought to know. “But yeah. I don’t think Mum’s planning anything, much less making cupcakes. She’s really busy.” Martin’s always saying how busy his Mum is, but Jon’s pretty sure she doesn’t do half the things around the house that she’s supposed to. Martin already knows how to cook and make tea and do the laundry without hurting himself. It’s very admirable. The last time Jon attempted to do laundry, he flooded the cellar.

“Do you like cupcakes, though?” Jon asks, scooching closer to Martin’s desk. “Lydia’s mum brought some for her birthday, but they were all carrot cake. Blegh.” He makes an exaggerated face to get Martin to laugh. It works.

“Carrot cake’s not so bad,” Martin says, poking lightly at Jon’s hand with the eraser of his pencil. Jon flinches back dramatically, putting on his most wounded look. “You just don’t like it cause it has the word carrot in it.”

“I don’t like it cause it has actual carrots in it,” Jon sniffs, turning away from Martin to show his displeasure. He decides not to talk to him for the rest of the day, or at least until he has something else to say to him. He’s got a lot on his mind now, and he needs to be left alone with his thoughts. Besides, Martin will poke him again once he gets bored enough. 

Jon flips open the school planner that he’s never used for actual school work and starts to write. He’s got a birthday to plan, and he’s going to give Martin a Mrs. Sims birthday special.

______

It’s a Thursday, which means Martin can’t play on account of his many, many chores. Jon hates Thursdays.

But this time it works in his favor, as he’ll actually have time to plan without Martin thinking something’s up. Jon very rarely cancels on Martin; he’s his most important (and only) friend. But he does on occasion get a little mixed up. One time, he thought it was a Wednesday instead of Thursday, and wound up at Martin’s flat when he didn’t show up at the park. Martin was very nice about it, though, and gave him a cup of tea to ‘calm down’ to drink in the hallway, before he went home. Martin thinks a cup of tea is calming. It doesn’t really do much for Jon, but it is tasty, and Martin gives him extra sugar just the way he likes.

But today is most definitely a Thursday so he scurries on home, slamming the door open and screaming a greeting to Nan that goes unanswered.  She must be off at the shops, otherwise she’d be giving Jon an earful for being too loud. He kicks off his shoes and gazes at the picture of him and his mum on the wall. If his mum were here, she would know exactly what to do to make Martin’s birthday extra-special. But she’s not, and Martin’s mum seems like kind of a jerk, so it’s Jon’s responsibility. “I won’t let you down,” he solemnly tells her smiling face, and turns to take the steps two at a time.

After grabbing his planner and throwing his backpack into the corner,  he pulls out the chair to his messy homework desk, which is usually only used for doodling or writing stories or reading when he wants the activity to feel more official. He flips open his planner to next Wednesday, Martin’s birthday (!!!) and taps his pen impatiently against the page. 

What do birthdays need? Food. Presents. Happiness. The first two might be a bit difficult to pull off, considering his lack of money and cooking skills. Martin deserves a lot more than stale discount biscuits from the grocery. He can get those any day.

But a whole cake is going to be hard. If Nan won’t make one for Jon on his birthday, she most certainly won’t do it for ‘his little friend,’ even if she thinks he’s a good influence. Martin is always very quiet and polite when he sees her, and Nan always gives him a smile in return for his good manners. She doesn’t smile at Jon like that. He tamps down his jealousy and gets back to birthday thoughts.

He thinks he had a purple- or was it pink? - cake on his fifth. It saddens him that he can’t remember. He thinks he’d forget his own mother’s face if he didn’t look at it every morning and night. Memory’s fickle like that, as his Nan likes to say.

Maybe, if he’s very nice and good tonight, Nan will take him with her on the weekly shop and he can convince her to get Martin a cupcake, a good one. One that doesn’t have any carrots in it, even if Martin says they’re alright. He must like them so much because they’re orange, like his hair. Unsurprising. 

He stops wiggling in his chair and straightens his back, as if Nan can see him in his room right now. It’s good to practice, he thinks. If he can sit still all through dinner and not make a mess, she’ll come round. 

Next, an essential part of any birthday: a good present.

His mum never really showered him with gifts, but she always gave him something good, something from the heart. The last present he received - Augustus, an orange cat plushie- still sits on his bed. It’s kind of babyish to sleep with a stuffed animal at his age (or so Marcus declared during recess one day) but Jon doesn’t really care. It helps him sleep.

Unfortunately, Jon can’t buy Martin a stuffed cat. He doesn’t have much money except for what he’s found on the ground and in sofa cushions. And he’s supposed to give that to Nan if he finds it (which he does, mostly).

He could be creative. Make him something. Jon’s not very good at crafts, though. And he doesn’t have a lot of supplies. But he has almost a week to figure something out, minus the times he’s playing with Martin. Well, even then he can stare at him and hope it jogs a good idea.

Lastly, he’s got to make it the happiest, most special day he can. Martin should feel special all the time, but Jon knows how hard that is, especially when you go home and you’re lonely and it seems like you’re the least special person there is. But if Jon is very nice to him and makes the day as fun as possible, maybe he’ll be able to keep that happiness all night, even when Jon leaves. 

That’ll be the hardest part, Jon thinks. He’s not the type of person to make someone happy. Sigh in aggravation, maybe. Roll their eyes. But Martin does neither of those things, so Jon might have a chance. He’ll try and ‘tone it down,’ though. His Jon-ness can be too much at times, and he doesn’t want that to get in the way of what should be Martin’s day.

Everything’s going to be perfect. 

________

And then it’s Saturday, and Jon still doesn’t have a present for Martin. 

He somehow managed to get Nan to agree to the cupcake bit- he’d asked very politely, ate all of his dinner and didn’t spill a thing. Though he thinks it has more to do with her liking Martin. She always acts surprised when she sees him over, like she’s shocked Jon kept a friend for longer than a week. He’s not that bad. But Tuesday she promised to take him to the grocery with her, so it’s fine. One part of his plan is done.

But the present. 

Actually buying something is clearly out of the question- he already exhausted his Nan’s good will in that department. And Jon, for all his usual creativity, is plum out of ideas. He could give him one of his books, but he does that already without prompting. He doesn’t have any good toys, and Martin certainly isn’t getting his best pen, the one that glides real smoothly on the page.

“Are you alright?”

He’s been staring at Martin too long. “Of course,” Jon snaps. “I just like your shirt today, that’s all.”

Martin looks down at his worn t-shirt. It’s not Jon’s favorite, but it’s Martin’s, so he likes it. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

They’re out in the woods behind Mr. Fletchley’s house to investigate what Jon thought was an ancient ruin but just turned out to be a couple of crumbling cinder blocks. It was an incredibly disappointing find, but Martin wasn’t discouraged.

“We don’t know where they came from, or why someone dumped them here,” he reasoned, a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “What if they were stolen? What if they’re part of a...a crime, or something?”

Jon doesn’t know what crime would need a cinder block, but he intends to find out. They’ve been walking down the relatively short path (it’s not so much woods as it is a cluster of trees) and haven’t seen anything suspicious, besides a few empty wrappers and a particularly sharp stick that Jon’s been whacking against the ground. He thinks it could’ve been used as a weapon.

“What are you going to do when you’re eight?” he asks, nudging Martin in the side. He hasn’t mentioned his birthday since the first time, so he’ll be in for a real treat come Wednesday. Jon just hopes he can think of something good in time.

“Mm, I don’t know.” Martin slows down to a mosey, and Jon tries to match his strides no matter how much he wants to jump ahead. Martin’s a real ‘slow down and sniff the flowers’ type of guy. Jon’s more of a ‘run ahead and accidentally trample them’ type. “Probably the same as I’m doing now. It’s not like it’s an important age. I can’t drive or anything like that.”

“It’s a very important age!” Jon insists, though he doesn’t have much to back that up. He’s mostly just excited because it’s Martin’s very first birthday with him. “You should look forward to something.”

“I dunno, I don’t want anything to change,” Martin says, his face going a little red as he stares at the ground. “I’d just like to spend more time with you. Have fun. That kind of stuff.”

Jon blinks. “We do that now, though.”

“Yeah. It’s the best.” Martin gives him a toothy grin, the kind that Jon puts away and thinks about later when he’s at dinner with Nan or getting ready in the morning. People don’t smile at him like that, only Martin. He does it all the time when Jon tells him a good joke, or shares his food, or passes him a particularly funny doodle.

And now Jon’s got the perfect idea for a present.

part 2

[stars-are-just-ghosts]

harrisco 12.

Here it is! I hope you enjoy it! -QD

* * *

It was nearly two a.m. by the time everyone began to leave the West's house, the Christmas party fully wound down and people exhausted from the frivolity. Harry had never really been much for parties of any sort before getting close to Team Flash. And normally, he'd been able to weedle his way out of them. Claim he was content on his own, or tired, or busy. None of which anyone really believed, but they also knew how stubborn he was.

The problem there was Cisco Ramon could be just as stubborn at times.

This time, he'd practically shoved an ugly Christmas sweater into Harry's face and demanded that he get off his 'tall-dark-and-brooding ass' and get moving. When Harry barely budged, he then informed him he'd hidden Harry's pulse rifle and was not ever giving it back unless he came.

The result was Harry begrudgingly wearing a very colorful and festive sweater with a depiction of Grumpy Cat in a Santa hat, and following... well, grumpily... along.

He never counted on enjoying these things.

It always surprised him when he did.

Watching Caitlin and Barry sing on the pint-sized karaoke machine, the lady Snow half buzzed off of spiked egg nog, had been a small delight. During dinner, Iris ended up inhaling a bit of too-spicy apple cider and flipped a spoonful of pumpkin pie at Joe's face during her coughing fit, which had Harry chuckling before he could stop himself. And at one point, he even let himself enjoy a badly played game of charades with everyone.

Though the highlight of the entire evening, start to finish, was Ramon.

The man was effortless in his joy and happiness tonight. It oozed off him, sinking into everyone around him. And for some reason, he seemed to be doubling down his efforts on getting it to latch on to Harry. Not that Harry would complain in the least. A slightly clingy, pushy, somewhat buzzed and completely glee-ridden Cisco Ramon was a gift in itself.

The easy bickering between them flourished with each passing hour, till they'd been practically in tune with each other's words in a way that only they ever seemed to accomplish. Cisco spent a great deal of time sitting right next to Harry, lined up side by side like he was trying to steal Harry's warmth. Or maybe his soul. It was hard to tell. And Cisco would touch him a little more than usual.

There had always been this thing between them. Nothing Harry could ever put a name to, nothing he could accurately describe. It hung in the air like a promise... like a piece of mistletoe, just waiting for one of them to make a decision.

And after tonight, it was very clear to Harry now what decision he would make. If he trusted himself enough. Truth was, he'd fallen for Cisco Ramon a long time ago. But he would never allow himself to tell the other man. It wasn't the idea of rejection, or even of losing their friendship. It was the idea that he could ever hurt Cisco. And he knew he could. His temper, his past, his... everything. He wasn't an ideal partner, not for anyone. He was better off alone. And Cisco was better being with literally anyone else. Or so Harry tried to convince himself.

Tonight, it was a little bit harder to feed himself his own lie.

They'd been walking for nearly ten minutes, Harry's hand hooked easily into Cisco's arm to keep him from slipping all over the place. It had snowed that morning. Nothing heavy. But the ground was wet and slushy and Cisco was one or two more drinks away from being drunk. He was also tired, Harry could tell. By the heavy way his eyes blinked, and how he would breathe in deeply every now and then just to let the cold air wake him enough to keep walking.

Cisco could have taken a cab, but had insisted on needing the fresh air. Harry hadn't been about to let him walk alone.

"You're glad you came tonight." Cisco said as they got to a crosswalk, looking up at Harry. Ramon's cheeks were slightly flushed, steam billowing out from between his plush lips into the cold air, his hair somehow still perfectly in place, his scarf haphazardly wrapped around his neck and shoulders. He looked... delightful. He looked like a dream.

He was a dream.

"You're assuming." Harry forced himself to say. Cisco chuckled and began walking again.

"Don't think I didn't see you, Harry. You can't deny how much fun you actually had. I was watching you the whole time." Cisco's comment made Harry raise a brow, slow his steps once they got to the other sidewalk. Cisco paused as well, both men stopping. But Ramon was looking at him with curiosity.

"What were you doing watching me?" He asked pointedly. Ramon's brows slowly went up. And the flush in his cheeks got even redder almost instantly.

"I, well... ya know. You..." He stopped talking, something thoughtful passing over his features. Harry couldn't help but stare right now, at the sparkling in Cisco's beautifully dark eyes, at the way he focused on Harry's own hues. It took Harry's breath away, like it almost always did. And he almost always could hide it. But something passed over Ramon's features, a look, a knowing. "What are we doing?" He suddenly asked. The question made Harry's brows furrow lightly.

"We're talking?" Question for a question.

"No duh, Harry." There was a soft dusting of humor in Cisco's eyes. "I mean... all the time. You and me. We're... close. Not just friend or colleague close. Closer than that. And I feel like we're getting closer every day." He stepped right into Harry, reaching up and tugging Harry's coat lapel a little flatter. "But we're always dancing around each other, ya know?" His words made Harry's heart stutter, flare, and ache all at the same time. But Cisco couldn't be saying what Harry thought he was saying. It just... wasn't possible. Right?

"I don't recall there being any dancing tonight. Unless you count Iris attempting to do the macarena during charades." He smirked a little, the slight curve of his lips catching Cisco's gaze. The shorter man chuckled and shook his head.

"Not what I meant, Harry, and you know it." Ramon sighed a little. "If I'm wrong, and I really don't think I am, then tell me I'm wrong. Right here, right now. And I'll never say another word about it." Cisco demanded, but softly.

Harry could read nearly every emotion Cisco had to offer by now. And what Harry saw on his face, in his eyes, was hope. And fear. Hope that Harry wouldn't reject him. Fear that he might. It made Harry swallow hard, his own anxiety flaring. Because, fuck... he didn't want to reject Cisco. Not Cisco. Never Cisco. But could he live with himself if he went into this knowing that someday he might just hurt him? Could he really so selfishly subject Ramon to his anger and grief and self-loathing ways on such a level? Could he-

Harry froze in place.

He didn't get the chance to finish running through his thoughts and reply to Ramon. Because the shorter man had a much different idea.

The feel of Cisco's cold but softer than soft lips on his own erased every thought, every worry, every possible argument Harry might have had. And before he could think logically about it, he was relaxing. He let himself move against Cisco, their lips slipping together in deliriously wonderful presses. Harry brought his hand up to the back of Cisco's head, fingers curling into his hair, his other sliding around to Ramon's back and holding him firm. Cisco's hands had minds of their own, clinging to Harry in near desperation as they began to deepen that kiss into something far more encompassing.

Cisco tasted like eggnog and warmth and... did joy have a taste? Because he tasted like joy. The way his tongue slid along with Harry's was just like dancing. And Harry couldn't get enough of this, would never get enough of Ramon.

The kiss ended naturally, leaving them both heaving hot breath into the winter air, hands still decidedly stuck to each other, foreheads pressed together as though separating themselves would be a truly horrible idea.

"I knew I wasn't wrong." Cisco whispered, then smiled. Bright, beautiful, joyous.

"Are you sure about this, Ramon?" Harry had to ask, had to know. He lifted his head, studied the slight swollen quality to Ramon's mouth, brought a thumb up and slipped it across Cisco's lower lip. Goddammit, he was delicious. He blinked at the urge to take those lips again, and forced himself to look in Cisco's eyes. Because this was important. Very, very important. "I'm not..." He swallowed, cleared his throat a little, let his hand fall, "I shouldn't be anyone's first choice." Cisco's expression grew stern in a heartbeat.

"You think I don't know what kind of asshole you can be?" He scolded. "Cause I do. And I know you think you don't deserve to be happy, either. Which is total crap." He sighed a little at what had to be a stunned expression on Harry's face. Then he brought his mouth back up, a soothing kiss lingering for a few breaths before he pulled away again. "I also know you're the strongest, bravest, most intelligent, caring, loving man I've ever met. Which means I'm good with all the stuff you think I shouldn't be. Because I can handle all that, as long as it means I get to have the rest."

Harry's smile was slow, but full-blown affectionate in a way he would never be able to disguise.

Kissing Cisco again was all the response he had.

Eventually, they made it the last two blocks to Ramon's apartment building, just to stop on the stone stairs and kiss again. And again. Now that they could, it was like they didn't want to stop.

"You can spend the night, if you want..." Ramon offered, when they'd separated just long enough to get a word in. Harry chuckled, pulling back enough to really examine Cisco's face. "And don't you dare ask me if I'm sure, because I am. I'm very..." Cisco inhaled sharply as he looked Harry over, "Very sure."

Harry couldn't say no to that.

He'd learned he couldn't say no to much of anything when it came to Cisco Ramon. Not that he regretted that in the least.

He did stay the night. In fact, he rarely slept in his own bed again after that.

Life went on exactly as it had before. He and Cisco kept their well-earned rhythm, their dynamic changing only as much as how physical they were with each other and how annoying it was to everyone else.

Cisco never once thought it had been a bad decision. Harry found himself steadily agreeing, a little more every day.

And eventually, he began feeling something he didn't know he could feel... joy.

All thanks to the stubborn love of Cisco Ramon.

[magnoliabloomfield]

Possession 11

Gally ate his breakfast in a stupor, he wasn’t aware of anything but his own thoughts as he sat there shoveling food. He hoped Nikola was feeling better after a good nights sleep, lord knows he certainly didn’t get enough that night as it played in his head over and over, her calling him her friend. It was small. It was stupid. It was everything.

He knew not to expect her at breakfast, but he definitely wasn’t expecting to find her at his work bench again. She was working on something and didn’t look up at him and the other builders approaching to get to work.

“Hey,” Gally greeted casually when he was close enough. She looked up and the corners of her mouth flickered when her eyes landed on him, but she didn’t really smile. Her eyes noticed the other boys around.

“Hey,” she replied, half toneless.

“What are you up to today?” he asked with mild interest as he sorted through the to-do list for the day.

“I’m rewriting the medical journal,” she sighed as she splayed her fingers out on the pages in front of her. “I have to decode it first though.”

“Yeah? And you, uh, you picked this spot for it?” He moved just his eyes to look at her and tried not to grin.

“Well,” she put a slight lilt in her voice. “You do have the pencil sharpener.”

“Right,” he nodded, feeling a little outranked by his own office supplies. With that he gathered what he needed and went off to do his work.

Nikola hid a grin as she carefully watched him leave, thinking that she picked a spot with a good view at least. But she also reminded herself that she needed to be careful, the last thing she needed to do was get Gally in trouble. Then she’d really be alone.

She looked up again, searching for him among the trees and grass, picking him out so easily from the other boys. She cocked her head and bit her lip, wondering how it was that, out of forty or fifty some boys, Gally was the one she was closest to. Not that she had really spent enough time there to really be close to anyone, at most they had… a connection? Was that better, or just different? For the time being he was the one her eyes and thoughts seemed to be drawn to and she’d just have to see what came of it in time.

~~~~~~~~~

Doing odd jobs was kind of like trying out for the different crews all the time. She spent some time with more of the boys and started to get to know them a little better. She liked some more than others for sure. Newt and Minho were nice, and pretty cute too. Newt had those dark, shiny eyes; fluffy blond hair; and accent. Minho had a smile that took over his entire face and was quite infectious. He was good for some sassy banter as well. Sometimes in the back of her mind she’d think she should like one of them, but it was the same time as her eyes were looking for Gally, checking on where he was in the glade.

Something inside of her got excited whenever he was nearby, and she was most giddy when he actually talked with her. She found she liked his serious eyes even more than Minho’s smiling ones, and his cropped coppery hair to Newt’s fluffy blond locks. Gally also had freckles that peppered his face like constellations, and full lips with deep corners. Not that she was looking too hard.

After she’d spent enough time with the other boys, long enough to really know who she liked and why, she knew she had a favorite. The trick was not to let anyone but him know that he was her favorite.

“Hey, Gally?” she called as she came up behind him at his work desk. He was putting his weight on one leg with his palms resting on the tabletop, his broad shoulders exaggerated by that pose. He turned around to face her, leaning against the table instead and an image popped in her head out of nowhere. Somehow Gally reminded her of a polar bear. She wasn’t sure why it was a white polar bear when a grizzly would match him better.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, lazily crossing his ludicrously thick arms. To anyone else he might have looked intimidating or unapproachable.

“Could you help me with something?” She asked sweetly when she assessed there were no other boys nearby.

One brow went up and there was the hint of amusement around his lips. “Depends,” he answered cautiously, keeping his eyes intently on her.

“I was wondering if we could make a swing?” she ventured as she stepped as close to him as she would dare. “I totally understand if there’s not enough rope to spare or something like that, but I just thought it would be fun to have. What do you think?”

She was really hoping she could get Gally to do something fun and frivolous, it was actually quite important to her that he even be capable of having fun. He was so hardworking and responsible all the time, she wasn’t sure he had fun in him. She thought it was at least a good excuse to spend some time with him without the noise and distraction of the other boys pressing her from all sides.

Gally regarded her thoughtfully for a few seconds. She wondered if she laid it on a bit too thick, letting her emotions and personality show. She tried hard to be the human embodiment of a saltine cracker with the boys she didn’t want to have close to her, maybe it was too obvious when she dropped all that with Gally.

“I think we can do that,” he finally answered, a small smile softening those full lips.

She felt a bright weightless feeling in her chest and smiled back. She followed him as he led her to the supply shed and found enough rope. Next they looked for a good seat.

“What about this one?” Gally held up a plank for her to see.

“Mmm, it looks too small,” she said after she squinted at it and sized it up. That prompted Gally to look at her backside like she was crazy if she thought it wasn’t big enough for her. He quickly looked away when he realized what he was doing but Nikola wasn’t offended, it wasn’t the same way the other boys had looked at her. In fact, it was kind of funny to see him flustered. “It shouldn’t just be for me, everyone should be able to use it,” she explained.

“Got it,” Gally nodded and they kept looking.

They finally found a suitable one and Nikola watched Gally drill holes into it for the rope. All they had to do now was find the perfect branch for it. They wandered around the glade together, looking up at the trees but not in any rush. Nikola tried not to smile too big at the fact that hardworking, disciplined Gally was taking his time with her.

“Is this going to be the first swing in the glade?” she asked him.

“Yep,” he answered as his eyes roamed the tree line.

“Really? No one ever made one before?” she prodded him to talk more.

“No, I guess we were all a little busy with other things,” Gally shrugged.

“More important survival things,” she said as she looked at the ground, feeling dumb for mentioning it now. Gally was practical and she was frivolous in a world that demanded a lot of its inhabitants for their survival. They think of eating the next day, not taking turns on a swing.

“I guess that’s another good thing about you being here now,” Gally said catching her by such surprise she almost tripped and fell on her face. He glanced over at her, catching her wide eyed stare. “You’re able to think of fun things, things beyond just surviving.”

“Oh,” she blurted, not sure what to make of that just yet. “Are you sure you don’t mind me doing this? I know it’s not exactly productive or practical-“

“If I minded I would’ve said no,” he interrupted her.

A little huff of a laugh escaped her. “That is true about you,” she agreed mostly to herself.

“Not many people like it,” he added and sounded a bit bummed.

“It’s not a bad thing,” she assured him even as she looked at a tree intently. “It’s better to say what you mean and mean what you say. Good or bad, whatever you say people know they can believe it.” A realization hit her just then and she looked over at him with a goofy smirk. “Hey, so you really meant what you said about it being a good thing that I was here.”

She thought she saw a blush creep up behind his freckles before he turned his face away from her. He made his way over to another tree and she followed behind him with the smirk still on her face.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen it smile,” a nasty voice said.

Nikola wiped it off her face as she looked over at Shawn. He was one of the creepiest boys around. She didn’t usually cross paths with him, but if it came close she’d carefully avoid him.

“She’s not an ‘it’,” Gally told him sternly before she could think of a safe thing to say, his voice sounding much different than it did when he was talking to her.

Shawn gave a condescending scoff and went on his way, but he kept his beady eyes on her till the last second. She watched him to make sure he was really leaving, then she looked around for any other boys nearby.

“What about this one?” Gally asked.

She didn’t look or answer until she’d done a good sweep of the area. Then she looked up at him and let her face soften again. He nodded at the tree.

“I think it’s perfect!” she declared with a smile as she looked up at it.

Gally had a small pleased smirk and they got to work on the ropes. Nikola kept an eye out for Shawn or anyone else approaching or stalking or eavesdropping.

“Looking for someone?” Gally asked her without looking away from the knot he was tying.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, Shawn kinda creeps me out,” she said a little sheepishly, feeling bad for telling a half truth.

“I don’t like him much either,” Gally agreed. “But you don’t have to worry, I can beat the shuck out of him.”

She looked over at him, wondering what he was actually trying to say. He caught her inquisitive eyes.

“I’d… protect you. You know that, right?” he asked, his cheeks the same color as his freckles so they disappeared.

She fought to keep her smile from being too big. “Well, you mean what you say, so yeah, I do know that.” Still, she couldn’t help but look around occasionally.

“Is something else bothering you then?” he pressed as he tossed a rope up over the branch, an impressive feat of strength if Nikola did say so herself as she watched his arms before going back to glancing around.

“Well,” she sighed. “I’d just hate it if they gave you a hard time about being around me. Then you might not be around anymore and that would suck,” she said as she gently kicked a stone and heard it thunk against the tree.

“That would suck,” he agreed as he secured the last knot. “So that’s not going to happen. There, try that out.”

He stood back and took a look at his handiwork, Nikola did too, but she didn’t sit in it yet.

“Why don’t you go first,” she suggested.

“I made it for you because you wanted it,” he pointed out, surprised by her.

“Yeah, but if can handle you it can handle anyone,” she threw back.

His brows furrowed. “Are you calling me fat?”

“No,” she laughed. “Muscle weighs more than fat, so you’re still the heaviest here probably.”

He just stared at her, not sure if she was being mean, giving a compliment, or stating a fact.

“Come on, just try it,” she encouraged him.

He gave a sigh and eased himself down on the seat, slowly putting his body weight on it. He looked up at the ropes and was satisfied with the results. “I think it’s good,” he declared and went to stand up again.

“No, no,” Nikola said, stepping forward and crowding his personal space until he had to sit back down, leaving him staring up at her in surprise and wonder. He’d never seen her from this perspective before. “You have to try it out.”

He was too flustered to pick out words for a response.

“Do you need a push to get started?” she asked, one brow raised in teasing.

She went to walk behind him, grabbing the rope just bellow his hand so they touched slightly. After she disappeared behind him he felt her other hand as well, and then her breath on his neck. “You ready?”

He bit his lip. He couldn’t say no, he couldn’t not do this for her. He didn’t care what anyone else might think if they saw him, not much at least. He actually thought it would be fun too. He lifted his scuffed boots off the ground and felt her laugh on the back of his neck before she started to pull him backwards as far as she could manage and let him go.

The maze walls were so high they never got much of a breeze in the glade, so the feeling of wind on his face was new and refreshing. He swung backwards and experienced a jolt when he felt her small hands on his back, propelling him forward again. The swing creaked a little, but it held him. It must have been a sight, the six-foot-three keeper of the builders doing something so childish, but he didn’t care. He realized his childhood had been stolen from him, not having his memories he didn’t know if he even had a good childhood, and whatever age he was now wasn’t exactly going so well either. He felt her hands on his back again and amended that last thought, it had actually improved since she showed up.

As he swung back again he didn’t feel her hands, but he saw her walking around and looking up at him.

“So that’s what a smile looks like on you!” she said with one of her own.

He hadn’t realized it, but he did have the biggest smile on his face. He went back, and this time at the height of his forward swing he jumped off.

“Awe, come on,” Nikola whined. “You were having fun-“

“Your turn,” he panted, still letting his face look happy.

Her whiny pout dissipated and she couldn’t help but grin, excited to try it too. She caught the swing and took her seat. Looking down she saw Gally’s hands grabbing the ropes right down at the seat. She looked up and his face was right in front of hers. She noticed the flecks of gold in his blue eyes and got a better look at the freckles spattered above his lips.

“You ready?” he asked her softly.

She held his gaze and just nodded as she bit her own lip. His grin grew and he started to pull her forward, pulling her toward him but yet he only got further away as she went up and up like she weighed nothing. Then he let go and she went swinging back, the breeze pushing her hair over her shoulder as Gally came into view again. She leaned back and straightened her legs to start gaining momentum, her hair trailing behind her now, Gally getting closer, looking like he was happy that she was happy.

Masterlist

~~~~~

I love that more people have asked to be tagged in updates and been showing me love. Comments literally fuel me, I get super happy and I write more. Btw for those who are new, I have a 130k Gally fic where he is sent to an all girl glade, and a 40k complete shorter story. my Wattpad is momololli and my AO3 is MagnoliaBloomfield. story titles are Garden of Heathen, City of Anger, and The Reason. I actually have a really popular Kong fic about Slivko too, idk if you like him too but people went crazy over it, i must have landed a niche just in time lol

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @gladerscake @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

[phinksimp]

Hi 🥰 can i get some nsfw toxic relationship hcs?

and thank you for providing us phinks simps with content 🥺🥺🥺

Thank you so much for the request!  I hate to admit it, but I love all forms of Phinks...even toxic ><.  I always write him as a big softie, so this was a fun change of pace!

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

Phinks x Fem!Reader

18+ NSFW

Trigger Warning:  Emotional abuse, sexual abuse, extreme jealousy, NTR, Smut, Dubious consent (dubcon)

You sat cross legged on your bed in front of your laptop.  You laughed as you looked into the webcam, your earphones making you oblivious to the man who had just entered your room.

Phinks raised his brow bone when he saw you.  He had been curious as to why you hadn’t replied to any of his text messages in the last 15 minutes, and why you weren’t there to greet him when he came home.  

What the hell is going on here?

The blonde man cleared his throat to get your attention, but to no avail.  

“HEY.”

You shot up immediately, waving a hand at Phinks while smiling nervously at the camera.  “Hey, sorry. Something urgent just came up!  I gotta go, but just message me when you find any articles and I’ll check them out.  Bye!”  The sound of your laptop closing made Phinks’ eye twitch.

“Phinks!”  You jumped off of your bed, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.  “I had no idea you were coming home so soon!”  You looked up at him lovingly, your smile dropping when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“Well, you would have known if you answered my texts.  You didn’t have 10 seconds to text me back?”  He then eyed your laptop.  “What the fuck were you doing, Y/N?”  He pushed your arms off of him as he made his way to your bed.

You rolled your eyes as you followed after him.  You knew Phinks was impossible to talk to when he had these “fits”, but it didn’t stop you from trying.  “I had a meeting with my classmate Paul for a school project.  He’s going to be doing most of the research, so he just wanted to go over some things with me.” You fought a sigh from escaping your mouth as you stood beside Phinks.  

He...

You wouldn’t dare tell Phinks that Paul had confessed his feelings to you a few weeks ago.  He was sweet, attractive, and successful, but you had no interest in him at all.  You let him down easy, but you could tell that Paul wasn’t the type to give up.  You knew it wasn’t coincidence that you two ended up on a project together as Paul was extremely liked by your professor.

Phinks opened your laptop and began to scroll through your chat with your Paul, his eyes carefully scanning each message for any hidden meanings.  “So, you chose your classmate over me?”

You leaned your head towards him, unsure if you had heard him right.  “Sorry?”  

“You didn’t reply to my texts because you were talking with your classmate instead?  Y/N, do you even remember who bought you this laptop?”  He scanned your classmate’s name one more time before slamming the laptop shut.

Your heart began to race.  While you were shorter than Phinks-- him standing over you like that made you feel even smaller than usual.  “You bought it for me, Phinks.”  You tried to find the words to appease him.  “And I’m so grate--”

“You’re not.  It’s like you don’t even love me.  If you loved me you would have replied to my texts right away.”  He turned his back towards you as he began to exit the room.

A small gasp escaped your mouth as your jaw dropped.  “What?!  Of course I love you!  What are you--”

Your blood ran cold when your phone went off.  

Phinks grabbed it immediately, flawlessly entering your 9 digit password.  The password he had created for you.

“Y/N!  Hope everything is okay, you seemed flustered when you left.  I’m here if you need to chat!”

It took every fiber of his being to hold himself back from crushing your phone in his hand right then and there.  He took a small breath before holding a finger down on the message and deleting it.

You nervously approached him, his silence making you even more nervous.  “Who was it, Phinks?”

Phinks smiled at you softly.  “Just a spam message.  Nothing important.”  He waved your phone in his hand as he continued to walk.  “I’ll be taking this for a bit.  You won’t need it while you’re making us dinner anyways.”

Before you could reply, Phinks turned around to look at you.  “You look like shit by the way.  Have you not been sleeping?”  He looked down at you, a smile of pity on his face as he examined you from head to toe.  “You’re lucky I choose to stay with you when I could be with anyone else if I really wanted to.  You should be thankful.”

You stood there dumbfounded.  He was right.  Phinks had ingrained into your head how much better he was than you.  You believed you’d never have anyone as good as Phinks if you lost him.

I can’t mess things up...

You quickly ran to the kitchen to prepare dinner, praying you had the ingredients to make a meal that would please Phinks.

Phinks laid on the couch with your phone in one hand and his in the other.  He read through a long message he had typed out before sending it to Shalnark.

This should teach her a lesson for being so fucking ungrateful.

The smell of spices filled the air as you carefully pulled out a casserole from the oven.  Phinks had once told you it was one of his favorite recipes of yours.  You had also prepared vegetables, a pasta salad, as well as a small cake for dessert.

“Dinner’s ready!”

You sat excitedly at the table, hoping the dinner would bring a smile to Phinks’ face.  

Phinks looked down at the table before grabbing his wallet.  “I’m going out to eat.  Don’t wait up for me.”

-----

You slowly lifted your head from your pillow, rubbing your swollen eyes from crying over the past few hours.  You blinked frivolously, a bright blue and white light illuminating the room.  

You screamed as Phinks made his way on top of you, the smell of alcohol filling your airways.  “Phinks!”  He bit down on your shoulder hard enough to make you yelp out in pain.  You tried to push him off but instead he pressed his weight down onto you even more, pulling your hair up as his mouth began to explore the area from your collar bone to your neck.  “You’re hurting me!  Phinks sto--”

Phinks jerked your hair up for you to look at him.  “What? You want me to stop?  If you make me stop then I’m going to go fuck someone else.  Is that what you want, Y/N?”  He pulled his phone out from his pocket, shoving his Contacts screen into your face.  “I could always call one of them.  Maybe they want this cock more than you do, Y/N?  Is that what you want me to do?”

You shook your head, the thought of Phinks making love to anyone else was enough to make you sick.  “No, that’s not what--”

He began to rip your clothes off, a wicked grin on his face.  “So you don’t want me to stop?” He took his own clothes off before following back on top of you, the grip on your wrist hard enough to make you believe it would snap.

“I...don’t want you to stop.”  

Phinks threw you off of the bed, pulling you up by your hair again so that you were now kneeling.  

You gagged as he shoved his cock into your mouth, its size making it hard for you to breathe.  He began to fuck your mouth relentlessly, the whiplash from his hips thrusting into your face while he pulled your head back was making you see stars.  You lost control of your mouth as your lips unshielded your teeth from Phinks’ member.  There was a small hope in you that the feeling of your teeth would make Phinks stop, but if anything-- it made him go even faster.

Your vision began to go black.  The wet sounds slowly replaced by the sound of blood rushing to your head.  

A hard slap on your face brought you back to reality as Phinks repositioned you once again.  You were now on all fours.  You turned to look back at Phinks, but screamed when he wrapped a thick piece of black cloth around your eyes.  “Phinks-- what are--”

He spanked you hard enough to make your back arch.  “Shut the fuck up, Y/N.  I’m so sick of you complaining.  I thought you wanted this?”  

You bit your lip, not wanting to anger him further.  “Yes, I--”  

You moaned loudly as you felt Phinks’ tongue against your entrance.  He had been with you enough times to know exactly how to get you off.  You continued to moan, his tongue dancing between your clit and your opening.  

Phinks squeezed your bottom as he continued to eat you out ravenously.  “You’re so fucking wet, Y/N.  You like this, don’t you?”  He spanked you once again, leaving several marks on your backside.

You nodded your head, feeling you were about to reach your climax.  “Phinks, please fuck me!”

You screamed as he spanked you again.  “You really think you deserve anything?  If you want my dick that bad, you’re going to have to do something for me.”  He inserted a finger into you, making your craving for his dick even worse.

“Anything, I’ll do anything!”  

Phinks grinned as he slowly began to finger you, the quivering of your walls letting him know how badly you needed his cock.

“Your classmate Paul.  Do you wanna fuck him?”

The question almost threw you out of the mood completely until Phinks began to finger you faster.  

“What?!  No!  I only want your cock, Phinks!”

Phinks entered another finger into you, his breathing growing heavier.  “Then say it.  Tell me you’d never fuck Paul.  That he’s a worthless piece of shit."  

Your desperation for release made you ignore how ridiculous Phinks was being. You tried to steady your breathing as Phinks continued to finger you, trying to remember what he wanted you to say. “I--would never fuck Paul!  He’s worthless.  A worthless piece of shit!”

Phinks’ other hand made its way around your throat.  “Good girl.  Is there anything else you want to say?”

You shuddered as you felt the tip of Phinks’ cock at your entrance.  You knew all it would take was for him to shove it into you to put you over the edge.

You were so close.

“Stop making me say his name or even imagine how disgusting his cock would be.  I only want you Phinks!  Please, please fuck me already!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your whole body buckled.  Phinks filled you completely, your jaw falling as a moan escaped from your mouth.  

Phinks continued to pound you, the swelling of his member signaling that he was close to finishing.

“Phinks...I...want your cum...”  You had already climaxed several times, and you could feel yourself starting to pass out.

Phinks leaned down to kiss your neck as his breathing grew heavy.  “Then I need you to do one more thing for me.”

You grinned, the tone of his voice making your temperature rise.  “Anything.”

He pulled himself out and stood so that he was now facing you.  

Phinks removed your blindfold with one hand as he continued to stroke his member with the other.

“Say hi to Paul.”

You gasped as the blindfold fell to the ground, your eyes meeting Paul’s in your laptop screen-- a horrified look on his face.

Before you could say a word, Phinks unloaded his cum-- the splashes of white landing in your mouth and around your eyes.

“Hi Paul.”

#phinks #phinksmagkav #phinksmagcub #hxh #phinkshc

[ibijau]

*chanting* sangxuan, sangxuan! because I’ve been reminded that I love that ship, have a continuation of that fic where jzx is a very repressed bi with a huge ass crush on nhs

It takes Nie Mingjue about a week to realise that there's something wrong with Nie Huaisang. The first day or two, he blames it on the shock it must be for his brother to have finally graduated from Lan Qiren's classes, and with unexpectedly high grades at that. That success must have given Nie Huaisang one of his sudden short bursts of motivation, and that's why he's suddenly attending sabre practice with the other disciple, and showing up on time for lessons. Those bursts are usually short lived, in Nie Mingjue's experience. Where the sabre is concerned, five consecutive days of hard work is his brother's record.

So on day eight, when Nie Huaisang is still showing up dutifully, still trying his best to get the movements right, Nie Mingjue becomes concerned. When the lesson is over, he asks his brother to follow him to his office so Nie Huaisang can learn how to help with something, as befits a young master of a prominent sect. Normally, this is the time of the day where Nie Huaisang likes to take time to play with his birds, something he's always particularly enthusiastic about right after returning from Gusu. But this time he follows Nie Mingjue with only the briefest of hesitations.

Slowly going from merely concerned to actively worried, Nie Mingjue decides to see how far he can push this before his brother starts acting like himself again. He gives Nie Huaisang a pile of letters to be sorted through by order of importance according to a number of criteria such as the nature of the problem, the rank of the writer, and their physical location. Night Hunting doesn't interest Nie Huaisang, so it is always a bother for him to think about creatures and remember how dangerous any of them might be. He also can't see the point of keeping track of whether a duke or a magistrate is supposed to be given more consideration. As for geography, Nie Huaisang could get lost inside his own bedroom.

And yet aside from a deep, heartfelt sigh upon being given that task, Nie Huaisang doesn't show any reaction. He just picks a chair, makes some space for himself on the side of his brother's desk, and gets to work. Nie Mingjue sits down as well, ostensibly to check some bills, but most of his attention is on his brother who is never this obedient and helpful.

“Alright, what have you done this time?” Nie Mingjue asks after a while.

Looking up from the letter he's studying, Nie Huaisang stares at him with confusion written all over his face. He could pass as perfectly innocent if Nie Mingjue didn't know him better than that.

“Did you get in trouble in Gusu before leaving?” he insists. “Or on the way home?”

“Why would you think I got in trouble?” Nie Huaisang gasps, the very picture of wounded virtue. Nie Mingjue only has to gesture at the pile of letters for his brother to drop the act. “Oh, that. Well. I've decided that I need to become a better person. I can't keep wasting my youth in frivolous pursuits. The young master of a sect must be proficient in martial arts, in cultivation, and know about running an estate. Isn't that what you're always telling me?”

“And you're never listening.”

Nie Huaisang grimaces slightly at the accusation, but nods.

“I have not always been all that I ought to be,” he sighs, rather dramatically. “But I am a changed man.”

“I'm not sure that you can call yourself a man when you're not even eighteen,”

“A changed person,” Nie Huaisang corrects without missing a beat, glaring at his brother. “I need to improve my public image, or else I'll never get to marry.”

Just like that, Nie Mingjue relaxes. Out of every reasons Nie Huaisang might have had to straighten his act, this is the least worrying one. He's the right age to start thinking about that sort of things after all, and he's apparently made a lot of friends this past year in Gusu.

“Do you have someone specific in mind?” Nie Mingjue asks, trying his best to hide his amusement.

“Maybe I do,” Nie Huaisang grumbles after just a moment of hesitation.

“Boy, girl?”

“Does it really matter? You'll let me have however I want, right?”

There's a surprising note of worry to Nie Huaisang's voice, which Nie Mingjue doesn't like in the least.

“I just ask because it'll take more work to convince the parents of your beloved if it's a boy,” he clarifies, and yet his brother doesn't relax at all. If anything, Nie Huaisang starts frowning and bites his lip. “So it's a boy, and the family is stupid about these things,” Nie Mingjue guesses.

Nie Huaisang sighs and flops over the desk, ruining his careful work with the letters.

“It's hopeless, his parents are stupid!”

“Don't badmouth your future in-laws, Huaisang.”

“It's fine, you'll agree with me when you know who it is, and how much they've messed him up.”

That's a worrying statement, but for now Nie Mingjue decides to treat it as a secondary problem. It's hardly the first time Huaisang develops a crush on someone. When he was eight, he wanted to marry Lan Xichen for a few weeks. At thirteen, he threatened to court Wen Qing who he'd seen once at a conference and to run off with her. Nie Huaisang is older and (allegedly) more mature now, but Nie Mingjue prefers to check how serious this is before calculating an auspicious date.

“Well, tell me about him then,” Nie Mingjue demands. “What unlucky bastard caught your eye this time?”

“Bastard no, definitely not,” Nie Huaisang snorts. “Unlucky... yeah. He's... well, first of all, he's handsome.”

“Goes without saying. You're too vain to settle for someone less than stunning.”

Nie Huaisang sticks out his tongue and sits back up so he can slap his brother's arm.

“Rude, very rude. Anyway, he's the most gorgeous person in the world, especially when he laughs. But he sadly doesn't laugh a lot. He's been trained out of it, I think.”

For a brief moment, Nie Mingjue wonders if his brother is in love with Lan Wangji... but no, Nie Huaisang wouldn't dare to call Lan Qiren stupid.

“He's also pretty nice, when you know him,” Nie Huaisang continues, smiling to himself. “He complains a lot, but he'd offer to study with me and he'd really try to help me. And he's serious and righteous. No matter how many times I offered to let him cheat on tests, he'd always refuse because he wanted to succeed through his own work.”

“You set the bar so low,” Nie Mingjue comments, though at least now he knows how his brother got such good grades. It's almost reassuring, in a twisted way. “Doesn't cheat on tests, somewhat nice to you... I'm not really sold on this.”

“I am,” Nie Huaisang retorts, his smile growing a little warmer. “When he looks at me, it's like he's looking at the moon and wondering how he could ever reach it. Like I'm the most incredible person in his life.”

That does sound like something that would appeal to Nie Huaisang's vanity, though Nie Mingjue wouldn't quite call it enough to get married.

“And what do you see when you look at him?”

For a moment, Nie Huaisang falls silent, his expression turning serious. Nie Mingjue is half getting scared that he's made his brother realise how shallow his feelings are, when Nie Huaisang speaks again.

“I see someone I want to make happy and to protect from everything bad,” he announces, a deep frown on his brow. “I see someone who has been hurt, and it makes me hurt as well, because he's so wonderful, and the people who hurt him are the ones who should have protected him, and it makes me so angry that something like that happened to him. I just... I just want to take him away from everyone who's ever made him feel bad about himself, and bring him somewhere safe, and hold him in my arms until he's never afraid again of what others will say about him. Is that... Is that weird?”

Coming from any other Nie, it would be normal, Nie Mingjue thinks. Their family tends to have a protective streak, even toward people who don't quite need it. It's a little odd to hear this coming from Nie Huaisang, but he is a Nie too, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he loves like one.

“So I'm guessing you want for him to marry into the family, rather than you joining theirs?” Nie Mingjue asks.

To his surprise, Nie Huaisang shakes his head.

“Won't work, his parents won't allow it. Damn, they won't be happy with it even like this. But it's... da-ge, I think I'm really in love with him,” Nie Huaisang sighs, blushing at his own confession. “I didn't mean too, it was supposed to just be a game, but I really love him. If there's got to be someone, I want it to be him.”

“Then you'll have him,” Nie Mingjue promises, like it's an evidence.

To him, it is. Their sect doesn't bother playing the game of alliances through marriages that others do. They're a little more like the Lan in that respect, even if they're not quite as ostentatious about it, and they don't bat an eye at second or even third marriages. So if Nie Huaisang has decided he wants this person, enough so that he's willing to put in effort to improve himself for over an entire week, Nie Mingjue will help him. He is weak to his brother's whims, and even weaker to his rare moments of determination.

“You don't even know who it is,” Nie Huaisang protests. “You have no idea how difficult it'll be... I really might have to run away with him and become a rogue cultivator with him, because his parents are so damn stupid! And also, I'm not sure you'd actually approve if you knew...”

“Is it one of Wen Ruohan's sons?”

The immediate grimace of disgust and betrayal on Nie Huaisang's face make it hard not to laugh.

“I told you he's handsome!” Nie Huaisang gasps. “I have taste, da-ge!”

“Aside from these two, you can marry whoever you like,” Nie Mingjue retorts. “Even other Wens if that's what you want,” he generously adds, knowing full well that there were none in Gusu, and so it's unlikely that his brother's beloved is from the sect that killed their father. Even if he were though, Nie Mingjue would do what's needed to make his brother happy, trusting him to find the one person from that sect who would have any value as a person.

Nie Huaisang is less than impressed by that statement.

“You promise?”

Maybe it really is a Wen, Nie Mingjue wonders. If so, it's too late to back off.

“I promise. Any person you want, any sect, if you say it's a decent person, if that's who you want to spend your life with, I'll do what it takes.”

“I'll hold you to that,” Nie Huaisang threatens with a cheerful smile. “I want to marry Jin Zixuan.”

Nie Mingjue stares at his brother, refusing to believe he's heard that correctly... but no, Nie Huaisang is grinning like he pulled the con of the century, that manipulative little shit. He did, in a way. However much Nie Mingjue hates Wen Ruohan and dreams of slaughtering him, at least that's someone he can somewhat respect. Jin Guangshan, on the other hand...

Nie Mingjue shivers in disgust.

Maybe a Wen would have been better after all.

[justice4harwin]

Darklina prompt

Inspired by Taylor Swift’s Champagne problems

A/N: TBH, I’m not sure this is the actual assigment, but the lines of the song that I choose are just too lovely for me and I could’t help it. It wrote itself, i swear

I don’t know if this is what you had in mind @mayatried but I hope you like it :)

Set during S&B

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door

November flush and your flannel cure”

Alina treaded carefully through the dark. Night seemed to be abandoning its deepest cycle, but there was yet time before the sun arose. Everyone at the Little Palace slept, even Baghra in her hut -she suspected the woman slept, at least-, and Alina had begun to take advantage of such lonely hours to practice.

She walked around first, rounding part of the lake before taking a turn into a maze.

She liked the place. The polished bushes bloomed with flowers of various colors carefully planted within by the gardeners, and there were stone benches here and there.

A part of her wanted to get lost in there and never be found.

She shuddered and rubbed her arms, wishing she had taken a thicker kefta with her instead of the one currently upon her more rounded figure.

It was still strange, looking in the mirror and no longer seeing the bones of the ribs through the soft skin, or seeing her cheekbones softer and pink and full.

Her hands went up. She liked her new cheekbones. She felt pretty.

Deep into the maze, she shook her head to rid it of such frivolous thoughts and took a firm stand.

She closed her eyes and called the power inside of her. She had been able to summon after letting it all go at Baghras hut, but her progress was slow.

She supposed once couldn't heal a lifetime wound in a few weeks, but everyone had their eyes on her now, so maybe she'd have to suck it up.

A small bulb of light appeared in her hand, taking the shape of a sphere. She smiled softly, feeling its warmth.

Gently, she disentangled a hand and created another sphere of light.

Doing her best to ignore the cold and the sleepiness, she willed the spheres to stretch and join.

Trembling, they did.

It's a start.

She then forced them to unify into one long stick of light, flexible like a whip, and then she stretched her arms, elongating the light.

Next, she tried to grab a solid hold of the light with one hand and let the other drop.

To her surprise, it didn't burn her; it just filled her with a sense of power and surety.

Hesitant, lifted her arm, the light going with her, and slashed.

The flowers  on a big stone vase banished as if they had never existed, yet the stone remained practically untouched; a black, long spot its only scar.

"Impressive."

She jumped, turning to see The Darkling stepping forward, that blank expression on his face making it hard for her to believe him.

"I thought it wasn't enough." She said, remembering his words.

"It's not." He said, matter-of-factly, and Alina felt a small sting on her chest. "But you managed to get a solid, physical hold of your power already, however short lived it was, and that was impressive. It should have taken you more time."

She felt herself blushing under his praise.

"How did you find me?"

He remained silent for a moment or two, calculating probably as he always seemed to do. She couldn't really distinguish his features that well in the dark.

"Sometimes I like to sit at the edge of the lake to think. I find the still water most calming."

"You have a lot on your plate, don't you?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

He seemed to have huffed a laugh.

"You don't have to worry about me. Your only job is to strengthen your power."

"But I do!" She hurried to say,cheeks red. "I-I mean, I worry about you."

She looked down, and barely felt him approach as his boots stepped on the grass.

"You do?" She wasn't sure what to make of his tone, but Alina felt the need to reach out and take his hand.

Instead, she took a step forward and summoned her light, delicately running it over his face. He looked perfect, as usual, yet she wondered…

"When was the last time you slept?"

He chuckled, not turning away from her light.

"Do I look tired to you, Summoner?"

"No, but Genya is a miracle worker."

His lips quirked up.

"She is, indeed."

"A pity her talents are wasted on the queen and king." Alina said before she could even think of holding her tongue.

She tensed, but The Darkling nodded slowly, a shadow passing over his face.

"It is. She looks like a candle with her white kefta, but she'd be a walking flame in red."

Alina couldn't hide her surprise. Would he dare to promote her?

The Darkling stretched his arm out.

"But no more talk about that. Come, I shall teach you something."

Learning from The Darkling himself? Alina would never miss the chance. 

She eagerly followed him deeper into the maze, into a spacious area occupied only by grass.

Gracefully, he sat down.

"Next to me."

Much less gracefully, she did as he commanded, trying not to get grass or mud on her kefta. She placed her legs underneath her body and her hands on her lap, more than ready to soak in all the information he had to give.

She looked at his profile and felt her breath caught. Even in the dark, his pale face seemed perfectly clear to her.

She leaned her back against the wall of bushes, wincing only slightly as some small sticks pinched her back.

“Now what?”

“Are you afraid of your powers?” he asked.

“No.” she was too quick to reply.

“Do not lie to me, miss Starkov. I don’t take kindly to deceit.” he spoke calmly, yet she felt a small flicker of fear roll over her body.

“I am.” she muttered, so quietly she herself almost didn’t hear the words. She bit down on her lip and then opened her mouth: “I’m scared to not be enough to destroy The Fold. I feel like I’m not advancing fast enough. I’m also scared of how powerful I could get if I,...if I unleash it, and I’m scared it’ll consume me and I’ll let it.”

And that was only part of it. What if she accidentally hurt someone innocent? What if she failed? Why did people keep watching her in such various ways?

“A power, a gift like ours, is not bestowed upon just anyone. We have it because we were meant to wield it; because we are the only ones strong enough.” he leaned towards her, his expression almost gentle. “You will be magnificent, miss Starkov. I am well aware of what you could accomplish, and if you do get too lost, I’ll be right there to pull you back.”

“Do you promise?” she felt silly asking, like a child, but she needed some reassurance.

Everyone was so expectant of her, of great achievements she was terrified of, that having someone who could understand her and seemed to genuinely believe in her capabilities -without making a fuss or calling her a Saint- sent a tidal wave of reassurance that could’ve dropped her on her ass if she hadn’t been already seated.

“I do.” he replied, his voice filling the entire space they occupied. He leaned back, face blank again. “Now, close your eyes.”

Alina did as he said.

“Deep breaths.”

She slowly took in a big gulp of cold, late-autumn air. She shivered.

“Now,” he said, and his voice sounded right by her ear, his beard brushing against her soft skin and threatening to ruin the whole process. “Feel the light.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“It’s inside you, miss Starkov.”

“Alina.”

He said nothing, but she felt him tense. “Feel it.”

She reached down, deep within herself for that almost familiar warmth, and smiled softly when it answered her with an enthusiastic twinkle.

“Now, imagine it all over your body, every inch of it, warm and gold.”

That twinkle in her chest seemed to have steadied, and with the utmost focus, Alina began to picture it covering her chest, travelling down her arms and legs, all the way to the tips of her toes. 

She shivered again, the sudden change in temperature taking her body by surprise.

She opened her eyes and looked down, and found a faint glow on her hands. She felt the currents of wind but they didn’t affect her. She was as warm as if she were well sunked in a hot bath.

She looked up at The Darkling, who almost smirked; she was sure of it!

“Well, now I know I won’t freeze to death on the mountains.”

“You plan on going to the mountains?” he asked, almost amused.

She flushed.

“N-no, it was,...um, it was a joke.”

He chuckled silently, and Alina tilted her head as he shifted in his place.

“You’re cold.”

“I am perfectly fine;  thank you, Alina.” he answered, the perfect liar.

The use of her name made her falter, and after a second it made her feel more secure, however odd that may sound. She scooted closer to him and again, bought her hand up to his cheek. It was cold.

The Darkling almost seemed startled for a moment, but then, when Alina thought he might push her away, he slowly lifted his arm, bringing her to his side.

She looked up at the stars shining down on them, at the full moon, so beautiful and unreachable, just, or so she thought, as the man next to her.

“Can you feel the warmth too?” she asked softly.

A moment passed and she felt his lips ghost over her hair.

“I can feel you, Alina.”

She couldn’t help but smile and cuddle even closer, daring to press her front to his side and take a hold of his dark cloak.

Slowly, he placed his chin atop of her head.

Alina didn’t move, enjoying the moment. Cheeks red as they could be and her heart beating faster than a rabbit’s. She just enjoyed the silent environment, the quiet rustle of leaves and the voices of night.

Cuddling with the most powerful, dangerous man in all of Ravka, Alina felt the pressure set upon her shoulders since she arrived at the Little Palace fade away, like it didn’t matter. Yes, it was a tough task; but just like with anything that proved difficult, she’d advance little by little.

She dared to wrap an arm around his midsection, his own free arm engulfing her as well as he muttered something.

His breathing had slowed and steadied, his heart beat strong inside its cavity.

Carefully, she lifted her eyes as best she could without moving him, and realized he had fallen asleep.

With a contented sigh, she buried her face into his chest and closed her own eyes.

Somehow, the feel of his cloak around her, his frame against her, and her dim light keeping them warm felt far more comfortable than the luxurious bed all but forgotten in her bedroom.

[tipsydipsydo]

Business Trip [M]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Gender of the Reader: Female

Word Count: 1.4k

Alternative Universe: CEO! AU

Rating: 18+

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Sexual Language + Dirty Talk; Dom-/Sub-Themes (Dom! Yoongi x Sub! Reader); Phone Sex; (mutual?) Mastubation; Handjob; Fingering; Daddy-Kink; Kitten-Kink; slight Edging + Teasing; Begging; Praising; slight Orgasm-Control; Mentions of Squirting

A/N: Omg, finally an official Yoongi-Fanfic on my blog! 😭💗 I didn't believed anymore that this will ever happen but here we go~🙈💕

Summary: It's a stressful life to be the CEO of a big and international known company. Always hopping onto the next flight to a new investor or business partner, all around the globus. But sometimes he can't fix his little problem alone, so you need to help him out with some naughty stuff through these rough times of his job~

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

You were preparing your dinner when your phone started to vibrate. At first you just think you've got a few new messages in a row, but the buzzing of your phone against the table doesn't want to stop. With a sigh, you turn the stove off and draw your attention to your phone on the kitchen table, wondering who in God's name needs to reach out at you at half past seven in the evening on a Thursday.

You pull your eyebrows together until a puzzled frown appears on your forehead. The display shows Yoongi's name, so he is the one who troubles your phone with his incoming call.

Why are you so confused? He is currently on a business trip in the US and at lunch time, when he woke up and wished you a good morning via text messenger, he mentioned that he will have an important meeting with one of his business partners at 3:00 p.m. local time. Right now, it's 2:32 p.m.there.

In the half hour before such important meetings, Yoongi usually looks through all of his documents for one last time, to make sure that he has everything he needs for it. So why on earth is he calling you now?!

Hesitantly you answer the call, try to prepare yourself emotionally for any kind of reason. Maybe his business partner just jumped off from the deal or Yoongi even had an accident and therefore can't attend the meeting or can't come home on the planned date, what if-

"Hey baby, finally you pick up!", sighs Yoongi's familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Yeah sure ... But why did you call me? You have a meeting in less than twenty minutes!", you reply in a questioning tone. Digging deeper for whatever reason he calls you at such an unfortunate time, where you shouldn't even talk to each other on the phone.

"Listen, Baby...", answers your fiancé and takes an audible deep breath.

"Since two weeks I haven't seen you. Honestly, it drives me crazy and yes, fuck yes, I know that I have a meeting in less than 18 Minutes! I'm still at my hotelroom and for the conference rooms I just need to get two floors up. Fuck, Babygirl... I just need to hear your voice and tell you the filthy stuff that's on my mind constantly for the last several days. Princess, I can't wait to come home again, I miss you so fucking much... I miss your lovely scent in my nose, your soft skin against mine and especially that sweet and tight pussy of yours around my cock! God, Baby... you can't imagine how much I miss it to fuck you raw until you scream my name and almost choke on your own moans. My little Queen... could you be a good girl and touch yourself for me? I'm sitting here in the armchair of my hotelroom, already dressed in my suit and having my rock hard dick in my right hand. Palming myself to the thought of your cute little fingers, how they're buried knuckles deep into your dripping hole. Baby, I need your voice to be able to cum... I can't get off without you. Please, Princess. Be a good girl for me."

Yoongi ends his monologue with an almost pleading groan. You don't know how to answer him than a breathy "Oh my god" in your native language. Yoongi growls at the sound of the foreign words, he loves it when you lose yourself completely during sex and start to beg in your mother language for mercy.

He has a certain kink for it, he loves to wreck you up to the point that you forget the language in which you've to speak to understand each other.

But Yoongi's words didn't pass by you without a specific trace. As you press instinctively your thighs together and when you feel the wet panties between your legs, you want nothing more than tearing jeans and underwear off your body.

In this moment, you don't have any other goal than that and to do it as soon as possible.

To please Yoongi's desires, you let your fingers travel between your thighs, want to give him the whimpers and moans that he needs to make himself finally cum.

You whine in embarrassment when the juices between your pussy lips starts to make lewd squelching sounds. You gasp for air in a steadily quickened rhythm, stuffing three fingers of yours into yourself and rubbing your clit with your thumb.

One the one hand, these filthy and frivolous noises makes you all shy and embarrassed... but on the other hand, they encourage you to make them even more audible for Yoongi. Especially when you hear his deep growls and moans from the phone next to our head.

The sounds of his aggressive hand movements will not be withheld from you, no, you get rewarded with these lewd noises for your goodness while your fiancé whispers sweet and so, so filthy compliments into the speaker.

"God yes, Princess! That's right! Fuck yourself with your pretty petite fingers, just how I would do it for you. F-Fuck, you are such a good girl for me! God I love your sweet moans and whimpers, how I adore these filthy noises your beautiful pussy makes for me. Baby, fuck your tight hole open for Daddy's cock. When I'm home again, I want to bury my cock right away into your tiny pussy hole and fill you up with my cum, I couldn't wait any longer! What do you say, Babygirl? Would my little Queen like that?"

Yoongi's breathing becomes irregular when he describes what he would like to do with you. His voice went two octaves lower and got a rough, growling tone. God, how you love to make such a primal beast out of him. Just the idea that Yoongi would sit in the armchair in front of your shared bed, watching you. Looking at you like you are his prey. Enjoying the view of his little kitten, how she's satisfying herself with three fingers deep inside of her pretty cunt.

Just the thought of it let you spread your thighs even further for Daddy. The cold air, which has now even more access to your sensitive areas makes you tremble.

"O-Oh God, yes! Yes Yoongi, I would love it, oh God please! Please give me the permission to cum, I-I'm so close!", you whisper desperately into your phone. Pressing your shoulders into the mattress and your arching your back. The only thing you can think of is the sweet redemption of your incoming orgasm, longing for the final burst of the explosive pleasure in your abdomen.

"Please, please, please Daddy! I've been a good girl for you, Daddy!", you whine and wait desperately for Yoongi's answer. All you need is his permission and you could cum right away.

"God, Babygirl! You are the death for me... Yes, Princess. You're allowed to cum, gush your lovely pussy cum all over your fingers. Such a good girl for Daddy... let Daddy listen to your angelic moans while you cum...", your fiancé replies with a deep and raspy groan.You can hear from his voice that he also doesn't need much more to get finally over the cliff and reaching his own climax, freeing him from his longing desire for you.

You breathe heavily, your body is covered in a layer of sweat and your right hand sticky from your moisture but you're deeply satisfied and happy. Yoongi on the other phone takes three deep breaths before he stands up from his seat, seem to throw something away and hectic rustles of some papers.

"Baby, thank you. I really needed that. We'll see us in three days again, okay? Make sure that you're ready when I come home. Love you, Princess," he says in a hoarse voice before hanging up.

An smile of anticipation appears on your lips. Oh yes,you will definitely make sure that you are always ready for his Yoongi's sexual needs...

[ineloqueent]

dreaming of you

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: a storm results in a power cut, after you get locked out of your flat. luckily, your neighbour is home.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i hope you don’t mind that i took a few creative liberties with the prompts, m’dear <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

London, 1973

It was one of those days that simply went from bad to worse. And then fell down the stairs. And into a frying pan. And then leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Except the fire was not simply a fire, but a flaming pit, that was somehow also freezing cold and pitch black.

In short, you’d had a terrible day. And as life would have it, your day was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It had started that morning, when you’d got out on the wrong side of the bed, quite literally. You had fallen face-first over your office chair, which stood mere millimetres from the left side of your bed, because you lived in a tiny flat on Camden High Street, above a shoe shop, where, in the winter there was rarely hot water in the pipes, and you were forced to scrape ice off of the bathroom mirror with a razor in order to see your reflection.

So, you’d fallen out of bed and bruised— your forehead— instantly, only to realise that you’d slept through your alarm, and forgotten to lay out clothes for the day the night before. This was then followed by a rushed—  cold— shower, and jumping in front of the iced-over mirror to glimpse the large bump already forming on your forehead.

You’d made it to the kitchen, and found that you’d run out of both coffee and tea, forcing you to decide between going without caffeine, or being late to work in the process of getting a takeaway beverage. You opted for the latter, and sprinted out the front door with your scarf only half-slung around your neck.

You’d shouted a hasty good morning to your shop keeper neighbour from the lower floor, before running straight into your other neighbour, the one who lived right next door to you, and shared your rice paper-thin walls.

He’d narrowly avoided spilling his cup of scalding coffee down your front, but in avoiding spilling it on you, the poor bloke had instead dropped the mug at his feet, and watched it shatter to pieces, coffee spattering his white shoes.

Still, he was the first to apologise.

He was like that, Brian May. Very polite. Well-mannered. Ever the friendly neighbour.

And very beautiful. You’d noticed.

Off to work you’d rushed, once you’d helped him to clean up the mess, because you weren’t about to leave him standing in a pile of shattered porcelain, the existence of which was quite honestly your fault.

You’d been not five, not ten, not twenty, but thirty minutes late to work, and your boss had been none too pleased.

“Deadlines,” he’d told you. “We have deadlines!”

Deadlines your arse. You’d watched that man leisurely read his morning paper, with his feet on an ottoman, whilst you scrambled to get your affairs in order.

It’d then been a drab day, working at the newspaper, because it seemed that nothing was happening in the world, outside of your own little corner, where everything seemed to be happening all at once, and thus, there was no story for you to write. You’d been reduced to running fax and photocopies for various people, and— ironically— doing a coffee run, because everyone else was too busy for such a frivolous thing as a coffee run. Funny, though; for all they shunned the coffee run, they could not do without their precious caffeine to fuel their productivity.

The day seemed to drag on, and when it finally let up, the rain came down with the night, and you, with no umbrella and a good walk on either side of your tube ride, stared miserably through the window at the depressing weather.

But at home, pasta and television and your lovely, soft bed awaited you, and so, you were desperate to get home as quickly as possible.

With a sigh, you stepped outside, and let the rain soak you as you went on your way, having once read in a scientific study in the newspaper which had concluded from a series of experiments that one got more wet from running through rain than from walking through it.

The tube was crowded, as usual, and like a good citizen, you offered your seat to an elderly lady, only to realise upon second glance that she was not elderly at all, and you had just morally offended a rather prim-looking business woman. And lost your seat to the smirking man who’d watched the exchange occur.

You tracked mud all the way up to your flat, nearly breaking your foot at least twice when you nearly slipped on the rain-slick wood of the stairs.

The final nail— or so you thought—  in the coffin of your terrible day came when you fumbled in your jacket pockets for your key.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was perhaps the heaviest you’d ever felt.

In your rush that morning, you’d forgotten your key.

Brian May walked up the stairs just in time to see you kick your shoe off in frustration, and let out a laugh at the sight of you.

You looked up from your abused shoe to find Brian paused at his door, one eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Alright?” he asked, dubiously.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to remain calm and appear normal at the height of your despair. “I’ve had a shitty day, since before you saw me this morning, and now I’ve locked myself out of my flat. Alright, you think?”

“No,” he conceded, “but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Do you always just do what’s polite?” you sighed.

“Now that,” said Brian, inclining his head, “wasn’t very polite.”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it in a much more flattering way, like, you never fail to be polite, even when it’s hard to be, or when I’m sure you’d much rather say something sarcastic, or even just plain rude. You know,” you rambled, “you’re good at that—” you waved a hand, and amusement flitted across his eyes— “filter thing. You have a filter, I mean.”

“And you don’t,” he observed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, for once,” said Brian, “you look an absolute wreck, but—”

At that moment was when the real final nail of the coffin fell into place.

Because at that moment, accompanied by an ear-splitting peal of thunder, lightning struck, and eradicated the power supply of approximately one-third of the London metropolitan area.

“Bloody hell,” Brian remarked, as the rumble of thunder receded. The two of you stood in darkness on the landing, and while before, there had only been one bare lightbulb to light your surroundings, it was greatly different to be standing in total darkness when the city outside had become equally as dark.

“The power—”

You thought Brian nodded across from you where he stood, in the blackness of the hall.

“So…” you muttered. “What now?”

“Well, given our presently rather strange circumstances, I’ll offer to let you sleep on my sofa, and we can talk to Clarisse in the morning.”

Clarisse owned the shoe shop beneath your flats, and therefore your flats as well. She was yours and Brian’s landlady, but, as with her shop, she was only ever in from nine to five. Given that it was now six in the evening, she was most certainly long gone.

You considered Brian’s offer.

The two of you had shared a landing for four, almost five years now, since you’d each come to London, and yet, though you were friendly, you’d never got past having coffee together. You knew that Brian was studying astrophysics at Imperial College, which was very impressive indeed, and that he was the guitarist in a talented, but relatively unknown band. You’d encountered the other members of the band a few times here and there, every year, given that they sometimes practiced, or held meetings, at Brian’s residence. Clarisse didn’t mind the band playing, and as the next door building always had loud music pounding, there was no danger of annoying the neighbours to the point of the police being phoned, so Brian and his band were free to hold their rehearsals. You knew they were talented because you could hear them playing through said rice paper-thin walls.

And having had coffee with the man in question at least three times, you felt safe enough in taking up his offer. You only regretted that in all your years living next door to him, you’d never invited him over. Then again, he’d never invited you over either. But here he was now, in your hour of need, and that had to count for something.

You nodded gratefully, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see you all too well, and said,

“I think I’ll take up your offer. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nonsense,” said Brian. “I’m just polite.”

You thought he might have winked, but of course, in the dark, you couldn’t be sure.

He unlocked his front door, and you followed him inside.

“Watch out for the—”

You stumbled over what felt and sounded to be a guitar case.

“Oh shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” you apologised profusely.

He chuckled. “It’s fine. It’s empty.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered. “Thought I’d just destroyed something, again.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough that you ruined my coffee cup this morning.”

Reflexively, you covered your blush with your hand. “Please don’t remind me,” you groaned.

“I won’t miss it,” Brian assured you, tossing his keys onto a little table. “It was a hideous thing. Something Fred got me once from Kensington Market, where he works. Pretty sure the thing was second-hand too.”

Fred. Freddie, lead singer of the band you’d only heard through walls. Funny, charming, friendly though shy.

You wrinkled your nose. “Second-hand…”

“Yeah. He’s got no taste, silly bugger.” Though Brian’s remarks sounded harsh, he spoke with a fondness that could only have been reserved for the highest regard of friendships, and you thought that he and his bandmates must be quite good friends.

“Hungry?” Brian asked. “I’ve only got some left-over lasagna, unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s vegetarian, but we can heat it up in the oven, and there’s enough for the both of us.”

“Honestly, Brian, that sounds delicious.”

Your eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and so you saw his smile in response to your comment.

“Well, great. I’ll heat that up, then. Make yourself at home. If you can find the living room,” he added with a laugh. “There’s some candles in the chest of drawers by the window, so if you get those out, I’ll find some matches too, and we can have some light.”

“Will do.”

You set about your task, managing to only stub your toe once after removing your shoes, and set up candles about the living room, where you assumed Brian intended to set up dinner.

He brought you matches, and brought with him a glass bottle.

“Wine?” he offered you, having poured himself a glass, and you accepted, because it was Friday night and what the hell.

You lit the candles as Brian went back to his cooking, and before long, he returned with the lasagna dished up.

As your host sat down across from you, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

With the candles providing a rather romantic glow, catching on Brian’s pretty ringlet curls and dancing in his eyes, plus the wine, and now, the static-y music coming in over a battery-powered radio, this atmosphere was a lot cosier than you had expected.

Brian furrowed his brow at your noise of amusement. “What..?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

With a glance about the room, with its overstuffed cushions and stitched drapes, the two of you eating a meal by candlelight, Brian laughed too.

“It would seem that way.”

He raised his glass to you, and you would have been lying if you’d said that the gesture and his words hadn’t made your heart skip a beat.

You ate in silence for a few moments, until Brian spoke again.

“Would you mind awfully if we were?

The question startled you a little, and you swallowed your wine carefully.

“No,” you said honestly.

A small smile graced his mouth, before his eyes dropped to his lap. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I always meant to ask you out.”

You blurted, “Did you really?”

He smiled fully now. “Yeah. But I’ve always been so damn shy.”

You were the one to raise your glass this time. “Well, here we are now. And you’re not getting rid of me. At least until tomorrow.”

He laughed gently in response, and you thought of how lovely and warm the sound was.

If only you were as warm as that laugh. The rain that had soaked your clothes was beginning to take its toll on you.

You finished dinner in silence, and Brian cleared the plates in silence too.

He came back after washing the dishes, just in time to see you shiver.

“Oh, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Extra blankets.”

He fetched them, but then looked down at the bundle in dismay. It was very little; you could both see that.

You watched him close his eyes briefly in the wash of candlelight, saw him grit his teeth. You waited with bated breath for what he was going to say.

“It gets really cold here at night.”

This you already knew, from your experiences at your own flat.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll get even colder now that we’ve lost all form of central heating… Forgive me if this is entirely over the line...” he sighed, and opened his eyes, watching you with a cautiousness that betrayed nerves. “But it might be best if I sleep here, near you. Body heat, and all that.”

“Oh,” you said, blushing slightly. Stupid blush. “Yes, that’s probably a— uh— good idea.”

“Right. Um. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanted to chan— oh. Well. Hang on. I’ll get you a jumper or something to change into.”

Your blush only deepened, knowing that you would be wearing his clothes.

You couldn’t look at him when you took the dry, clean clothes he handed you, and hurried to change in the bathroom, before returning to the makeshift bed now established on the floor of Brian’s living room.

He brushed past you to use the bathroom himself.

You slid under the duvet laid out, and shifted the pillow beneath your head, making yourself comfortable.

Brian returned, and began extinguishing the candles around the room.

Finally, a soft shuffling sound announced that he had laid down beside you, and you released a breath of relief, knowing you could soon go to sleep and forget the awkwardness you were so adept at in your conscious state.

But then you noticed that Brian, in his flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt, was going to sleep with only a single blanket pulled over him; he’d let you have the duvet without a word.

You weren’t about to let him freeze to death on his own living room floor.

With a courage you knew not from where, you rolled over to face Brian. Or rather, Brian’s back. He was turned away from you. He probably thought you’d already gone to sleep.

You laid your hand gently on his shoulder, and he turned slowly.

“Hey,” you murmured, as his eyes met yours. “Sleepover?” You offered the duvet, a gift of peaceable intentions.

He smiled softly, and accepted with grace. But it was a stretch, with how far he lay from you.

“Oh, come here,” you said, and draped your arm over his lithe waist, drawing him closer to you. A little wine-tipsy and a little tired, a little cold, a little lonely, you nestled your cheek against his chest, your hands against warm skin beneath thin fabric.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you too, and you breathed a soft sigh against his skin.

“Is this alright?” he asked carefully.

In silent response, you lifted your head, and kissed his pretty lips.

He reciprocated almost immediately, his kiss sleepy but tender, and you pecked his mouth gently once more. Then you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and touched the skin there with another caress of your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, and he ghosted a kiss upon your temple.

“I can wait for tomorrow,” he said.

And soon you both drifted off, you in warmth and contentment, and Brian dreaming of you.

[nothisis-ridiculous]

Take Me Home

Chapter One: Almost Heaven

Set after the events of ME3.

A rewrite. Ao3.

FemShepxKaidan

"When this is over, I'm going to be waiting for you. You'd better show up."

Those confident words felt hollow, moot. A disguised plea to the universe that she could accomplish the impossible. A prayer to return to the arms that were home.

That was before the searing burns, the blood, and the pain that struck with each beat of her heart. Oh god, the blood was everywhere. Each blink was a calculated risk as the blood threatened to cloud her vision; it meant having to stop find a clean - clean enough- patch of skin to push the liquid from her eyes. Each moment of pause tempted her body with respite, a siren's call for her failing body to expire.

Shepard had to keep moving.

To keep fighting.

They were waiting for her.

He was waiting for her.

"You'd better show up, Alenko. I'm dying here, don't make me die here." They would have been words if she could manage the strength to speak them. Instead, it became a silent anthem. A memento of strength, hope, anything to make her scraped, bruised, and battered body move against the tide of her fading consciousness.

It kicked back.

Eeeee, high-pitched electric screaming flooded her headspace,  eeeee, her head swam and pulsed. The jerking motions of her head frivolously searching for the illusory flashbang was only damaging to her weakened state and sending her swirling vision into a nauseating torrent of colors and light.

Mary knew she was a corpse walking. There was no way she could keep moving, yet she did. Tripping, stumbling, and blundering her way through the unrecognizable streets and buildings of what she assumed was London. The warmth of the smashed bits of Crucible fueling her away from what was a ticking time bomb.

But she wasn't moving fast enough, and she was too weak, too fragile to continue. A clumsy boot caught the upturned slab of road, and down she went. Crying out as her knees absorbed the blow, her elbows proving to be poor breaks as her form collapsed against the warm concrete. This wasn't right. She wasn't meant to die pathetically watching the blood pool and congeal around from her mouth like a drooling child. She wasn't supposed to be alone. Left without her squad, her friends, Kaidan...her home. She, if anywhere, was meant to die atop the burning Crucible... Dying like a hero, not out like a person forgotten...left behind.

What she would give not to be alone, to have someone's hand to grasp as she slipped away into the beyond.

Where the fuck was Alenko?

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The glow of the blue light was comforting, illuminating but not to the point of brightness. She had succeeded in swallowing the first wave of panic that hit her nervous system, using the time to instead survey the room. It was empty, but there were visible signs of another living in the room- a cot lazily angled at the corner nearest her, the space sectioned off by a small table. Enough room to work with, but intended to give her a little bit of distance without cornering her.

Her armour rested in the opposite corner of the room, cleaned to whatever degree it was worthwhile. The set was junk- most of it bubbled and charred in whatever miracle brought her back to Earth. It was good enough to last another fight or two if it had to. Nothing remained of the color or scores from battles that had marred the pieces into something she recognized. Now, the weapon left on the table was blessedly pristine. Well, besides the old wear and tear left from months of battle. But her faithful Paladin had yet to let her down. The dog tags left at the bedside spiked shame, an emotion Mary was not ready to process.

Her head was tender, but that was the only physical complaint on her list. Outstretching her arm to inspect that area for more injuries and to test her field of vision. It seemed in order, even clearer than she was expecting. To test her theory, her hands explored the planes of her exposed scalp. Not even the most delicate fuzz had resurfaced. Mary bit back a scream willing her apathy to wash over her in a numbing blanket. It was only hair- it would grow back.

"I do apologize for shaving you," The voice interrupted her from the soliloquies that must have lasted much longer than the Commander had realized, "it was terribly singed."

"I had meant to change it for years anyway," the Commander dismissed.

The older woman ignored her remark, taking a seat near her feet, "you're THE Commander Shepard, aren't you?"

"That is a safe assumption," pulling herself to sit upright with her words.

"It's hard to tell without your red hair and that eye can-." the woman stopped, her demeanor turning from happiness to grief quickly, "honestly, it was the dog tags."

Years of well-intended crap through the military had spurred the change in hair color. Rather than being the dumb blonde, she could be the feisty redhead, which she had liked much better. People took her more seriously with red hair, and once she had reached Spectre status, the look had become her signature. None of her crew, even Kaidan, knew the original color of her hair. It was never a huge secret, just something that was now a part of her. Saving the world didn't allow all those little things to come to light. Or time to consider a change in appearance. Even Cereberus had found reason to keep up the ruse.

"I have to ask a favor," the woman's voice wavered, "I used most of my medigel. You're a hero-"

"When you put it like that, how could I say no?" Shepard gently teased.

Saddened beyond belief when the soft clearing of Kaidan's throat did not accompany her uncouth answer. But Mary had caught the slip of a tear from the woman; her eyes took in a deeper study of the room. A teddy bear lying in the middle of the room seemed less and less out of place. The woman's motivations became obvious.

"Well, let me start from the beginning." Or course she would. "After the Reapers attacked Earth, things have not been easy. I was the supply manager for a local hospital, so I knew where all of the medical equipment was. It kept me safe, but at a cost. When I found you, I was meant to deliver medigel to a gang of-" The woman searched for a suitable word.

"Raiders? Thugs? Ruffians?" It wasn't hard to guess.

"Yes, but I saw you. And, and I had to help you. Especially when I saw your tags, you," her voice stuttered into a soft coo, "saved everyone. I couldn't let you..."

"I don't see why you need my help," she stated, peppered with a cross tone the anger an unfamiliar bitter taste in her mouth; it didn't belong here.

"They took my son because I couldn't deliver, and now...now," the woman finished with a flurry of tears.

"How long ago?"

"Two days," the woman sobbed.

"Fuck," Shepard hissed, ambling from her cot, "we have to leave now."

Eyeing her armour then the woman and another pistol shoved haphazardly under the covers of the larger cot. Civilians did not belong in a firefight, but against forces she was unsure of, she had to take any help. Testing the fabric bunched around her arm with a sigh, she looked at the woman.

"Get in my armour, and grab that gun."

The woman balked, looking up to her in the empty and hopeless way. Without another word, Shepard placed the bear within the Mother's arms.

"I'll get you both out."

The march to the Raider hideout was a short one. Easy. Shepard was glad to find that her breathing and movements were unhindered without any unusual stings of pain. The woman following her had also proved adept at following instructions; luckily for them both, the months of lean allowed her to fit into her armour comfortably. A few inquiries later, she found the woman to be the same age as her, and the child was barely eight years old. She lost her husband in the chaos of the Reaper attacks, for all that mattered to the mission presented, but it stopped the woman from dramatics. Shaky emotions did not lead to straight shots.

But even talk of the lady's child soon fell to the side as the hideout loomed closer. Shepard could not shake the feeling of dread that hounded her. This was risky, and her health questions pushed at her, doubts consuming her usually clear battle state. But retreating was not an option, and it was not in her nature to abandon the person who had saved her, even if it was a suicide mission.

Four lookouts taken down silently later had not managed to ease her nerves. The options were down to one of two doors; testing either for locks was pointless; they would be caught at that point. So it would have to be hard and fast. Unfortunately, that was difficult when she was utterly blind to the layout of the room. Where was her son in the room? How many? What kind of fortifications? All crucial questions without answers. With no reliable source to watch her back.

"Look, we have to storm the door. Stay behind me at all times; I can use barriers to shield myself," but now came an essential part; Shepard made sure to look her square in the eyes, "I'm already going in blind; I cannot watch you. So stay on my six. No. Matter. What."

The woman nodded. Mary pat her shoulder, putting on the brightest smile she could manage, "you have my armour, a trusty sidearm- you can do this. Just stay calm."

She slipped the dog tags around the woman's neck.

Shepard moved toward the closest door, carefully placing each step so that a stray piece of rubble or siding would not alert the enemy to their presence. Sidestep, sidestep, sidestep, and the familiar tingling of the energy field pooling around her. The droplet of red absorbing into the fabric covering her chest went unnoticed. Three fingers in the air for five seconds, each finger went down with the space of one second between them.

Luckily, the door was unlocked.

One bullet took down the man watching the door. As that man fell, Shepard blasted into the building, taking a quick tactical appraisal of the building. It was almost pathetic; they were stationed in one large and open room. The child was in the far corner of the chamber, silent and looking glassy-eyed. The other men clustered around the table at the opposite end of the room; well were huddled, they all scattered for their weapon. Shepard's next move would make it difficult for the woman beside her to keep up, but she had no choice in the matter. She had to strike while they were still grouped.

Tendrils of energy snaked at lightning speed through her body, pulling the combined biotic energy into the mass of her chest. Their table was close enough not to merit a full charge at the men who were now her targets. Running would get her there quickly enough. Additionally, her barriers were still full. If she could manage to decimate the men all at once, this would be over without the loss of more thermal clips. She wouldn't need to worry about keeping up a barrier either. It was simple.

Release coiled from her core outwards. It was sweet as any orgasm. Tingling and electrifying in one move, though the heat was quite different. It burned through the Raiders, engulfing each before they could manage to scream. The table was gone, submerged in the same Nova of energy. Shepard slipped to the floor, sated, drained, and head pounding as blood dribbled from her nose.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~

"Who's that, mum?"

"Don't be rude," she admonished with another kiss to his forehead, "it's Commander Shepard."

"She's staring at me."

The Commander was the rude figure in the room, and her eyes stopped on the child. Her body seized in fear. The blue eyes and sandy brown hair the visage that had haunted her sleep. Mary's vision turned red, the beacon's first assaulting visions filling her mental space. Her foot retreated, backing herself into the wall, her head suddenly slurring back into a splash of colors.

The silent room then crashed into oblivion. Neither of the entrances barricaded, and the front door remained unlocked. Shepard had enough time to roll out from being on her side -had she laid down?- before the ten more men filed into the room. Each carrying an assault rifle that was primed and loaded. Groggily she moved to her feet, needing the wall as support.

"It's the bitch with the supplies!" shouted the first man to survey the room, "and some friend she dragged along."

He didn't seem to mind the smoldering piles left behind from the corpses of his men. But the next man, taller and burlier than the rest, frowned deeply. His steps were more confident, more decisive.

"'The fuck happened?" The question directed toward the woman who placed herself in front of her son. The struggling Shepard dressed in civilian clothes wasn't on his radar.

The female quaked, unable to speak.

The large man grew tired of her silence. The smoldering bullet hole through her skull glowed as her body fell limp, the body of her son fell in line behind it. Now, Shepard was on his radar.

The female scrapped at the wall, blue energy congealing beneath her fingertips as they dug into the wall. Tears forming in her sky blue eyes. No words, just horror. Mouth clamped shut to suppress any reaction, anything to give her away.

Clip, clip, clip. The man stood before her, studying the shrinking female before him with disdain.

"What do you boys think?" his hand tightened around her neck as he lifted the Commander with ease "think this bleeding freak was responsible?" The still-hot barrel seared into the side of her skull

He would never get an answer; the person he held aloft glowed the last blue he would ever behold. Carrying his folded body with her as she trucked for the gaggle of men that stood across the room. Barriers refilled, and the devastating Nova swallowed each of the bastards into the azure wave of energy. If only it could swallow her too, but it didn't...Fate left her kneeling on the floor, alone again.

But now, she could scream. Alone, she could cry without shame. Blue tendrils wavered from her body. Illuminating the darkening room around her. Each shout fanning the blue flames with renewed vigor. Scorching the remaining biological and flammable material left in the room the scent of burning flesh drowning the room.

Where was the Normandy? Why was she still here? Shepard didn't belong here; Shepard was nothing without her crew. Nothing, pointless, useless. She couldn't even protect these civilians against these simple thugs. That wasn't who Shepard was; she didn't lose. Shepard didn't feel weak or have her ears explode on even the slightest provocation of her biotic powers. She sure as hell did not shudder as the thumping of gunfire surrounded her location.

What was the point of fighting? What could she defend? She couldn't save two civilians, couldn't save an entire galaxy. Shepard had failed. Was a failure.

In yet another cloud of judgment, the door whirred open. Engulfing the entire room in bright daylight blinding Mary from counting the targets coming through the door. It was a rookie mistake, and on top of expending all her energy on a naive temper tantrum, left her with limited options to defend herself.

But why should she?

She was exhausted.

Spent.

Empty.

Alone.

With gumption foreign or encouraged by lack of coherence from bloodloss, Shepard bull-rushed headfirst at the door and the person blocking her exit. The first shot fired over the leader's shoulder, the second absorbed by shielding, and the third went wide as the weapon flew from her grip. The Paladin clattered to a location somewhere behind her. The Commander fell to her knees quickly after it.

"If you had any balls, you'd shoot me now," it was a plea, not a challenge.

The second gentlest set of brown eyes caught her before she wrenched her attention away.

"Get up, Soldier," the graveled voice ordered gently.

Shepard struggled to her feet, completing the order. But the strain of following such a command came at a price. Staggering drunkenly, she collapsed into the hard encasing of his blue and white striped armour.

[neuvillette]

Francis is perfect for England.

England is self-critical to the point of almost self-hatred in some regards, but he's also unrivaled in his pride. Much of this is a facade, of course, but some of it is actually a genuine expression of his attempts to like himself. Being constantly denigrated/neglected as he was growing up made him much more vocal about his self-praise (even if it's ingenuine praise he doesn’t think he deserves) to make up for the fact that he wasn't really getting it from elsewhere. I think most people around him just see this as arrogance (which it is sometimes, to be fair, especially during his adventuring days). His incredibly opinionated nature means that he comes of as aggressive to others, which he is when he believes he’s being more logical or correct (which is often). He loves physical labour, walks, anything to stay active, but a good mental challenge is incredibly fulfilling to him as well. He also has a strong tendency to overwork himself, he is prone to melancholy, and dwells too much on how and why he's alone, often to the point that he overlooks the smaller ways he makes others happy. He doesn’t really realise that he has much, if any, positive impact on others, which leads him to believe that he’s a worse person than he is. He is incredibly stubborn, but his sense of duty often makes him cave in to doing things he would prefer not to, which generally is work or war. He is almost defined by this strong pull of duty, of being a gentleman, of Englishness to a harsh degree. This impossible standard also makes him ashamed when he obviously can't live up to it, and this shame is something he believes others feel about him as well. To him, when he cannot fulfill an expectation, it's not only himself that feels regret, it's that everyone is looking down on him. This also makes his responses to other people less than friendly, often incredibly defensive (which for him looks like outright vitriol to others sometimes) which isn't doing him any favours when he's trying to not push people away. He's a hard nut to crack, so it's understandable why some people just choose not to even attempt to deal with it at all. He is, however, irredeemably sentimental deep down, and such a softie that he's actually quite ashamed of himself over it. He’ll buy sweeties for kids that can’t afford it, help people across the street, spend time he should be working on paperwork helping out anyone in need (which occasionally gets him scolded for being late, only leading to more self-doubt as to how good he actually is). He’s a quite masculine person, being a drinker and pub-frequenter. While he does hobbies traditionally considered “feminine”, he tries not to think about how this “brings him down” in other people’s eyes, though he does have layers of toxic masculinity to him. This often is worsened by his “stiff upper lip” mentality. No whinging about anything, from physical pain to emotional anguish, a lot of which he considers pathetic if he does it, but natural if someone else does. His double standard for behavior and tolerance of pain is something really clear in his relationship to other people, especially kids, the elderly, and strangers in general. If he caught a kid, or anyone else, spouting the mentality he enforces on himself, he’d instantly rebuke it! Sentimentality is a very, very difficult layer to find within him, though, and it usually only surfaces when he's in massive amounts of emotional anguish. That's when he gets quite retaliatory, like with Alfred when he was breaking away. A lot of this also has to deal with his absolute emotional ineptitude. If he's writing alone, or talking to someone he's not especially close to, how eloquent he is! His poetry is almost unrivaled and he's decently good at reading the room, so to speak. He also can be quite the flirt (though never in a real romantic sense)! Old women love him over that, they think he’s the sweetest young lad they know. This demeanor goes out the door the moment he feels "attacked" in any way, though, which most often is when he's feeling insecure. If that's the case, watch him try to struggle to get a compliment out, or to say anything other than a nasty insult meant to express an entirely different (often more favourable) message to the recipient. What he means to say as “you’re looking nice today” often comes out as “you don’t look as crap as usual”. The reverse is true too, when he means to say “I’m glad you’re spending time with me”, what comes out is “Wow, you’re wasting your time talking to me?” What a mess...

That's just why Francis is perfect, though. His stubbornness is most certainly a match for England's in most regards, and in some cases even trumps it, generally with things like his determination to weasel England's genuine emotions out of him. Francis is self-confident, too, and why wouldn't he be? Harsh comments can effect him, of course, and he is also sentimental, but the fact that he's much more open and honest about his emotions makes him generally easy to talk to and communicate with, as well as more impervious to critique. Unlike England, he's not ashamed of who he is or how he feels in practically every regard. He's unabashedly himself. He takes no shit because he knows what he wants and deserves, so if his bosses or anyone else tries to overwork him? Nope. He wants a coffee break because that's what's good for him, so he's going to do it. This makes him distressed when people he cares about aren't as rigorous with their own self-care, appreciation, and praise. This doesn't come up too often with Gilbert or Antonio, though Gilbert is quite similar to England in many regards, but boy does he have a field day with England. Often times he gets frustrated with him, though, since he just doesn't understand why he let's himself get pushed around, ignored, etc, and this only gets worse when England responds with "well maybe you should work harder?" Francis usually throws back a "You wouldn't expect others to do this, why do you do it to yourself?" The answer is obvious and Francis knows it. Many people can't see past the rough exterior, and Francis has had his fair share of "fuck it, I'm done with you" moments too, which are entirely understandable. But then he remembers the little kid crying over being abandoned again, and he understands how that's led to how England reacts to things now, and he wants to show him that the world isn’t out to get him and that the viewpoint on life of his that has been reinforced is a lie. Francis is just emotionally fluent, and that means for basically everyone. A lot of it is just intuition, or just some weird ability of his, but since he holds real love for everything in his heart, he also has an odd and immediate understanding of things on a level England can't feel immediately. This means basically every tactic England generally uses to evade other people, their judgement, or even his own feelings, is completely transparent to France. Other people think England is honestly boasting and degrading others after someone else does a good job? Francis finds it kind of sad how hard England is trying to hide his own embarrassment or feelings of ineptitude. England is leaving meetings early and says he has better company to look forward to, and everyone thinks he's haughty? Francis is surprised England feels so left out and alone that he has to pretend to have better friends. This goes the other way as well! When England feels snubbed by someone, Francis is there to reassure him that it’s a misunderstanding. Alfred’s being himself again? It’s alright, that’s just his way of expressing himself, he’s not trying to be hurtful. Francis is good with interpreting between England’s emotions and other people’s, which is something England REALLY needs. Is this intuition of his always functioning, however? Nope! Francis can be quite the drama queen, and that primarily shows up when England genuinely rebukes his earnest attempts to make him feel better, or when other people are really caught up in whatever (admittedly) idiotic thing England's done most recently. This has gotten the pair into a history of misunderstandings that even a language barrier can't hope to achieve! Still, once he's able to have a one-on-one again when their both in a better frame of mind, it's not difficult for him to sort things out again. England hasn't felt heard most of his life, and Francis is a great listener and a master at emotional intelligence. Francis doesn't really hold much shame about himself or shame others (unless their clothing is just TOO atrocious), so he's a natural at working through those problems with England. From England's perspective, though, he's just... fascinating. He finds Francis arrogant, not because he thinks Francis doesn't live up to the standards Francis espouses, but because he DOES find Francis that great for the most part and thinks it rude to show off so much! He thinks Francis is too blunt about things to the point of rudeness (in a VERY distinct way from America since Alfred typically does this without the tact Francis has), but that bluntness makes Francis open and accessible to him in ways that others aren't. He can be far too silly and frivolous, but England needs that so he’s not such a hardass, which Francis often reminds him of. Francis is also impeccably charming and is one of the only people who give England the precise praise that makes him feel so unequivocally good and appreciated...But he sees France be just as kind to everyone else and he feels like he's been used. The thing is, though, that they both get under each other's skin. That makes them so quick to bicker, of course, but England needs someone he can be quick and witty and his own Austen-like figure with that can stand up to the challenge. He goes easy (or what he thinks of as easy) with people he cares about, but that's often still too much for most people, but not for Francis. Francis is as quick as a whip, too, and he's not one to shy away from many challenges, even if he is still a bit of a scardey-cat with some things.

Not to mention that England finds Francis so dumbfoundingly attractive and is his best partner in bed as well... England's feelings of inferiority means he needs reinforcement, but not so much that he feels he's being pitied or looked down upon, and Francis does this naturally. England often feels he no longer has control of the direction of his life, that he's not as strong, as dutiful, as capable as he once was. I feel like that's why he'd not really ever bottom in bed, he already feels that he doesn't have that power in his day to day life and he wants a place to find it during sex, and that fits perfectly into what Francis needs as well. It's also a trust thing, I think, where when England is able to take charge, he's given real trust from Francis that he can't really find anywhere else. When England needs to feel like a powerful king, Francis gets gratification from helping him fulfill it. On the rare occasion that England just wants something caring, a place to feel that he's in control and can express love and tenderness for someone, Francis makes sure he's in charge and comfortable with how he does it it, which is key to him not being ashamed. They both also have equally ravenous libidos so that's a plus, too. Also Francis has a phat ass and his moans are really hot in bed.

Check out this link for a look at Francis, and why England is Francis's perfect match as well!