#and people think they’re easy dogs so they don’t do the heavy training needed for them

[teabookgremlin]

my friends and i have spent so much time ranting about doodles recently bc god they are difficult dogs and a horrible creation

[bangtanloverboys]

life support // knj

summary - namjoon likes to think he’s the embodiment of the perfect example of a theurgists: positive and enthusiastic. however when his professor asks him to help tutor one of her secondary students, only then is that pushed to the limit

pairing - tutor!namjoon x neurodivergent!reader

genre - fluff; wizard 101 au

word count - 4.0k

warnings - dip’s made up lore, namjoon says one mean thing, thoughts of fraternization 

guide - theurgy = life magic, divination = storm magic; marlybonian = british dog people; pigswick = another wizarding academy; 

author’s note - last names for reasons. and this was a bit personal for me as i do have adhd and i struggled a lot with theoretical teachings. this is based off my own personal experience with school and having adhd, not everyone’s is the same

the seven schools of ravenwood

Best in class. That is how Namjoon has always been described ever since he was a novice theurgist. It came easy to him, with a glance at a textbook he could perform the spell in an instant. Life magic was simply in his blood. So when Professor Wu asked him to tutor some of her less than stellar students, he wasn’t surprised. It took a while for each of the other students to catch on, but one by one, he helped them understand the material and soon enough, they raised their grades. Namjoon’s track record was stunning, there wasn’t any student he couldn’t help.

That was until he met you.

Normally Professor Wu only offered tutoring for her novice primary school students; young theurgists that either did not grow up where magic was practiced or simply fell behind a few lessons and needed a bit of help to get back on their feet. Never before had he had to tutor a secondary school theurgist. But he was willing to step up to the challenge. 

Pushing open the heavy oak doors of the Life School, he was greeted with the familiar sight of Professor Wu standing at the top of the platform. Standing right at the bottom of the stairs before her, was you, dressed in purple and gold. A diviner, Namjoon thought to himself. Life magic sat in between Storm and Fire, so one normally would expect a student of those primary schools would easily understand and excel at theurgy. He wondered what could be the problem. 

“Ah, Namjoon!” She smiled as he approached you both. “Y/N, this will be your tutor; Namjoon Jadeshield. Namjoon, this is Y/N Raindreamer,” she introduced.

“Pleasure,” he greeted, holding out his hand for you to shake. You don’t shake his hand, only giving him a tight lipped smile. “Okay. . .” he dropped his hand. “What exactly are you struggling with so that I can help?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Professor Wu cut you off. “Everything, really. They’re supposed to start their initiate program, but unfortunately they must repeat their apprenticeship.”

Namjoon tried to hold back his shock. Failing the apprenticeship class?  You’d have to repeat the whole two year process, probably never catch back up to your primary school level. “Okay. So how often shall we hold tutoring sessions?” He glanced between you and Professor Wu.

“Ideally every day after class,” the professor answered.

Your head snapped in the direction of her. “No!” Turning to Namjoon, you began to plead with him. “Monday, Tuesday, Thursday. I need Wednesday and Friday free. I have-“

“You know very well that any or all after school activities are suspended until your grades rise, Raindreamer,” Professor Wu tisked.

But you didn’t acknowledge her, only keeping your eyes trained on Namjoon. “I’m sorry, but Professor Wu is right. Until you have sufficient grades to prove it, no after school activities.”

As the words left his mouth, Namjoon watched in slow motion as your face fell. Like the world had crashed around you. Quickly, your face steeled and a frown was etched onto your features. “Fine.”

“Alright,” Namjoon nodded, wanting this meeting to be over and done with. “We’ll start tomorrow. Meet me outside the Commons Library? Sound good with you?”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” you huffed as you shouldered your book bag and left the school building, leaving Namjoon and Professor Wu alone. 

“I swear, with a name like Raindreamer, it’s no wonder they have grades like this,” she sighed. “But thank you again, Namjoon. I know you’ll be a great help.”

“I’ll do my best.” 

The following day, Namjoon waited for you just outside the Commons Library. He was there a full 10 minutes before you finally arrived. He opened his mouth to berate you for being late but words failed to come out at the sight of you; fresh scrapes and bandages covering any exposed skin. 

“What?” You raised a brow at him.

“Are you- what happened?”

You looked down at the bandages before shrugging. “Fell.”

Whilst that didn’t feel like the full reason, Namjoon didn’t push any further, simply wanting to get the tutoring session along. You trailed behind him as he climbed up the final steps to the library, pushing open the doors. Namjoon waved hello to Harold, the old Marleybonian that served as the librarian, as he scribbled away in his ledger. 

“This way,” Namjoon said to you as he walked down the theurgy wing. Other life students, dressed in robes of greens and browns, were seated at the tables that were strategically placed alongside the tall bookshelves. He made his way over to his usual table, it sat right between the initiate and journeyman textbooks. Granted those might be a bit out of your range, but perhaps it could serve as a bit of motivation to help you move forward. 

Placing his book bag down, he looked at you, straggling along still. A bit further than he would’ve liked, but you were soon catching up. Your eyes were trained on the books as they flew across the shelves, rearranging and reorganizing themselves. There was a small smile etched into your face as you watched the books and scrolls float about, reminding Namjoon of a child on Christmas. Clearing his throat to gain your attention, he watched as that smile faded away, back into a look of displeasure. You picked up the pace, taking the seat beside him.

“Professor Wu didn’t give me any specifics as to what you need help with. So are there any particular parts that you need help with?” Namjoon asked as you pulled out your scrolls and text books. 

“Everything, I guess. It just. . . doesn’t make sense. I can’t figure out how to get from Point A to Point B,” you explained. 

“So conceptualizing it?”

You blinked at him. “I- uh, I guess that is one way to put it.”

“Okay, that gives us a starting point then.” He smiled at you. “So let’s go to basics. See if that can help.” 

“Alright,” you muttered, learning forward as he began writing.

“So theurgy is a bit different than the other schools, when using magic we don’t summon or coerce the creatures into appearing. We breathe life into them through the Song of Creation. Are you familiar with that?” When he turned to look at you, you were staring blankly at the paper. He waited a few moments for you to respond, but you didn’t. Namjoon snapped his fingers twice, you jerked back to attention.

“Sorry, I- uh. . . what did you say?”

It was then when Namjoon realized how you were able to fail your apprenticeship so miserably and how you earned your last name. 

You could not focus at all.

Every time Namjoon was going over spell casting and or creation, he would turn to you to check to see if you were following, only for you to have a blank look on your face or your eyes to be trained on the floating books again. Every time he would have to snap his fingers to regain your attention. On some occasions, he saw you scribbling away into a notebook. At first he thought you were actually taking notes, but anytime he tried to take a look at it, you shut the book in his face.

By the end of the second hour, when your session was coming to a close, you had finally managed to understand one spell. It was just a shield spell, so it wasn’t too complicated, but not enough for Namjoon to be satisfied with your progress. 

As the two of you left the library, you were about to make a break for the right, no doubt returning to your dorm room in Ravenwood, but he quickly grabbed onto your wrist. 

“What?”

“I want you to read over the History of Life Magic, chapters one through four. Just the basics, that should help at least a tiny bit.”

“You’re giving me homework?” 

He blinked at you, caught off guard by the question. He’s always asked the students he tutored to reread certain materials, and they did so without question. “It’s not really homework, just helps to go over the material again,” he sputtered out in response. “I want to see you succeed and catch up in your secondary school. And reading helps.”

“Yeah, sure,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes, then walked down the pathway through the Commons.

Over the next two weeks, the two of you had fallen into a routine; every few days you’d be late by no more than 10 minutes to each session (how he had no idea, considering the initiate divination class would get out around your scheduled time) with fresh bandages, he’d try his damndest to help you understand the material, and then you’d part ways, heading off towards the right. And it was agonizing for Namjoon. You read at a snail's pace, mixing up the pixie and fairy spells, scrambling words and wand motions together. It wasn’t by lack of effort either, Namjoon could see you were trying, genuinely, but no matter how much reading he assigned you, nothing seemed to stick. You got one spell for every ten he went over with you. He simply could not believe how you managed to even get enrolled into Ravenwood in the first place.

When he expressed his frustrations towards Professor Wu when it was time for a follow up, she finally told him that you were a new student, only coming in within the past 6 months, after being kicked out of Pigswick for poor performance. He was shocked at the information, but it made sense. You were a troubled student and needed a firm hand. So he went to work, putting together another lesson plan that was more strict to try and see if that would help you at all.

It didn’t.

Barely a full session in, he watched as you failed to recite the proper incantations to summon a leprechaun, something you nearly had the day previous. 

“What isn’t clicking for you?” He found himself asking you at the end of the session.

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean, why can’t you do this? This is basic theurgy, and you’re a storm student! This should come easy to you, right? So why are you struggling so much?” He felt like he was at the end of his rope. If he couldn’t teach you, then what hopes could he ever have about being a professor?

“I mean, it just. . . doesn’t. It’s hard to explain. . .”

“Well if you don’t figure it out, you’re gonna get kicked out from another school,” Namjoon muttered under his breath.

“What?”

He froze. He cringed to himself as he turned around to look at you, regretting even thinking the words. Once he laid eyes on you, he saw that same broken look he saw when Professor Wu said you couldn’t continue with your afterschool activities, only worse. Your shoulders sagged, and Namjoon swore he could’ve heard your heart break, shattered by him. Then your face hardened as you tightened your grip on your bookbag.

“Then I guess there’s no reason for us to really continue these sessions, considering I’m just gonna get kicked out anyways.” Then you turned on your heel and stormed off.

“Y/N, wait- I’m sorry!”

He wanted to follow after you, but he couldn’t find it in him to. He watched as you disappeared into the crowded Commons area, wishing he never even opened his mouth. 

The following day after class, Namjoon made his way over towards the Storm School. You deserved an apology, Namjoon knew that. What he said was mean, and something he never should’ve said as your tutor. It was just his luck that his mastery class ended at the same time the Storm initiate class ended, giving him the perfect opportunity to find you and apologize. He eyed through the students as they made their way past him, on their own way towards their next class or any after school club. But he could not find out. He knew he had the right year, you were supposed to go into the initiate class this year, you were the proper age for it. Where were you?

Perhaps you stayed inside to talk to the professor, he thought to himself as he approached the heavy oak doors. Thunder boomed overhead from the gathering storm cloud that resided inside the classroom. It had been years since he’d ever stepped foot in the school of storm, the first and only time being from when he was trying to find a secondary school, all those years before he finally landed on balance. 

Namjoon glanced around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of you but you weren’t in the room. Only Professor Balestrom resided in the classroom, standing on top of his desk as he gathered papers.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the school, clearing his throat to gain the frog professor’s attention. He turned on his flipper as the sound of Namjoon and bounced up to his full height of three feet. 

“Ah! How can I be of service to you?”

“Hi, I’m tutoring one of your students. Y/N Raindreamer? They would be in your initiate class.”

A frown etched itself onto Professor Balestrom’s face. “Raindreamer is my student yes, but they’re not in my initiate class.”

“What?” 

“Raindreamer advanced into the adept class about 3 months ago! They’re a brilliant student, one of the best diviners I’ve seen in a while,” he explained.

The information shook Namjoon to his core. You were an advanced student? But how could that be, considering your grades in theurgy? It didn’t make any sense. “I-I didn’t know that.”

“First time in my class, they struggled though. Came in on a reading day, which is everyone’s least favorite part of the curriculum. But as soon as we got to spell casting, they nearly blew the roof off this place!” The professor continued, leaping up in the air for dramatic effect. “They weren’t even here a week before I took them to the headmaster and demanded they advance to the journeyman course, only that was also too easy! They’re getting a real challenge in adept, I’ll tell you that.”

Namjoon couldn’t believe his ears. Here he was, thinking you were a walking failure, doomed to be kicked out of a second school. Only to learn that you were nearly two years advanced in your studies! “Oh. . . well, do you know where they might be? I do need to talk to them.”

Professor Balestrom looked at the clock on the wall. “Should be in the arena by now.”

“The arena?”

“Yes. The arena! They’re a duelist, did you not know that?”

Only then did it dawn on him that he never did ask what you wanted to do so badly that you wanted to schedule your tutoring sessions around it. Then he remembered what days you were late on, the fresh bandages you always had on. . . You were still dueling. Under the school’s nose too.

“Thank you, Professor Balestrom. I appreciate it.”

“Of course, of course!” The frog man called out to Namjoon as he all but ran out the door. As fast as he could, he made his way through the tunnels to the Commons and then to Unicorn Way. He pushed open the doors of the arena, the snapping of puppets and growls of different summoned monsters filled his ears as he approached Diego, the dueling master.

“A newcomer? Are you interested in learning the art of the duel?” The unicorn asked, raising a brow at him.

Namjoon shook his head no. “Sorry, I’m actually looking for someone. Y/N Raindreamer?”

“Ah, yes! They’ve been short on their dueling practice lately, but they’re in the next dueling chamber over. Come, I shall show you.” Diego led Namjoon down a hall towards an empty arena, where sure enough you were, dueling against a puppet. 

He was blown away with the sight before him. You waved your wand with practiced ease and the creatures you summoned did your bidding with little to no struggle at all. It wasn’t at all how you were when he was tutoring you. How could you manage to do so good in one class that you advance two classes, but struggle to advance in your secondary?

“Pretty good, eh? Came in from Pigswick, good school and all but they don’t actually teach magic there. It’s all theoretical. But as soon as Raindreamer was enrolled here, and with a little help from your’s truly, they advanced in no time!” Diego explained as he and Namjoon watched you battle the puppet. “They come in here as often as they can, practicing all the spells they learn in class. See the scrolls?” He pointed off to the side of the dueling sigil where sure enough, were piles of spell books and scrolls, mainly of storm magic, judging from the purple lining. But Namjoon could see some greens in there. 

You weren’t just practicing.

You were studying.

Raising your wand again, this time the life symbol appeared. Up until the last wave of your wand, it was perfect. You had twisted your wrist in the wrong direction, causing the spell to fizzle completely. You let out a curse as you stepped away from the sigil, the puppet standing still. You pulled open the life scroll, reading over it again, no doubt trying to find your mistake.

“You’re supposed to twist your wrist towards the right, not the left!” Namjoon called out to you. Your head snapped up in his direction, mouth open to probably yell at him. But you didn’t say anything, your eyes focusing on Diego behind him. 

“He’s right, you were perfect up until that last move,” Diego confirmed as he trotted down the stairs towards you, Namjoon following after. “He was looking for you, I hope you do not mind I brought him here.”

“It’s alright, thank you, Diego.” You gave the unicorn a slight smile, who nodded before stepping away, giving the two of you some privacy. Once your attention was fully towards Namjoon, your lips pressed into a thin line. “What is it, Namjoon?”

“I wanted to apologize, what I said was out of line. As your tutor, it should’ve been my priority to build you up, not to tear you down.”

You regarded him cautiously. “Doesn’t change the fact that what you said really hurt. I did try, but studying like that just. . . it doesn’t work for me. Sitting there and telling me how to cast spells, I have to see and do it to fully understand. Do you get that?”

“Yes, I can see that now.” Namjoon stepped toward the pile of scrolls and books that you had at the side of the arena. Picking up the one that was open, he flipped through it. There were a bunch of notes and scribbles in the margins, he recognized the chicken scratch as yours but what you wrote were what he would go over and teach you in your tutoring sessions. “This is why you wanted those days off, so you could practice your spellwork and could try to actually grasp what you were learning?”

Slowly, you nodded. “I will admit, I did continue dueling, but without the proper amount of dedication to practice and study, it just. . . I couldn’t do it.”

“Then we’ll hold our tutoring sessions here.”

You looked at him in shock. “What?”

“If this is what helps you learn, then this is what we’ll do to help you,” Namjoon started, “I’ll tell Professor Wu about the change and reserve an arena with Diego. We can meet here instead of the library, does that sound good to you?”

“I- yeah! That’s- that’s perfect, thank you!” You said, beaming widely at him. It was the first time you actually smiled at him, and he was going to deny the little flutter he felt in his chest. 

“Okay, so I’ll see you here tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow!”

Just as he said, Namjoon talked with Moolinda about having you study via dueling.

“I don’t know, Jadeshield. . . they’re failing, and the rules are no extracurriculars unless a student is of a passing grade.”

“I know, but this is how they learn! I didn’t understand it at first, and that’s my fault. But they’re actually really smart! Did you know they’re two classes advanced in divination?” Namjoon countered. 

Professor Wu was taken back by that knowledge, judging by the way her eyes narrowed down and focused on him. 

“Please, just give them a chance.”

She was quiet, before placing her hooves together and nodding. “Very well. You may hold your tutoring lessons in the arena.”

Namjoon was so ecstatic, he would have jumped for joy. But there was one more thing that he had to ask. . .

 Due to his meeting with the professor, Namjoon was running late to meet you at the Arena. He saw you were sitting on the grass outside the building, looking down at that book you would scribble in during your tutoring sessions, flipping through the pages. 

“Hey!” He caught your attention as he approached you. “I have great news!”

Looking up from your book, you furrowed your brows together. “What?”

“I talked to Professor Wu and she gave the green light for us to do dueling tutoring sessions and she agreed!”

You jumped to your feet. “Really?!”

“Yes, and she agreed to something even better.” 

“Spit it out then! Don’t leave me here in all this suspense!”

“If you test well enough on the next exam that’s in a few weeks, you can join the initiate program!” It took a lot of convincing on his part, and staking his whole career as a tutor on the line, but he was wrong to ever doubt you in the first place. He knew you could do it.

“You-oh my stars! Thank you!” Dropping your book, you threw yourself onto Namjoon, wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly.

He stilled at the sudden contact, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “You’re- you’re welcome,” he said, patting your back gently. He’d never been thanked in such a way before, usually a quick handshake or a smile. Never a hug. 

As quick as you hugged him, you released your hold on him, smiling brightly at him. “Come on! Exam may be a few weeks away, but I wanna be sure I have everything right so I can ace this test!” You said, before racing inside the arena. 

Namjoon stood back for a second, still feeling the heat on his cheeks. He took a step forward to join you, only to accidentally step on your book that you’d dropped. Kneeling down, he picked it up. Curiosity gaining the best of him, he took a peek inside. It was doodles and drawings of different creatures and spells, with little notes dotted along the sides. Still flipping through the book, he began walking towards the arena, but he stopped as he turned to a page that took him by surprise. It was a drawing of him, incompleted, but was very obviously Namjoon. He felt the heat on his face return, crawling up his ears too. Reading along the sides of the page, were your own personal anecdotes about him. Calling him all sorts of names, but also things he had said; Stuff from his lessons. You had remembered, you were trying. He just couldn’t see it.

“Ahem.” 

Namjoon’s eyes broke away from the sketchbook, meeting Diego’s gaze. The unicorn said nothing, only winking at him as he tossed his head in the direction of the arena doors. 

Breaking eye contact, Namjoon pushed open the doors, hoping you wouldn’t see the embarrassment on his cheeks. He spotted you almost immediately, talking with some other students he could only presume were your friends. Taking notice of him, you smiled at him again, and he swore he could see a twinkle in your eye-

No. No. No.

You had an exam to study for and he was your tutor. He couldn’t fraternize with you like that. However, he wouldn’t be for long if you ace that exam. . . 

“Raindreamer, let’s go!” 

[sid3buns]

Cool little writing game I've been taggued in by @joeys-piano (thank you so much ! ) I've been writing SO MUCH lately to cope with the stress of several life events all happening at once and because I can't afford therapy, so this is the next best thing. I will post 3 snippets from published fics and 2 from current WIPs :3 I'm only tagging @fukurodani bc i think everyone else from my minuscule pool of moots who write have already been taggued, afaik ; but if not pls feel free to do it! Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too. Anchors | Windbreaker

All it takes to fall a man is to figure out where the hits are the most likely to land. This one was full of holes ; it’s a punch to the kidney, a swift hook under his weaker knee (the right one), and he’s on the ground, head bashing against concrete in a crack that might as well be the wind rattling a tree. Suo craves for more ; the song is not finished. If there’s to be an intro, a bridge, and a chorus, it needs a worthy finale. How easy it would be to smash your skull open, right now. He wonders if one hit is enough to see brain matter stain his kung fu shoes. He almost finds out ; his leg lifts on its own, it’s a hammer on a nail. One step away from being a coffin.

Bouquet | Blue Lock

” And what do you expect me to do about it, “ Barou hisses, busying himself with leaving wet circles of condensed water all over the table with his glass of beer. “ I don’t know him, I just prepare flowers for his wicked needs. “ That’s a half-truth ; Barou is starting to know Isagi. They chat for a bit whenever the man drops in, and it’s almost daily. He works nearby the flower shop, and it looks like it’s very demanding work. He has a dog named Müller, and he likes to watch soccer matches to unwind. They support opposite teams ; Barou gets to nag him about goals a couple times. “ Maybe just slip him a pamphlet, or something, “ Niko says wisely, staring at Barou from under his bangs. “ Or drag him to the back store of your shop and fuck his brains ou- “ The waitress has to intervene when Barou almost chokes Aiku to death at their table, and Barou gives her a nice tip.

Barou Shouei's Seemless Guide To Successful Dating | Blue Lock

“ What are you afraid of, Shouei ? “ Trust. His mom reads between his silences ; mothers are made of magic and stardust. “ Have you tried trusting this person ? “ and she knows the answer, because how could Barou even begin to understand how trust worked - he’s always been a lonely child, on top of his lonely mountain. “ Can you trust that they know you enough to understand all of the wonderful things you offer to this world ? “

Trying To Feel Alive (WIP) | Blue Lock

He’s surprised to see a flash of long, red hair, and he smiles softly as Chigiri continues to hit the dummy in diligence. Sweat falls in heavy drops from his drenched, beautiful skin, hair carefully braided to the side as always ; some strands have fallen in front of his eyes, sticking to his skin, but Chigiri is elsewhere - there is anger in his eyes, and sadness, and rage. It permeates his kicks with something foul. Chigiri is not training - he’s fighting for his life, right now, and it makes Kunigami so, so sad. (It reminds him of himself.)

Déjà Vu (WIP) | Blue Lock

” Because sometimes, Rin drives how he ought to really drive. “ They reach the very end of the cliff, and car lights illuminate the night in the faraway distance. “ Like he’s the freest man on this goddamn earth. “ They’re finally in front of them ; it lasts for a split second, and yet it feels like eternity in Isagi’s eyes. It’s here in slow motion, time standing still, he sees it all on Rin’s face - this punch drunk madness called freedom, seeping through each and every one of his pores, reverberated in the halo of his smile. In that moment, watching Rin feels like staring into the sun - blinding and warm, all engulfing. Isagi’s heart shatters into a million pieces, because he wants to chase after the light.

[batmanschmatman]

Dick Winters - Australian Shepherd

Dick is such a textbook example of a herding dog soul, you don’t even know. People with herding dogs as their daemons are extremely hard working and dedicated. When given a job, they follow it through to the end and give it 100% of their focus, energy, and skills. They have a lot of drive and pride themselves on a job well done. While they’re very capable of following orders - especially if it’s coming from someone they respect and trust - they’re also very self confident leaders who will happily step up to get a job done or command others.

Like most dog souls, Aussies are extremely loyal and close bonding. They’ll do anything for people who they truly love and trust. That said, they’re not total pushovers who love every person they meet - you have to work to earn a spot in their “pack”. More reserved and quiet than other dog souls, there’s a playful side to Aussies that only comes out with their chosen few people, or when they’re not on the job. We can see this with Dick when he’s joking around with Nix and Harry (one of those arrogant rich jerks from Yale, etc.), or even when he tells Bill he’s not a Quaker. He’s usually “on the job” in the show, so we mostly get the working dog side of him, but there’s clearly a playful part of him that you only get access to once you’ve proved you’re worthy of seeing it.

Aussie souls get bored and frustrated without work to do, or if they don’t find good meaning in the work they’ve been assigned. They also aren’t keen on taking orders from people they don’t respect, or who haven’t put in the work to work with them, see: Dick’s extreme disdain for Dike and mounting hatred of working under Sobel, vs. how he genuinely seems to like Meehan and Moose. Dogs are not all blindly loving, friendly pushovers, and can be petty or disobedient when working with people they don’t like, just like Dick. Because Aussies are particularly smart, they’ve got pretty high standards in this and a low tolerance for other people’s bullshit.

Even though Aussies are pretty aloof as far as domestic dogs go, they still very much have that “pack” drive, or “responsibility” drive, and get stressed and frustrated when the people or things they care for are in disarray or in danger. Dick isn’t incredibly touchy feely friendly with anyone other than Nix or Harry, but he very much feels that sense of “pack” with Easy. He has a hard time being taken from them despite being pleased with his promotion, still favors them for good assignments, and clearly still thinks of them as his people, seen most obviously at Foy. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have been angry to see Dog or Fox being incompetently led while taking heavy fire, but Dike’s incompetence risking the lives of Toccoa men he trained with is so much more personal in that moment. When the war ends and he’s considering a transfer, he feels a little displaced because he thinks the “pack” has outgrown him a little, and he needs something new to occupy that intense drive to work and work hard at something rewarding.

One reason I’ve always liked an Aussie for Dick vs. a bigger working dog (German Shepherd, etc.) or a wolf is people tend to underestimate him. He gives off the impression of being a boring stick in the mud, goody two shoes, no flaws, no vices, no sense of humor, etc. Aussies aren’t BIG dogs, but they’re extremely intelligent hard workers who have been bred to outsmart livestock. This means they’re very adaptable and good at problem solving and puzzles. An untrained eye might dismiss Dick and his medium sized daemon in a way they wouldn’t if she was a wolf, but those in the know would recognize them as the extremely capable leader they are.

In a couple unpublished fics my wife and I have written, we’ve named Dick’s daemon Winifred, although she goes by Winnie.

( HBO War Daemon AU Masterlist )

[sukirichi]

— there’s always a price to pay when you get your hands on a work of art.

PAIRING: tattoo! artist megumi x reader

REQUEST. tattoo artist au + mutual pining + size kink, praise kink, thigh riding + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy 

WARNINGS: feral megumi, scratching, vaginal sex, size kink, praise kink, mature content, slight overstimulation, sexual tension lol, unedited story

NOTES: ah thank you so much for this request, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Here is my third contribution for FERAL MEGUMI FRIDAYS! and oh wow tattoo artist megumi uh no thoughts head empty

WC: 5.4k+

The tattoo saloon loomed over you, the neon signs almost blinding in the darkness. You could feel your heart pick up its pace in your chest as you hitched your bag up higher, the excitement settling in your toes. Mustering up the brightest smile you could have, you cleared your throat and pushed the door open, the tiny bell on top jingling to signal your arrival.

Your eyes roamed around the walls covered with intricate drawings, the leather seats dark and kept in pristine. Now that was rare – your leather couches always wore out in just a few weeks.

Making your way inside, grip on your sling bag still tight, you bit your lip as you peaked behind the counter. Empty. No one was there, and the nearby opened rooms were empty as well. Scratching your head, you scrunched your nose in confusion. You were sure you got the right place.

With a heavy sigh, you turned to leave, then stopped in your tracks when a dark-haired man exited a door you hadn’t even noticed at first.

He was tall – taller than you; his arms stretched until the sleeves of his black hoodie were pulled down, revealing a sliver of black tattoos that marked his skin. Upon hearing your awed gasp, his cold blue eyes fluttered to yours, the man – who was absolutely handsome despite his frown – froze in his spot.

You waved a hand to him, your smile bigger than ever. “Hi!” So you would be working with this cute guy? Maybe job-hunting wasn’t such a bad experience, after all.

“Hey,” he drawled out hesitantly, approaching you with his ink stained fingers pointed at you. He was still frowning, which was a damn shame, since you were sure he’d look even hotter if he smiled. “So...you’re Y/N.”

“Yeah!”

“And you...” he tilted his head to the side, inquisitive eyes studying your form. You would’ve felt conscious with the way his brows furrowed, eyes unreadable and lips pressed into a thin line, but you were sure you dressed to impress on your first interview. You admitted, however, that maybe wearing a white collared shirt with a pink tennis skirt made you stand out like a sore thumb in the heaviness of the studio. “...want to be a front desk man here?”

“Yeah!”

“What makes you think you’re qualified for this?” he crossed his arms on his chest, and you didn’t miss the slight bite of his voice. So he was handsome – but cranky. Great. “You don’t look like you fit in here.”

“Judging someone’s appearance and inferring that it has any relation to their credentials isn’t such a professional thing to do, you know,” you raised your chin proudly, jutting a pointer finger to his chest. He clearly didn’t expect this because he scowled and took a step back, while you fought the grin that threatened to paint your face. “Would you like it if people told you that you’re not qualified to be a lawyer because of your tattoos and piercings?”

He scoffed, “I don’t want to be a lawyer. As you can see, I’m a tattoo artist. And to answer your question, no, I don’t give a fuck what people think about me.”

“I can tell,” you muttered to yourself before smiling back up at him. He was too easy to read; his brow quivering and lips firm at your faux enthusiasm. “But yes, I do believe I’m qualified! I’m a fast learner and I’m even quick on my feet! I’m really good at talking to people too so I believe I can help schedule client appointments really well and guide them with this whole process.”

“Being front desk man doesn’t mean serving the clients tea and biscuits.”

“I know.”

“You know?” he snorted with a roll of his eyes. He then gestured you to follow him all the way back to the front desk. You expected he’d teach you about how to handle the appointment books or pick up phone calls, but instead he plopped down on the leather couch of the waiting area, his legs crossed on top of the other.

Your eyes followed the patch of pale skin exposed from his ripped jeans before you looked away, not wanting him to see that you found him attractive despite his less than welcoming personality.

“What exactly do you know about this industry?”

“Nothing, to be honest, but I’m not here to be a tattoo artist or anything. I just really need a job and I assure you I’ve got plenty of experience and knowledge when it comes to manning front desks or counters,” you stated confidently, “I know I look out of place, but I really need this job.”

The man only narrowed his eyes at you. Contemplation was written all over his face, probably wondering why you couldn’t just work somewhere else. “Why come here, of all places?”

“Because it’s the only one that has a flexible schedule,” you sighed, “I can’t work shifts anymore because I’m too busy at university. From when I talked to your boss – Geto, was it? – he said that the salon was open 24/7 and I could work until before my classes start. He’s not really strict about that kind of thing.”

“So you mean to tell me,” he leaned forwards, looping his fingers with one another while his ice cold gaze slithered over your desperate ones. “You’ll be at university for half the day, sleep until midnight, and then come here to work and attend class a few hours later? Isn’t your schedule a little irregular?”

“Oh no, it’s not like that! I also have mock classes after uni and it lasts until late at night, then I help clean at the local shelter. They’re running out of volunteers and the dogs are really adorable and take my stress away so...I make sure to come by when I have time.”

“You are one odd creature,” he noted loudly, almost as if he wasn’t completely aware he vocalized his thoughts. Well, at least now you knew he wasn’t the type to think his words over, which either made him more entertaining – or insufferable the longer you worked with him – if you began working anyway. “You could’ve used your spare time to rest. Do you even eat?”

“Yeah, I have a granola bar right now with me! I actually brought two,” you pulled out the snack from your bag, “You want some? I only got the oats, though.”

“Keep it to yourself,” he rolled his eyes, slapping his hands over his knees before rummaging over something behind the counter. “Fine. If Geto said he’s okay with you, then you’re hired.”

“Really, that easy?” your eyes widened, but then you chuckled when this strange man glared at you in response. He sighed as he pulled out a piece of paper, a pen on top of it. The papers read something about application forms and credentials, and you beamed, happily writing your information away with a slight bounce in your toes.

Unable to keep your happiness to yourself, you looked back at the bored man, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “Huh. I was kind of expecting you would grill me – you’ve got that scary look in your eye. Let me guess, you often scare clients off?”

It seemed he could never get tired of glaring at you, because his eyes fuelled with heat as he leaned against the wall.

You hated to admit that he looked ridiculously handsome like that – the guy wasn’t even doing anything remotely attractive in the first place!

“I’m the most booked artist here, and I ask that you don’t get too comfortable with me. You haven’t even started working here and you’re already riling up on my train,” he groaned when you merely laughed in response. He made quick work of signing something in your form before handing you a key. “Here’s for your locker. Come to work tomorrow. Geto won’t be around for a week so I’ll be the one judging your performance. If you fuck up in the slightest – I won’t hesitate to fire you, you understand? We always have Yuuji coming around anyway, you’re really not that needed for the front desk.”

“Oh,” you nodded at his harshness, unsure whether to feel threatened or amused. “O-okay. I’ll do my best then. I look forward to you – ah, wait, what’s your name?”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Oh, that’s a pretty name,” you muttered to yourself, uttering his name over and over again until it rolled smoothly on your tongue. “Shame you have a shitty attitude along with that handsome face, though.”

“You trying to say something?”

You faced him, about to laugh when he scowled at your not-so-subtle comments. Waving your hands to him, you made your way out the door, your smile only irritating him further. “No, I wasn’t. I’ll be taking my leave then – see you tomorrow!”

Seems like working in a tattoo studio wouldn’t be so bad.

You came to work the next day early and pumped with adrenaline. The idea of meeting the moody tattoo artist caused you to be giggly and happy the whole day, not even feeling the exhaustion of a long day of hard work as you made your way inside the shop.

Clocking in at exactly two in the morning, you proudly tugged your name badge on top of your left breast, patting it for good luck.

The bells jingled, making you look away from your tag. “Good morning – oh, where’s Megumi?” The man standing in front of you was taller than Megumi, his head nearly knocking over the doorframe if it wasn’t for his poor, slouched lanky frame.

He had white hair that brushed atop his cerulean blue eyes, and your eyes widened because wow, he was beautiful.

“Hey, you must be Y/N! Megumi told me you came around yesterday but he didn’t tell me the counter girl was this pretty,” He was in front of you the next second, his nose nearly grazing over yours that had you leaning back into the wall for space. “Hmm...he didn’t tell me that at all.”

“Oh, thank you. You are...?”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, one of the senior artists here. Since Megumi isn’t here yet, let me give you a tour!” Before you could react, Satoru already had an arm wrapped around your shoulder, his other arm waving and pointing to all the hung paintings and labels on each door. You found it odd that he treated you like you were an old friend, but you weren’t going to complain. Nice co-workers were always welcomed.

“Here is the holding area where clients wait to get their session done. This is Geto’s studio and right next to that is his office where he does all the finances and all that jazz, while this is my studio. Cool, isn’t it?”

Your mouth fell ajar as Satoru led you inside his studio, the walls painted the same aquatic shade of his eyes, but what caught your attention was the galaxy themed tattoo designs he made. They came in different shapes – a volcano head, a dragon, a worm, a four-armed monster – but inside them were all galaxies with sparkling and burning stars. You could see everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Whoa, you made all this?!”

Satoru’s chest puffed out proudly, “Yeah, I did. I’m flattered by your reaction, I really am, but you haven’t seen Megumi’s yet. There’s a reason our salon boomed even though he’s only been working here for two years.”

At the mention of his name, your interest was piqued, all ears and curious smiles directed to Satoru. “Oh, can I see Megumi’s studio?”

“You can – if you book an appointment.”

“But I don’t plan on getting any tattoos,” you frowned.

“You’ll never get to see his work then,” he chuckled to himself, the sound growing louder when you visibly deflated. What was the point of getting your hopes up like that then? “Megumi doesn’t like letting others in his studio without permission or an appointment.”

“Why not?”

“He’s just iffy about it,” he shrugged, “Don’t bother trying to decode his personality anymore, Megumi’s very hard to understand. Though if I were to make sense of it...” he rubbed his chin, eyes looking out into the distance. “I guess you could say Megumi’s not the type to be showy when it comes to his work of art. Did that clear it up?”

You blinked back blankly. “No, not really. But it’s fine – I don’t plan on getting to know him anyway.”

That was the biggest lie of your life.

The moment Megumi came around a few minutes later, a loud groan upon your animated greeting over his arrival, your chest bloomed with a different kind of fluttery warmth. He rarely came out after that, clients swarming in to both his and Satoru’s studios, but each faint glimpse of his door cracking open that allowed you to see him focused as he worked, you could no longer deny the heat burning down your legs.

You crushed on the grumpy tattoo artist.

And the more you came around work, greeting him zealously and teasing him to no end that he’d look hotter if he smiled, your crush only intensified for him – completely unaware that he too, couldn’t get his thoughts off of you even with his door closed.

In fact, he kept his door closed all the time because your voice distracted him too much.

“Hey, Y/N, you free?”

You looked up from the textbook you were reviewing, slamming it shut when Satoru’s head peeked out from his studio. He was still wearing gloves with a pen between his fingers, most likely still in the middle of a session.

“Yep! We don’t have appointments yet and I’ve already closed it for non-appointees. Did you need me to get you something?”

“Yeah, could you get Megumi for me? He isn’t picking his phone up and one of our special clients are coming soon. I’m packed right now so I can’t fetch him. I’ll send you the address and you get him, yeah? Just open the counter if you need money for a cab.”

You blinked owlishly at him. On one side, you’d be more than glad to see Megumi again. He hadn’t arrived despite it being four in the morning already, and you were worried, but you also didn’t have his number to ask how he was doing. Progress with Megumi was...slow, to say the least.

He still holed himself up in his studio, coming out only for bathroom breaks, although you noticed a drastic improvement when he finally began to mutter an almost shy “good morning” under his breath for the past few weeks.

It wasn’t much, but you’d have to make do.

“Uhm, when is this client of his coming? Should I run...?”

“Yeah, you need to fucking run. They’re coming in an hour and a half!” Satoru exclaimed, flailing his hands around like a madman.

Even after working with him for some time, you still couldn’t believe the older man was practically a man child, even asking for head pats sometimes. He would lean down with a pout, using a squeaky voice to call your attention, which always succeeded in Megumi fake gagging before he locked himself inside his studio.

“Forwarded you his address. Really sorry for the inconvenience, Y/N!”

“It’s okay!” you jumped out of your seat in an instant, not bothering to take your name tag off anymore as you left the salon, hailing the nearest cab.

Megumi lived quite far from the salon, which had you wondering why he chose to work there when there were plenty of salons in his area too. His place looked shady, as well, his apartment in a high-rise building with endless graffiti and several drunk stragglers hooting for you.

You ignored them all, taking two steps at a time from his staircase, your hands on your knees as you panted for air. Why did he have to live on the tenth floor?

“Megumi! Megumi!” you banged your fist on the door, throat parched from your sudden cardio session. You were sure you burned ten calories just from that sprint, and you sighed in relief when Megumi swung the door open, still looking handsome – and sleep-deprived – as ever in his black shirt and black skinny jeans.

“What?” he demanded. After seeing that it was you, he quickly snatched a water bottle and passed it your way, closing his door behind him. “Y/N? What are you doing here? How’d you know where I live?”

“Satoru said you had a really important client. You weren’t picking your phone up so he sent me to come get you.”

“It’s my day off,” he grumbled, answering your silent questions, your worries dissipating into thin air. Once you’d satisfied yourself by basically dunking the entire bottle, Megumi rolled his eyes, his hands flat on the small of your back while he guided you downstairs. The sudden touch flamed your cheeks; a stupid smile on your face. You were shameless, though, leaning back closer to him in the darkness of the early morning. “Why does he send a girl out of all people?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“It’s unsafe. My neighbourhood isn’t the best and who knows what would’ve happened to you if some goons came out?” Megumi hailed for a back, surprising you when he let you get in first and paid for the fee despite your outstretched hand prepared with the bills. “I can’t believe Sukuna chose this day to come of all times. I can never get a damn break.”

“Sukuna?”

“A special client. He’s a really huge tipper and comes on odd schedules – I didn’t think he’d come now.”

“Yeah, I checked the papers and he wasn’t there,” you frowned to yourself.

Megumi pressed his head against the window, eyes closed as his chest heaved up and down rhythmically. With the sun slowly shining from behind you, the golden stretches of it outlined his sharp features you adored, and you rested your chin on your palms, eyelashes fluttering at his beauty. “You know, Megumi, you’re really pissy sometimes – but you’re quite nice, aren’t you? I’d say you were even worried for me.”

He cracked one eye open, those blue eyes still shining with irritation, but make no mistake since his ears were flushed red. “I’m not. I just don’t want to be involved in a police investigation if they find your body near here.”

“How sweet of you.”

“Shut up.”

You and Megumi were beginning to get closer. You couldn’t pinpoint where he started to grow more comfortable with you, but it was definitely there and it was painfully evident that even someone stupid like Satoru noticed the sexual between you two.

He would always sniff the air whenever you and Megumi sat next to each other during lunch breaks, a wide grin on your face while Megumi buried his face in his hands, groaning because he knew the moment Satoru opened his mouth, nothing but dumb comments would come out. And dumb comments they were; the white-haired man merciless as he teased Megumi for acting like a cute little kid around you.

You never took it to heart, though. It was Megumi you were talking about; he was hot and cold; sweet then distant from one moment then an entire person the next.

Not that you minded, it only added to your fuelling crush on him, but you couldn’t control the way your heart fluttered every time Satoru whispered that he did like you, excusing that Megumi just wasn’t the best with words. Apparently, Megumi had spent too much time holed up in his apartment and studio that he had zero to little knowledge on how to talk to pretty girls – especially one that was clearly attracted to him as well.

Satoru encouraged you to go for it – that you should confess or break the ice first otherwise Megumi would never do anything about his raging boner every time you came around.

You only flushed at his statement, but you couldn’t deny that you too felt the same way.

One morning where Satoru and Geto were out restocking supplies, you and Megumi were left alone in the salon. Of course, he still resorted in the comfort of his studio, muttering under his breath that he wanted to try some designs before disappearing. Only this time, he left the door slightly open, the lights peeking through the slight crack.

Walking up to him with muted footsteps, you leaned over his shoulder, glancing over a sketch of...you? “Are you drawing me?”

Megumi yelped at your voice right next to his ear, throwing the paper away on the other side of the room before glaring at you. You laughed at his reaction, because how was it possible he was both so criminally sexy yet adorable? He looked terribly gorgeous today, as well, wearing a short sleeved black hoodie and black sweatpants, looking so comfortable and boyfriend like – and you couldn’t even begin to express your appreciation over his new lip piercing.

“Why do you always sneak up on me?” he snapped, “Didn’t I tell you I wanted privacy?”

“Then why aren’t you pushing me away?”

Megumi sighed exasperatedly, turning back to organize his pencils before glaring at you. “What do you want? Got no one else to bother since Satoru isn’t around?”

“I just wanted to see your art,” you mentioned, but kept your eyes directed on him instead of the plethora of sketches and designs hanging from his wall as to not offend him. “Satoru told me to never come inside. He said you’re really...private when it comes to your works,” you furrowed your brows at the last part, feeling your heart beat pulse at your tongue.

It was now or never.

“Can I see your tattoos too?”

“Why do you want to see them?”

“A work of art on a canvas who’s also a work of art himself?” you finally gained confidence to tease him again, getting riled up further when Megumi stiffened at your curious hands travelling under his shirt. His breath sharpened as his glare only deepened, though he didn’t make a move to stop you. “Why wouldn’t I want to see that?”

“Being flirty doesn’t work on you. It’s not cute.”

“You’re blushing though,” you remarked. Megumi groaned and pushed your face away until your buttocks landed on his recliner. Satisfied with Megumi not completely kicking you out, you swung your legs back and forth, still staring at his hoodie as if it was an offensive material.

“Can I...see?” Megumi rolled his eyes before he lifted his shirt up, revealing to you intricate patches of black ink splattered over ripples of muscles. Your mouth salivated, and somewhere down there, you drooled too. Tentatively, your hands reached out to finger the image of canines, Megumi shuddering over your cold touch on his warm skin. “It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

Megumi pursed his lips before whispering, “These are the dogs I had as a child. My father got me them so I wouldn’t be too lonely when he’s away from work.”

“They’re very pretty. They look like black and white wolves,” you smiled, elated that he was opening up in more ways than one. Your touch flitted over to a winged creature under his left collarbone, small letters beside the image. “And this bird? Nue? He’s so majestic,” Your hands never stopped in trailing over his skin like a lost wanderer, sweeping over ink ink until Megumi completely discarded his hoodie to the side, his back faced to you.

A white viper tattoo stood large on his broad back, crawling until over his shoulder with the fangs ending just above his pecs. Megumi swallowed at each slivering touch, your fingers dipping and caressing every dent and curve of his body.

You couldn’t get your eyes off of him, your breath hitching in your throat as one of your hands gripped his biceps subconsciously. “You’re so beautiful.”

Megumi stiffened when your thumbs grazed over his nipple right next to the viper’s fang. Almost as if a switch was triggered inside him, Megumi growled, ducking to capture your lips with his in a sloppy, heated kiss. His hands tugged at the ends of your hair to arch your neck to him, his knees slapping your legs open before he settled comfortably between you, his low groans mixing with your breath moans.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. From the moment I met you,” he nibbled your lips, hands trailing down to thumb at your hipbones. “I knew that innocent good girl look was nothing but an act.”

You smiled through the kiss, a tiny gasp falling from your lips when Megumi pulled you closer until your heat grinded against the hardness inside his pants. Laughing at his harsh movements, you let Megumi tilt your head back, his lips sucking and teeth gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck.

“Innocent girl?” you echoed, legs now wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. “What makes you think I am?”

“White lace panties? Short tennis skirts and sunshine smiles?” Megumi clenched his teeth, his hands eager as he tugged the white lace down until it looped to your ankles. You gasped, back arching when he thrusted two fingers inside you, curling and fingering against your bumpy walls. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby, especially not me.”

“Took you long enough to understand I wanted you though,” you chuckled through broken moans, eyes shut tight while your legs opened wider, heels digging into the hard cushion of his seats. “I was wondering when I’d get to break you from that tough guy act of yours and have you fuck me good,” Megumi growled at your words. You leaned forward to scratch at his chest, your tongue licking the shell of your ear as you rasped, “And on a side note, I am a good girl – only to those who can make me feel good, of course.”

Megumi cupped his palm to collect your arousal dripping of his, finally shutting you up when his fingers grazed over your sweet spot that had you clenching around him. And those were just his fingers. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I know,” you nodded smugly, hands coming up to tug harshly at his hair. Megumi hissed at the sharp pain, prompting him to fuck his fingers in and out of you faster until you leaked down to his chair, thighs trembling and your high-pitched moans coating the walls of his stupid. “Megumi, ah! Just shut up and fuck me already – been wanting you long enough.”

“Needy little girl,” He pressed you down on the reclining seat, settling between your legs before he spread your lips open with two thumbs. At the sight of your bare cunt clenching around nothing, Megumi groaned, teeth biting his lip because he could cum right then and there. “Fuck, look at you. So wet already,” he ran a hand over your slit to collect your arousal, eyes dark with lust as your juices webbed between his fingers. “All this for me? You’re so good.”

“Fuck – yeah, yeah I am,” you leaned back harder into the seat, groping at your own breasts while you nodded dumbly, too fucked out to even form a coherent response. “Going to be good for you, Megumi, gonna make you feel good.”

“Sorry, babe, maybe next time. I’m too impatient to not feel your pussy around me,” he pushed away at your hands that planned to pump his cock, his hand coming down to push you hard against the seat until his weight loomed over you.

You felt Megumi begin to align his tip at your center, dampening his mushroom head with your arousal first that had you both moaning left and right.

Hands scratching down his back as your teeth dug into your lips, Megumi pushed into you with one thrust, the sudden stretch making your legs shake and your body writhe underneath him. “Shit, why are you so tight? So fucking warm and perfect,” he rasped next to your ear, and you could hear how hard he was breathing as he thrusted into you, his cock hitting all the right places.  “Could fuck this pretty pussy all day, baby, shit.”

“Me-Megumi – t-too big!”

“Shh, you’ll be fine. You’ll take it like a good girl, won’t you?” he cupped your cheek, grinning sinisterly as he watched the way your greedy walls sucked him in. “See how you take me so well? You’re so small and pretty wrapped around my cock. I could break you if I wanted you,” he growled, his hands gripping hard at your hips when you clenched around him, enticing the man above you to quicken his pace.

Megumi watched with a lust filled gaze as your breasts bounced at the relentless pace he started, his balls slapping at your ass. “Oh, you’d want that, wouldn’t you? You want to be stuffed with my fat cock in you? Fuck you until you’re a drooling mess? You’re so gorgeous when I fuck you stupid.”

“Yes, Megumi, agh. Keep going, keep going, I’m so close!”

“Oh, you feel like heaven around me,” he praised at your neck, his cock stretching you wide and pushing into you. Megumi groaned lowly at your ear as his palms flattened over your stomach that bulged every time he thrusted in, his balls tightening at the sight. “Look at how big I am for you, baby, but you’re doing so well. You were made for me – made to take my cock, shit, you’re so perfect around me. Gonna make you feel good, yeah? You’re such a good girl for me. Cum, baby, that’s right – I’m allowing you to cum.”

“Gumi, Gumi, fuckkk,” your legs tightened around him as Megumi panted with each harsh thrust, the black marks over his skin expanding and stretch when his forearm rested beside your head. His muscles clenched as he fucked into you deep, over and over again until he pushed you over the edge.

A silent sob left your lips when you came around him, your juices creaming around his cock. A few thrusts later, Megumi fell on top of you as you felt him spill his seed inside you.

He had too much that you felt both your cum dripping down your ass; Megumi pulling out with a slight wince from the oversensitivity. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid there, legs wide open and the cool air hitting your bare pussy. The door was still open, and Satoru and Geto could walk in on you both looking like this, but you couldn’t care, not when you could barely feel your legs.

You dropped your arm over your face, hearing Megumi pull his pants back up. “That was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, wincing as you sat up. Your hair stuck to your forehead in sweaty clumps, dawning on you now that you were still very much covered in your sticky cum. You recoiled from the seats as you realized Megumi hadn’t even put on a towel underneath.

“Shit. Is this chair even clean?”

“I sanitize it every after session. Don’t worry about it,” he rolled his eyes, his tattoos covered and hidden from your sight once more when he pulled his hoodie over his head. Megumi retrieved a clean towel from his drawers and wiped at your sensitive pussy, your legs immediately closing around his hands when the towel accidentally grazed your clit.

Megumi gripped your knees with a silent glare. “Stay still. I’m cleaning you up.”

“I didn’t peg you as an aftercare guy. Thought you would leave me hanging here,” you teased, but really, you were feeling warm all over again as you watched Megumi wipe you all the way down to your other hole, your legs still tensing up.

Once he left to wash his hands, you could relax, tugging your panties back up with immense struggle. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d fuck you good – you could barely feel your legs now.

“And have you make a mess by ruining my seat?” he sighed as he returned, helping you seady yourself while he snapped the slightly soaked panty back to your core. “No thanks.”

“You’re so mean, Megumi. I’m hurt.”

He rolled his eyes at your pout, leaning down to kiss you square on the lips. This time around, the kiss wasn’t rushed; it was slow and sensual, firm yet gentle, and his hands carefully massaged your sore hips that would soon bruise from his grip before.

“No, you’re not,” he mumbled through your lips, mimicking that lovesick smile on your face as he pulled away. “But babe, you know the rules. Now that you’ve seen my work of art – what tattoo would you like me to give you? My name on your inner thigh?”

[kaunis-sielu]

Fire Dogs: 2

It’s been almost a week since Steve, Sam and Bucky came to fight the wildfires. You’ve got a routine down with the guys, and so does Cooper. You always have food ready for them when they leave and when they come home. Coffee is always ready for them when they leave and Cooper is waiting at the door for them when they get home.

Each man has taken huge comfort from your therapy dog, and he loves all the extra attention he’s getting from the three men. Cooper does force his way into each of their rooms at one time or another over the week and you’ve got a feeling that those won’t be the only time you’re alone on the couch.

Cooper had followed Steve into his room tonight and you’d gone to bed alone.

You wake as you’re being lifted. “What the hell?” You gasp with a start but you’re shushed softly, his scent fills your nose and you calm quickly.

“It’s me Fawn. I’m putting you to bed.” Steve says softly as he carries you up to your bedroom. “I’m gonna share a room with Buck, you can’t keep sleeping on the couch.”

“No, you’re fighting the fires. I’m just hanging out here.”

“And getting up at all hours to take care of us.” He argues as you try to get out of his grip. “Fawn, I’m not backing down from this one.” He says, his Alpha coming out as he tightens the hold he has on you, his face is close to yours, close enough for you to see the little flecks of green in those blue eyes of his. You sigh and loop an arm around his neck,

“Fine.” You grumble, you’ve heard the Alpha command in his voice, the voice that you literally can’t argue with. “But wouldn’t it make more sense for Sam and Bucky to share?”

“You’d think. If they have too much together time they get snippy. So I’ll just bounce between the two beds.”

“Are you sure?” You hope to change his mind but his face tells you that isn’t happening.

“Yes. You’ve opened your home to us, let us borrow your dog and taken care of us. You deserve your bedroom.” He says shoving open the door with his foot. He sets you gently on your feet and then gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He leaves and closes the door gently behind him. You climb into your bed and sigh softly, it is nice being back in your bed. Not that you’ll ever tell Steve that. It smells like him, it’s comforting and you fall asleep quickly.

You’re up a couple hours later, you pass a sleepy looking Steve in the hallway and a slightly confused Cooper. You head down the stairs and get some coffee going for Sam and pop the blueberry bagel he likes into the toaster. Then you move on to Bucky’s food. You take the plate you’d prepared the night before out of the fridge and peel off the cover. You turn the oven on warm and slide the plate in then go back up to bed and find Cooper sprawled out across it,

“Move over Coop.” You grumble as you climb back into bed. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

The next time you wake it’s 8:30 and you’ve got to get food ready for Steve. You can hear him in the shower as you head back down to the kitchen. You like to make a full breakfast for the first meal to make sure that they don’t get hungry too quickly while they’re working. Today you’re planning on doing breakfast burritos, something that you can each assemble on your own. Steve comes down a half hour later, just as you’re wrapping up your own burrito.

“How did you sleep?” He asks reaching for a shell.

“Pretty good, Cooper is a bed hog.”

“I’ve noticed he likes to be almost on top of you when he sleeps with you.”

“Part of his training. The weight can help people with anxiety or stress and you all have such high stress jobs.”

“We really appreciate both of you. You sound like the best host from what we’ve heard from the other guys.”

“I’ve always been a caregiver so it’s nice having people to help. Even if I can’t help in the same way that you guys do.”

“Believe me, knowing that we can come home to a bed, good food, a kind soul and a therapy dog is more help than you’ll ever know.” You can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face,

“Good. Any requests for dinner tonight?”

“Something pasta?” He offers finishing off his breakfast.

“Okay.” You agree and hold a hand out for his plate.

“Thank you, for everything.” You nod as he stands up and heads for the door.

“Be safe.” You blurt before you can stop yourself.

“I will.” He says, a pleased scent rolls off of him before he heads out to work. Your conversation with him has given you an idea, but you’re going to need some help.

You get to calling other therapy dog handlers in the area. You know that it’s a big ask for them to come to the base of the mountain when it’s on fire but it’s for a good cause. You’ll set up with as many dogs for as many shifts as you can, every couple of days to give the dogs a bit of a break, the handlers too but mostly the dogs.

You’re able to get fifteen people in the area and you have two dogs per shift, even the 4 am shift. You’re able to rotate the dogs in a couple of shifts, so that no one is going too often and the dogs can get a little bit of a break.

You’re so excited that you’re able to do this for them, and you get to start today. You decide to head to basecamp to let Steve know. You want to make sure that the firefighters stop at Blots coffee shop before they head back to their homes tonight. You head toward base camp, it’s only a few miles up the mountain and park near one of the trails you know that skirts the forest. The smoke is worse here than it is near your house but it’s not terrible. You grab your bag and sling it over your shoulder then make your way up toward Pancho’s Bar where you know they run the fire fighting operation.

As you walk the air gets thicker with smoke, it’s not so bad that you can’t breathe but you can taste the smoke on every inhale. Before you get to Pancho’s you see Steve a little further down the street talking to two other firefighters. He seems so much bigger in all of his gear, as you make your way toward him he sees you and his brows furrow. He pushes past the other firefighters and makes his way to you with long strides.

“Fawn?”

“Hey,” you say and Steve looks, almost worried.

“Fawn, what are you doing up here? Is everything okay?”

“I’ve got a surprise for the firefighters. Down in town.” You tell him suppressing a cough, “I didn’t want anyone to miss it so I thought I’d come up.”

“Oh, hey Grey.” You have to stop yourself from frowning at Brock, he’s such a jerk and his smell is always so sour.

“Brock.” You say before you start to cough.

“C’mere,” Steve says pulling his face mask away from him you step closer and when he hands it to you you take it. “Take a couple of deep breaths for me okay?” He says and cool fresh air tinted with his scent flows into the mask that you hold over your mouth and nose. It soothes you more than you’d like it to. “The smoke is way worse up here. You should head back to town.”

“Please let people know to come down to Blots for the surprise okay?”

“So how do you know Grey?” You do frown this time.

“Sam, Bucky and I are staying at her place.” Steve says gruffly not looking at Brock but keeping an eye on you. You hand Steve back the mask and give him a little smile. “I’ll make sure to tell people. Please go right back to town.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Bye Grey!” Brock calls and before you can leave Steve stops you with a gentle hand on your arm.

“Why does he keep calling you that?”

“Because I’m boring. Like the color grey, there’s nothing exciting about me.” Anger crosses his face and he glares in Brock’s direction.

“That isn’t-“ he pauses as you cough again and he once more passes you his mask, “breathe.” You do as he says, “we’ll talk about this back at the house. But that’s not true okay? It’s not true.” You nod then hand back the mask. “How did you even get up here?”

“There’s a trail that Coop and I use a lot, on the edge of the woods and it’s quick and easy.”

“Straight home okay?”

“Yea.” You agree before realizing that he’s just given you an Alpha command, you glance over your shoulder at him and when you see he’s watching give him a little wave before you start walking back down the mountain. You feel his eyes on you until you round the corner. The wind has picked up a bit since you’d come up but it’s nice, and moving the smoke further up hill. It probably doesn’t make fighting the fires easier but at least it’s not pushing anything downhill.

You hear the crack but it doesn’t register until it’s too late. The branch hits you in the shoulder and you collapse under the weight of it.

You’re dazed, you must’ve hit your head because it’s throbbing but you’re not sure if you’ve lost consciousness or not. Your right arm is pinned under the massive branch and your left has some wiggle room but not enough to do you any good, especially with the throbbing pain in your left shoulder. You try to push with your legs to slide yourself out from under the branch but have no luck. Your phone is in your right pocket, right where you can’t reach it. But your watch might be able to help you still.

“Friday?” It beeps twice, “call Steve.” He’s the first person you think of.

“Calling Steve on Stark Phone.”

“Call him on watch!” You say but it doesn’t. “Damn it!” You watch the watch until it says connected. “Steve! I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m pinned under a branch. Halfway to my car. God please be able to hear me. I can’t reach my phone. I really need help.” You take a steadying breath to try and keep yourself calm. “Go down the hill by the forest, you can’t miss me. Please help.” You try to free yourself again but it’s hopeless, the branch is too heavy and you manage nothing.

God you hope that Steve heard you, or that his voicemail did. You don’t know how long you lay there, occasionally struggling against the branch but you suddenly hear him.

“Fawn!”

“Steve! I’m here!”

“Fawn! Keep yelling Honey!”

“I’m here! By the woods! Steve!” You can’t see him yet but you swear that you can smell him, so you keep yelling, “I’m here! Over here!”

“I see you Fawn! I’m coming.” Sure enough a set of hands lift the log off of you and another set pulls you out from under it. “Don’t move.” Steve says easing you gently back onto the ground. “Did you hit your head?”

“I don’t know. I think so?”

“Buck, check for concussion.” He orders from where he’s holding your head.

“Bucky? What time is it?”

“Almost 7. Sam called about an hour ago, but I didn’t answer because I was busy. When you called I knew something was wrong.”

“Steve calm down.” Bucky growls pulling a flashlight from his pocket.

“I feel like such an idiot.” You whisper as Steve takes a deep breath. Bucky shines a flashlight in your eyes then holds up a finger.

“Follow the finger.” He says and you do as he says and he gives you a smile. “You’re good.”

“I’m just glad we found you.” Steve says softly. “And that you’re okay. Does anything hurt before we move you?”

“My left shoulder but that’s what the branch hit first.”

“I’m going to just check it really quick okay?” Bucky says and you nod, he gently probes at your shoulder. He hits where the branch did and you hiss at the jolt of pain, a low growl comes from Steve. Bucky runs you through a couple of moves to see if it’s dislocated and once he’s satisfied that it’s not he gives you the all clear and Steve helps you to your feet.

“Buck, let Fury know I’m going back with Fawn.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Last time I let you go alone you got hit by a branch.”

“That’s what we call a freak accident.”

“I’m still not letting you go alone.”

“But you’ll miss the surprise!”

“I’m staying with a therapy dog. I don’t need to go meet other ones.” He huffs, you can practically feel the irritation rolling off of him. You frown but he has a point, you glare up at him, “Let’s go Fawn.”

“Stop it.” You snap, even though your stomach lurches at your defiance of his Alpha command.

“Stop what?”

“You keep Alpha commanding me!” He looks surprised for just a second then schools his expression.

“I’m sorry.” He says softly, “I didn’t mean to. When an Omega does something dangerous it just kind of happens.” You stare at him, how the hell does he know you’re an Omega?

“I’m not an Omega. I’m a Beta.” He looks sharply over at you his eyes narrowing.

“Huh,” he doesn’t say anything else but gestures for you to follow him down the mountain.

When you get to your car you look over at Steve, still in all his gear.

“Do you need to go get anything?”

“Buck can drive the truck back rather than getting a ride. Do you want me to drive?”

“If you don’t mind.” You hand him the keys, you’ve got one hell of a headache and your shoulder is throbbing but Bucky gave you the okay to go. After you get in the car and buckle you sigh softly before muttering, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Causing problems. I was just so excited about the dogs that I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have gone up.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” He agrees, “I had a big long speech ready for you but you beat me to it.” You laugh softly then wince, laughing hurts. “Let me know if we need to take you to the ER.”

“I will.”

“If you’re comfortable I’d like to take a look at your shoulder and probably ribs before we go to bed. Bucky is our best EMT but I still know what I’m doing.”

“Fine,” you grumble and he shoots you a look. “I’ve learned over the last week it’s just easier not to argue with you. Besides, I don’t need you Alpha commanding me again.”

“Damn right it’s best not to argue with me. But I won’t Alpha command you to do anything, at least I won’t on purpose. Please let me know if I do again okay?”

“Oh, okay.” You’re surprised, but you do appreciate it.

Tag list:

@memyselfandmaddox @thefanficfaerie @patzammit @dsakita @dramadreamer14 @killcomet @thesassmisstress @andahugaroundtheneck @loving-life-my-way @thefridgeismybestie @dumblani @im-just-another-monster @mywinterwolf @giggleberts @biskwitmamaw @geeksareunique @paintballkid711 @lumar014 @also-fangirlinsweden @connie326 @inkedaztec @eralen @valsworldofcreativity @strangersstranger

[robininthelabyrinth]

This one's gonna take two asks, I'm incapable of making it more succinct. In Accurate description NHS said "I’m taking you back with me to the Nie sect when all this is over. If your parents want you back, they can come ask nicely.” Could we get that AU? And the Jiangs HAVE to ask nicely, because with the war on the horizon they can't risk alienating the Nies, but they are so bad at it? NHS's half assed plan to poach JC gets more and more solid the longer he has to watch this train wreck.(1/2)

How hard can it be to love your own flesh and blood? Even NMJ has stopped admonishing him for wanting to poach another sect's heir. What a political nightmare that would be. But JC is so relaxed with NHS's birds? And keeping up longer and longer when training with da-ge? And smiling more? And JYL said, she's never seen him so loose in the shoulders? NHS can make this work. JFM and YZY never valued JC anyway 

Part 2 of Accurate Description (necessary to read that first)

-

“Absolutely not,” was the first thing Nie Huaisang’s brother said when Nie Huaisang first raised the idea of kidnapping Jiang Cheng for his own good. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Nie sect principle three,” Nie Huaisang said.

“Well, shit,” his brother said.

This was because Nie Huaisang’s brother is the best.

“I’ve gotten other people involved in this,” Nie Huaisang added helpfully.

“You’d better have,” his brother said. “I am not dealing with the fallout from this on my own.”

Nie Huaisang nodded happily. That was about what he’d expected.

A few moments later, his brother asked, “Why are we kidnapping him, anyway?”

-

“This is temporary,” Nie Mingjue said gruffly.

“Very temporary,” Jiang Cheng agreed, sounding stiff and awkward. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You know exactly why you’re here,” Nie Huaisang objected. “I told you why!”

Jiang Cheng gave him a dirty look.

“Also I have no idea how da-ge got you here, but you’re staying,” Nie Huaisang said firmly. “For as long as it takes for your parents to show that they deserve you returning to them. You’re not getting a choice.”

Jiang Cheng’s face was turning red.

“That’s not the deal, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue interjected. “Jiang Wanyin can return home at any time he wishes.”

Nie Huaisang glared, but his brother ignored him.

“He can also stay as long as he wishes,” he said, and this time it was Jiang Cheng’s turn to stare. “If you want others to respect him, you must first pay him the respect he deserves yourself. Now, I have to go, but Jiang Wanyin – know that our home is always open to you.”

He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, then ruffled Nie Huaisang’s hair, and left.

Jiang Cheng looked dazed.

Nie Huaisang smirked.

“…you said something about him giving out hugs?”

“Oh yeah,” Nie Huaisang said. “Great hugs.”

-

“I can’t believe you would betray me like this,” Nie Huaisang whined. “And after all I’ve done for you!”

“A little training’s not going to kill you,” Jiang Cheng said. “Come on already.”

“My brother put you up to this, didn’t he? You sold me out for a hug.”

“I sold you out for the opportunity to go on a proper night-hunt,” Jiang Cheng said. “Also, he said he was proud of the progress I’ve been making on my cultivation and sword training since I got here. And gave me a hug.”

Nie Huaisang grumbled but conceded that his brother was especially difficult to resist when he was in full big brother mode. If he wasn’t, Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have been nearly so willing to give up the neat new sword he’d found in the Xuanwu’s cave and store it down in their saber halls until his brother and Baxia could figure out how to suppress it - he hadn’t even realized it was full of resentful energy at first, and he still thought it was especially aesthetic.

“Besides, if you don’t practice something soon, he’ll come after you himself,” Jiang Cheng said. “Wouldn’t you rather train with me?”

“No. You’re just as crazy as he is.”

Jiang Cheng looked disturbingly complimented.

“I’ll come look at your birds later,” he offered.

“You’d do that anyway,” Nie Huaisang said. “You love my birds.”

Jiang Cheng did, too. Nearly as much as he loved all the feral cats that roamed the walls of the Unclean Realm, every single one of which seemed to have immediately pegged him as a soft touch and come nosing around for treats – Nie Huaisang had never seen Jiang Cheng look so calm and peaceful as when he had a cat under his palm.

It really put into perspective how stressed he looked the rest of the time.

“Oh, all right,” he groaned, and Jiang Cheng beamed. “Just know that I hate you.”

“Same to you, Nie-gongzi,” Jiang Cheng said, completely insincere. “Same to you.”

-

“You know, I’m surprised my parents haven’t shown up to demand me back yet,” Jiang Cheng said over lunch one day. “It’s not – it’s not a problem. It’s only – I thought – Mother at least –”

“Oh, they’re demanding all right,” Nie Huaisang sniggered.

“…Nie Huaisang, what have you done,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Conspired, that’s what,” Nie Mingjue said. “I don’t know if I should thank you for discovering my brother’s sole talent, namely for scheming and conspiracies, or to blame you for it, Wanyin – but you do have very loyal friends.”

Jiang Cheng blinked.

“Well, first your parents went to Lanling,” Nie Huaisang explained. “On account of Jin Zixuan and Mianmian very obviously sneaking food around and buying all sorts of things that you would like before smuggling them – very poorly and obviously, mind you – into Jinlin Tower, and of course they were also overheard talking about something that sounded an awful lot like ‘Wanyin’; everyone assumed they were hiding you. Turns out they weren’t, of course; it was just a stray dog they’d named something with similar tones. Not their fault everyone got the wrong idea!”

Jiang Cheng’s eye twitched.

“And then, of course, they went to Gusu, on account of Lan Wangji telling everyone you were his sworn brother –”

“His what?!”

“Well, close enough. On account of how you saved his life.”

“I did not!”

“I thought I heard something about how you carried him on your back as you fled from the Xuanwu’s cave and the Wen sect’s ambushes, when he was exhausted and could not walk,” Nie Mingjue said mildly, and Jiang Cheng spluttered. “Had I heard wrongly?”

“…well, no…but...”

“Of course, you weren’t at Gusu,” Nie Huaisang continued, ignoring them both. “Though there were some heavy implications for a little while that you’d gone off with Lan-gongzi –”

“Isn’t he missing?”

Nie Mingjue coughed and looked down at his plate.

“And none of you said anything?” Jiang Cheng asked, looking between them. “At any point? Did you just, what, not talk to them?”

“I have spoken with your parents several times since they have started looking for you,” Nie Mingjue said, and his voice was suddenly hot with roiling anger. “I have concluded that Huaisang had a point regarding the necessity of their learning how to ask for your return.”

Jiang Cheng blinked.

“Your parents are jerks,” Nie Huaisang volunteered. “And you deserve better.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jiang Cheng said, a little strangled. “I think I – got that.”

“Good.”

-

“It’s just, my jiejie –”

“Supports you being here. She sent you a care package. It’s in your room.”

“…Wei Wuxian –”

“Sent a note along with the package. Says to keep up the good work.”

“How did you even get something like that?!”

“I have my ways.”

-

Nie Huaisang was staring blankly at the wall when Jiang Cheng walked in and did a double take.

“Okay,” he said to Nie Mingjue, sitting patiently nearby with a letter in his hands. “You broke him. How?”

“He just discovered that he inadvertently saved a great deal of lives,” Nie Mingjue said. “As did you, by agreeing to come here.”

“I only agreed to come here because you lied and told me it was necessary to help defend my sect,” Jiang Cheng grumbled, clearly not meaning it.

Nie Huaisang let out a high-pitched and somewhat hysterical giggle.

“It was,” Nie MIngjue said solemnly, offering him the letter. “It appears that Wen Chao was given permission to attack and crush the Jiang sect, but has been delaying in anticipation of your return on account of wanting to deal with all of you at once. The delay allowed our spies time to discover his plans, and to carry warnings to your parents. They were thus able to fortify the Lotus Pier’s defenses against invasion, and to hold it off until aid could arrive – which they wouldn’t have managed if he’d attacked at once, as he would have if you’d been there.”

Jiang Cheng stared.

“Would you like to sit down and stare at the wall?” Nie Mingjue offered kindly.

“…yes please.”

-

“How’d you convince him to let me come here, anyway?” Jiang Cheng asked Nie Huaisang as he packed up his things. He was finally heading back to the Lotus Pier, albeit only long enough to collect soldiers and come back to join what they’d started calling the Sunshot Campaign – his parents had finally figured out where he was and sent word that had, in the view of the Nie, just barely qualified as sufficient to get some leeway.

Lan Wangji was waiting in the hallway to escort him there, and he’d sworn to Nie Huaisang that he would not allow either of Jiang Cheng’s parents to say anything untoward while they were there. He’d looked very serious while he said it, too, which pleased Nie Huaisang to no end and made Jiang Cheng look more than a bit nervous.

“You’re only asking that now?” Nie Huaisang asked, amused.

Jiang Cheng shrugged. “You going to tell me or not?”

“It was easy,” he said. “I just invoked Nie sect principle three.”

“…what’s that?”

“‘A fire burns all the same’,” Nie Huaisang said. “Variously interpreted as: ‘Treat your neighbor’s harm as your own’, ‘Do not stand idly by as your neighbor bleeds’, or ‘Indifference to evil is equivalent to evil’.”

Jiang Cheng stared.

“How about ‘if you see someone who needs you, you have an obligation to act’?”

Jiang Cheng blinked. “Okay,” he said. “And?”

“And what?”

“And what else did you say? You convinced him to literally kidnap the heir of another Great Sect; I can’t believe that you accomplished that simply by saying ‘hey principle three applies here, let’s do this’.”

“Maybe I did,” Nie Huaisang sniffed.

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes. “Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll get them out of you one day.”

“Maybe you will,” Nie Huaisang said.

-

“Da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said. “If I wanted to keep Jiang Cheng permanently, what principle would I have to invoke for that?”

“Nineteen.”

“Nineteen?” Nie Huaisang frowned. “But, da-ge, principle nineteen is the one about marriage – oooooooh.”

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

if I can never give you peace — zero || Jungkook

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: It starts like quite a few stories do, in your world. Girl meets boy, who happens to be a hybrid, girl buys him at an auction where hybrids are sold, boy falls in love with her, girl gets bored of him. Then it’s not so typical anymore, when the boy ends up forced into illegal fighting rings, until he makes a wrong move and the girl’s father decides he needs to be killed.

Where does that leave you? Well, you’re the one who handled Jungkook’s fight and generally organized his life, and, when the girl’s father, your boss and mafia leader, tells you he wants him ‘put down’, you’re the one who has to get it done. Except, instead, you let him escape, and everything turns out fine.

Until he comes back.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count (chapter): 5.8k

Genre: Mafia AU, Hybrid AU, enemies to lovers, heavy on angst, slow burn, eventual smut

Warnings & Tags (chapter): Descriptions of Violence, Tension, Dehumanization and general poor treatment of hybrids

A/N: So I have two modes and those are tooth-rotting fluff and angst feast. This is... not fluff. I hope you’ll enjoy this first installment and introduction to the series, and I will see you soon for the next one!

Next

Your eyes follow Jungkook’s every step as he walks through the crowd and enters the cage that serves as a ring. He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re watching. You’re always watching. You’re standing in your usual corner, from where you make sure everything goes smoothly. Two tall, muscular men stand on either side of you. They look like they’re your bodyguards, but really, they’re here to handle him if he tries to do something. To everyone in the room but the two of you, this looks like every other fight night since the very first time he came to the Circle.

You’re too far for him to smell you, especially over the crowd of excited, sweaty men, but if he did, he’s sure he would pick up on the bitter scent of anxiety, would hear your heart beating a little too fast. He’d say you’re lucky the guards aren’t hybrids, but he knows that’s not the case. You never count on luck. Everybody knows that. That’s what makes you so good at your job. That’s what might just save his life.

He glances at you, finds your eyes glued on him, and gives you a smirk, which reveals his abnormally pointy teeth for a rabbit hybrid. It’s been over a year since they’ve been sharpened for him, to make him look more threatening. You’re used to them, but he still sees you swallow. For the first time he wonders, vaguely, if you had any say in that. You’re the one he meets with nowadays, but you’re not his owner, after all.

Your eyes leave him to look at his opponent. The man’s taller and has broad shoulders, he seems to have some training based on his on-guard position, and he’s older than him. You couldn’t find many informations on him, but based on his attributes, he’s probably some kind of dog hybrid.

You both know he doesn’t stand a chance.

“On my left,” the announcer roars, “some fresh meat! I give you… Jin!”

There are enthusiastic shouts, and the man shoots nervous glances around him at the crowd all around him. It’s clear that he isn’t used to that type of setting, and you feel an unexpected wave a guilt in your chest. He’s going to get destroyed tonight, you’re sure of it. You’re the one who suggested that Jungkook should fight a newbie, for the show. You don’t regret your decision, but you don’t feel good about it either.

“And on my right! The man who needs no introduction, who has won thirty! Two! Fights in a row, I give you… Jungkook!”

The crowd goes hysterical, and the hybrid facing him winces again. If he thought he had chance before that, it’s clear that he doesn’t anymore. You wonder if he’d heard about Jungkook, if his owners had prepared him well enough, if whoever owned him was betting against him. You wonder if he’d just been told he would be fighting a rabbit hybrid and assumed he would be fine.

Jungkook’s long ears are flat against his head, carefully tucked under a headband, and without those, he doesn’t look like a rabbit hybrid, too tall and broad-shouldered. Then again, he had never really been your typical rabbit hybrid.

Truth was, you had been relieved when you had been assigned to working for the daughter of Mr. Xanders. Your whole life, you had known you would end up here. Your dad had worked for the Family since before your birth, and though it was clear your mom disapproved, she had never held any illusion that you would escape it. If anything, you were the sacrifice, a way of making sure your siblings wouldn’t be forced to work for the most powerful crime family in town. That was, if you did good enough.

Getting assigned to the girl who was nicknamed “the Princess” was both a blessing and a curse. It meant you got to stay away from most of the illegal stuff, as the girl was notoriously sheltered from all of that by her father. However, it also meant that you had to basically babysit the spoiled seventeen years old, despite her being only a few years younger than you. You had dressed as professionally and sternly as you could, adorning yourself in a dark woman’s suit, but she hadn’t seemed impressed.

That was how you found yourself here, at an auction for rare hybrids. You thought the whole thing was grim — oh, how naive you had to be back then, to think this was bad — but you had obeyed orders without batting an eye. You had to do this right, and this was a pretty easy job, after all.

You gritted your teeth silently as various hybrids were brought on stage, exhibited and bought, one by one. The status of hybrids was a complicated subject in the country, always had been, but you had grown up in a poor area, where a lot of hybrids lived freely, and the idea of owning what you knew to be a person made you sick to your stomach. At least the Princess hadn’t said a word the whole time you’d been there, and you had hopes that you would leave without — God — buying someone.

Naive. So damn naive.

“I want this one,” the girl had announced decidedly, pointing at the stage with a movement of her chin.

Shit.

You looked at the stage. There, the auctioneer was highly praising the hybrid who had last been brought on stage. A surprisingly tall and muscular rabbit hybrid, with fluffy black hair and long ears falling on either side of his head. He was shaking slightly, sending terrified looks around him, and your heart tightened in your chest.

Naive and soft.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and the girl rolled her eyes.

“Do your job. Get him for me.”

Numbers flashed in your mind, the exact amount of money you were allowed to spend clear as day. It made you feel a little better, for a second. This was what you were good with; numbers, facts, informations. If you thought of the hybrid as just that — a number,  an element to compose with — you should be able to do what you were supposed to do. Do your damn job, and ensure your little brother never ever had to work here, because they wouldn’t be as kind to him.

You took a deep breath, and, after a few people had already considerably raised the price, you made your bid.

Jungkook walks to the center of the ring, arms raised high. He’s good at giving a show, good at most things, actually. He looks good here, confident, knowing exactly what he’s worth, and he’s nothing like what he was that first day. There is absolutely no fear on his face as he fists the air and people shout for him. Instead, he seems to be positively thriving on the attention he’s getting.

He’s a favorite here, because he always gives people what they came for. He makes the fight last, makes it theatrical, with twists and impressive moves. It’s been a while since he’s struggled in a fight, really struggled, which has made it easier. You recognize you’ve played your part in that. You have your word to say when picking his opponents, and you don’t want him to— well, to die, or to be too badly injured.

You know it’s not much. You know no matter what you tell yourself, that’s not protecting him. You know you should have acted a lot earlier.

But you didn’t.

They gave you Jungkook as soon as the payment was confirmed, which didn’t take long. People were fidgeting in the room, careful not to stare too long at the Princess. They knew who she was, of course. The bodyguards and your ghostly presence, one step behind her, did not do anything to soothe their nerves. No one actually knew you back then. You hadn’t earned your reputation of efficiency, no one had called you a cold-hearted bitch yet, though that would pretty much become your identifier, but you were still somewhat unnerving, with your stillness and your all black attire.

Which was why you never tried to add color to it.

The Princess seemed to be in her element, not bothered by the silence and people’s obvious fear of her, even for a second. Instead, she was watching her acquisition. The hybrid — Jungkook, you remembered, because you’d heard his name after winning the auction — was staring at the floor, stealing glances at her every once in a while, before quickly looking away again. He was clearly shy, and terrified, and it looked like the Princess liked that.

When they handed the leash to her, she was quick to clip it on his collar, and you held back your disgust. Your mind went to Mark, a kind golden retriever hybrid you had grown up with, and the idea of him being collared like that almost made you retch.

But, of course, none of that could be seen on your face. You had been told that you had the perfect poker face, unreadable at all times. In moments like this, it was a true blessing.

“Hello, Jungkook, I’m Anna, and I’m your new owner. I’m going to take good care of you.”

Then Jungkook looked up at her, briefly, and an adorable smile curved his lips.

You knew then that this could only end in pain and heartbreak.

Once Jungkook is done, he turns to face Jin. The other hybrid looks like he wants to run away, but even if he tried it, he’d be pushed right back in. So he does the smart thing, and prepares himself for the fight, lifting his hands to protect himself. Jungkook does the same thing. There is a brief moment of silence, everyone bracing themselves for what is to come. Despite his earlier display, Jungkook is deathly calm now, every muscle in his body ready for action.

The second the bell rings, Jungkook is moving, so fast he’s almost blurry, and you have to avert your eyes when his fist connects with the other hybrid’s chest.

This all feels like it could have been avoided.

A relationship quickly developed between the shy bunny and the Princess. You didn’t say anything about it; that wasn’t what you were here for. A baby-sitter, sure, but not a chaperone. Anyway, it seemed like Mr. Xanders wasn’t too worried about that, and his daughter was free to do whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t get pregnant. You supposed a hybrid was the perfect choice for that, with how rare it was for them to have children with a human. It could happen, of course, but it was highly unlikely without medical assistance.

Still, you weren’t sure you liked the relationship all that much. It just felt like Anna had so much power over him. He was a couple of years older than her, since selling hybrids under eighteen was technically illegal, but it was clear from the very beginning that he had been sheltered and didn’t have much experience in— well, in any areas. A sickening feeling told you that had probably been done on purpose by the people who had raised him. You were well aware of what rabbit hybrids were usually bought for.

You watched, silently, as they got close, as Anna’s hands started to easily find Jungkook’s, as Jungkook started to rest his head on her shoulder, to scent her, as he fell in love with her. Today, maybe you would have been annoyed at the sight, annoyed by his innocence, but back then, it only made you sad.

You were also there to see Anna grow bored of him. It didn’t even take her that long, no more than a couple of months.

When she insisted on going to another hybrid auction, and asked you to bid on someone else, you knew that it was over.

“Get him to fight,” Mr. Xanders told you dismissively at a meeting you had with him. “I want the money he cost me back.”

“He’s a rabbit hybrid,” you had said, frowning. “He’s not exactly the fighting type.”

“I didn’t tell you to make him win,” he scoffed. “I don’t care if you have to bet against him. Get my money back. After that, I don’t care what you do with him.”

You didn’t realize then that that was a ‘promotion’, and that this meant you would start working in illegal settings. All you knew was the painful weight in your chest at the idea of sending Jungkook to his death. You had kept away from him, not trying to create any bonds with him, but he smiled politely and kindly when he saw you.

God, he was in love with Anna. You were sure he had noticed her losing interest in him, but you also believed he held out hope. This could— This would probably be crushing for him.

So you took the matter into your own hands. You didn’t just sign him up for an upcoming fight, but you also found him a trainer, the best you could.

“Does Anna want me to learn how to fight?” he had asked you, big brown eyes looking at you, when you had told him about the training. “So I can be her bodyguard?”

“My orders don’t come from Anna,” you’d answered, trying to stay as distant as possible.

“But will she— Do you think she’ll like me again, if I learn to fight?”

No. You thought Anna had gotten everything she wanted from him.

“I don’t know,” you had answered. You couldn’t. You couldn’t do it.

The first fight had been brutal. Devastating, in fact. Jungkook had been training, and you’d been told he was good at what he was doing, but, as a newbie, he’d been sent against an expert fighter — “for the show”, you’d heard, the exact same thing you would use as well, years later —, and you were later told he was lucky he’d made it out alive.

You stayed next to him in the hospital room. As a hybrid, he healed quickly, but he still looked terrible, body marred with black and blue, lip busted, and black eyes. When he woke up, he looked around the room, every movement he made clearly painful, and you knew, at his expression, that there was only one thing he thought about in that moment.

Anna wasn’t there.

You would never forget the look he gave you then. The way he set his jaw, the way something hardened in his eyes.

“Get out,” he had said, and you were pretty sure he had meant for it to sound aggressive, but he wasn’t good at it yet, so it was more pleading.

You had gotten up, made a move to— to pat his shoulder, to do something, but you had refrained and your hand had fallen down to your side.

“I’m sorry,” you had said, and you had left him alone in there, with his broken hopes and heart.

That night was the first and last time you considered leaving your job.

But there was no quitting, where you worked.

In the ring, of course, Jungkook is good. He leaves an opening for the guy to place a few punches, ones that can’t hurt him too much. The crowd is delirious, bets are being placed. There’s a rumor that Jungkook was injured at the last fight so tonight could be the night where he loses his title, couldn’t it? The first round is coming to an end, and he doesn’t seem to have done much so, surely, he’s not going to be able to end that guy by the third, like he usually does — and if he does, hey, at least they’ll have had one hell of a show.

The three rounds thing is something you asked him to do after an organizer told you people needed that to feel they had gotten their money’s worth. You had told Jungkook, and he’d growled an answer, but he had never won in less than that since. For all his obvious hatred of you, the organization, and everything that surrounded him, he didn’t actively oppose you most of the time. He had tried to run away, twice, but when those attempts had failed, he had seemed to realize that it was just easier to go with the flow.

When the second round starts, though, he goes wild. His bare feet are light on the floor,  his fists quick and precise. He doesn’t leave anything to luck either. Every punch lands exactly where he wants it to, when he wants it to. He dodges his opponent’s attacks easily, and he sees in his eyes the moment when the man realizes that he’s not winning this. He sees confidence turn into surprise, then into fear, and it only makes him want blood.

His right hook hits the man in the jaw with all the power he can put into it, and this time you don’t wince. You’ve gotten used to the violence now — it always takes you a while — and you’re mostly impressed at how good Jungkook is.

But that’s exactly why you’re in this situation, isn’t it?

“We should put him down,” Mr. Xanders said, with the exact same dismissive tone he had used years ago to tell you to make Jungkook fight, and you looked at him in disbelief. Surely, surely, he didn’t mean—

“I really disapprove of that solution, dad,” Anna said, shaking her head, and you realized he did.

You had been surprised by Anna’s presence, when you had walked into the office. You hadn’t worked for her in a long time, having graduated to far worse things. You had served your purpose, you supposed, made yourself practically indispensable when it came to the organizing of the Family’s business, as you knew the workings of the Family in and out, both legal and… less legal aspects. No one had ever said anything about your siblings joining.

“He attacked someone,” her father simply shrugged.

“If I may, Mr. X, it was after a fight and the man was being really aggressive after he lost the money he’d bet against—”

“I don’t care,” he said, waving his hand like you were just an annoying fly. “He attacked a human. We can’t have our hybrids doing that, otherwise it will just be chaos. You’re smart enough to know that.”

You swallowed. Something inside you was screaming. You had long shut down any form of moral compass, but it seemed like Jungkook always awoke the last remnants of it. You were pretty sure he despised you now, and you didn’t blame him for it. But, just like what you’d thought when Anna had bought him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this just wasn’t right.

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s a horrible thing you’re doing, dad,” Anna insisted. “I thought you’d try to at least reason with him, (Y/N).”

That wasn’t your job. You knew when your opinion was asked on those things, and now was not one of those times. You also knew that you hated that she called you by your first name, like the two of you were friends, and you didn’t say anything about that either.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Mr. Xanders said warmly, like he had just refused to buy her an expensive toy, and not condemned a man to death. “I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Anna sighed and rolled her eyes, and you assumed she’d probably stay mad at him for a while. But not too long.

Your heart was beating so loud in your chest you barely heard Mr. Xanders dismissing you, and you were relieved to be left alone when you walked out. There was only one thing you wanted to be thinking about now.

How were you going to save Jungkook’s life?

Jin hits the floor and doesn’t get up. It’s not an actual knock-out, because he’s still moving around, but Jungkook doubts he’ll even try to get back on his feet. The guy seems to be smart, he probably realizes that that would be suicide. Another minute with him on the ring? Nah. That would be a really, really stupid thing to do. Jungkook’s knuckles are bleeding — he doesn’t think they’ve been intact once in the four years he’s been fighting — and he’s pretty much unstoppable, right now.

He lets the referee grab his arm and lift it in the air as the crowd screams. They’re particularly loud tonight, because he won in two rounds. It’s not really a surprise when they force the entrance of the cage, flooding it, and Jungkook looks for you, almost instinctively. When he finds you, your eyes are on your phone. You look like you couldn’t care less about what’s happening around you, and he knows you do genuinely dislike the fights. You’ve never made it a secret. You’ve never taken care of the other hybrids owned by the family who participate, either. He doesn’t know if he’s your burden, or if you’re the one who chooses to still do that. Before, he wouldn’t have doubted it. Now… He’s not so sure.

Your eyes flicker up to his for a second, and you nod, imperceptibly. Your heart is probably beating as loud as his right now, though for different reasons.

Jungkook examines you, takes in how out of place you are in that environment, immaculately dressed, small glasses on your nose, hair pulled back, and lets himself be amused by it, one last time.

And then he’s gone.

You only visited Jungkook when there was about to be a fight, and it was clear he really didn’t like it when you showed up. You always seemed to be interrupting him, whether it was a training session or a work-out. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him do something other than those two things. You didn’t know if he had anything else.

You brought some food from a restaurant he liked, as you usually did, and got some things for the guards who would be around. That wasn’t as usual, but you had done it before, so hopefully it wouldn’t make anyone suspicious and it would allow you to have some privacy with Jungkook.

He sat down opposite from you, immediately diving into the food you’d brought, and you watched silently. His shoulders were tense, never completely down but, though he would hate to admit it, he was more relaxed around you than around anyone else. It said a lot about his life, about how desperate he was for any form of companionship, that the way you told him about his opponents almost made him feel like you cared about him. It said a lot that your presence comforted him, and it was pretty pathetic, if you asked him.

“So, who am I fighting?” he asked while eating. He never bothered with his manners when he was around you.

“A newbie,” you said. “Some fighting training from what I’ve gathered, but he shouldn’t be an issue.”

He growled. The sound was unnatural for a rabbit hybrid, but he had mastered it over the years. It was a good way of intimidating people.

“Really? I thought I told you I wanted a challenge.”

You didn’t reply immediately, and that made him look up at you. When he did, you were chewing on the inside of your cheek, hesitant. That was completely out of character. Then, you made up your mind, and your expression turned back to the unreadable one he was so familiar with.

“Keep eating, and don’t raise your voice” you ordered.

He lifted an eyebrow. Normally, he would have done something like folding his arms and waited for more, in a defiant attitude, but this was you. You would never do something like that just to assert your power over him. He hated your guts, but that was one thing he could say about you.

“Mr. X is going to have you killed because you attacked that man at your last fight.”

There. Direct, to the point, not a useless word — though you couldn’t bring yourself to use the words “put you down”. Jungkook froze for a half a second, than resumed his eating, albeit slower than before.

“It was all good as long as long as I brought him money, but he doesn’t want any trouble for it, huh?”

His voice was bitter and low, barely more than a rumble. You were confident no one was paying attention to you, since the guards ate in another part of the house and no one cared about what you were saying. They could see you through the picture window, but they couldn’t read lips. Still, you lowered your voice as well.

“Win your next fight in two rounds,” you said, instead of answering him.

He shot you a dirty glance.

“Do you really think that’s what I—”

“That should get the crowd to lose their mind,” you continued. You had gone through all the possibilities in your mind, over and over again. This was the one that was the safest for you and your family, while giving Jungkook a reasonable chance of survival. “When that happens, you’ll use the hysteria to leave through your opponent’s entrance.”

This got his attention, and he stopped trying to interrupt you, finally focusing on your words.

“I can probably get you somewhere between five and ten minutes before everyone finds out you’re missing.”

He scoffed.

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I also won’t look too hard for you,” you added, because you would obviously be in charge of that as well. “So as long as you don’t do a terrible job hiding, we probably won’t find you. Stay away from hotels, and don’t get noticed.”

Jungkook stayed silent for a while. He didn’t look at you, jaw set, and you were pretty sure he was weighing the pros and cons of your plan.

“I don’t know if there’ll be another chance,” you told him truthfully. “They want you gone after the fight.”

The silence went on a little longer, before Jungkook spoke again.

“Anna’s said yes to that?”

You didn’t miss the way his voice faltered on her name. You didn’t think he had spoken to her in years, but he still had a soft spot for her, and being reminded of it always made you sad. You had accepted, a long time ago, that life wasn’t fair, but that was particularly true when it came to him. None of what had happened to him was fair. The shy boy with the wide eyes you’d helped buy at the auction deserved better. You didn’t, probably deserved every single bad thing that had happened to you, but for him, you wished you had done something — anything — differently. So you wouldn’t be faced with a jaded, cynical version of that boy right now.

“She opposed it, but her father is still going through with it.”

“So she didn’t oppose it much.”

You didn’t answer that. It was true, and you both knew it.

You glanced at your watch. Your time here was almost over, and you had a lot of responsibilities.

“Will you do it?”

Jungkook glanced at you, eyes wary.

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You could just do that so you could have me killed and say I tried to escape.”

You shook your head, almost amused by the possibility.

“I would gain nothing from doing that, and if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t go about it that way. Will you do it?”

This time, he nodded. He didn’t trust you, but he thought you were telling the truth on this.  So following your plan would be just as well.

“Good. I’ll see you for the fight.”

This would have been a good moment to wish him good luck, probably, but you didn’t do luck, so you didn’t say anything. You gave him a quick nod, gathered your things, and then you were out.

You didn’t think to say goodbye.

“We’ll get him when the crowd’s dispersed,” one of the bodyguards says, and you hum noncommittally in response, eyes on your phone.

Moron.

If these two were the ones you usually work with, they would know that your usual protocol is to go get Jungkook as soon as the referee’s lifted his hand up. That way, you can get him out as quickly as possible and you don’t have to worry about him getting mobbed. But you’ve changed your team the day Mr. Xanders asked you to ‘put Jungkook down’, so they have no idea. It’s been a week since then, which shouldn’t make it too suspicious. Hopefully.

When the crowd does move enough to see what’s going on in the cage — three minutes — one of the two men says, voice worried, “Hey, can you see him?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes scan the room. You’re relieved to see that Jungkook’s nowhere in sight.

“Where is he?” you ask urgently, and the men seem to shrink under your glare, exchanging worried glances. You roll your eyes and sigh. This may be your plan, but they’re still acting incompetent. Which is good for you, sure, but the perfectionist in you is annoyed.

“You two should pray he’s in the changing room,” you spit out as you march towards it. It takes some struggle, because the crowd isn’t exactly calming down, but it’s not too long.

Of course, Jungkook isn’t in the changing room. It was a bad idea to go look there anyway — usually you would probably have already informed everyone that he had disappeared — but these two don’t seem to realize that.

“Go search the fighting room,” you order, “make sure you haven’t missed anything. Then check the surroundings. I’ll stay there. Let me know if you find something.”

They practically run out, and you allow yourself to sit down. This isn’t even dangerous yet. If Jungkook’s done that part correctly, he should already be too far for them to find him. As far as you’re concerned, you’ve bought him — you check your watch — seven minutes. But even if you don’t doubt him, you still feel terror at the idea they could catch him. You don’t know what would happen then. You don’t want to think about it.

The seconds tick by. It’s been almost exactly ten minutes when your phone rings.

“Hello, Miss—”

“Do you have him?” you bark.

There’s a silence.

“I want an answer!” you snap.

“No. I’m sorry. We’ve lost him.”

You hang up immediately and start to dial another number to let people know Jungkook’s missing.

But, before you actually call, you let out a brief sigh of relief.

This just might work.

You get home late the following night. When you do, you’re absolutely exhausted. You’ve had a terrible day, unable to sleep a wink, and you got thoroughly chewed out over Jungkook going missing. You think Mr. X was suspicious of you, because you basically don’t fuck up, ever, but then Anna started to wax poetics about how “Jungkook was a soul who wanted to live”, and you don’t think he bought it, but it at least got his mind off of you.

You doubt he’d get you killed over that, it just isn’t worth it and you’re pretty valuable, but it would be much better if he didn’t think about it too much.

You’ve organized the searches, pretty sloppily in your own opinion. Of course, it’s possible that they could find him, but if Jungkoook does his part, everything should be okay.

You remove your shoes with a groan when you walk in. You usually never regret wearing heels, thankful for the centimeters they help you gain, but tonight you definitely do. Keeping them on for two days was not how they had been intended to be used.

Once they’re off your feet, you painfully walk to your kitchen. All you want to do is to make yourself a cup of tea before going to bed, but you stop yourself before grabbing your kettle.

Something feels— off. You’re probably the only person who could notice it, because you’re  so obsessive with everything that’s in your home, but you just can’t miss it. It’s not much, just some items that aren’t where they should be, or that were moved a little to the side.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you hesitantly grab a knife from your kitchen drawer. You don’t think that would do anything, if someone was in your apartment right now, because you can’t fight and, considering the people you work for, you’re pretty sure if someone wanted to kill you they would, but it makes you feel better.

You make your way through the living-room slowly, heart hammering in your chest. You check the bathroom, first. No one’s in there, but it’s clear that whoever was there used it as well. He didn’t put your toothpaste back where it belonged.

That only leaves your room. You walk in, carefully, to find it empty. Your bed’s done, though not exactly how you do it, and that confuses you. At least until your eyes find the necklace that’s on your bedside table.

It’s the identifying tag Jungkook wore around his neck for fights. You reach out for it, in disbelief, and that only confirms what you thought.

A laugh bubbles in your throat, and you just can’t hold it in. It escapes your lips, breaking the silence that always reigns in your apartment.

Here. He was here, in the eye of the storm, while everyone was looking for him. You have no idea where he is now, but this makes you feel like he’ll be fine. Clearly, he is a smart man and he has resources.

You fall to the ground, lean against your bed, holding the tag in your hand. You give yourself a second. That’s more than you usually get. It’s a second to close your eyes and feel grateful and happy about what happened, a second to think that perhaps not everything is dark and terrible in the world.

A second, because Jungkook made it out.

And then, you open your eyes, and you come back to your reality, which is that you’ll be working for the family tomorrow, and the day after that, and probably for the rest of your life. There’s no out for you. No hope.

But at least Jungkook should be fine. You’ll never know about it, because if he is, then you’ll never hear about him again.

If you ever do, it will only mean bad news.

Next

Thank you for reading! I hope you’ve enjoyed this first chapter and feel free to let me know if you would like to be tagged for future ones!

[whump-a-la-mode]

Magician’s Assistant

No one asked for this, but I decided to continue this cause I love some good villain whump, and I love some good pet whump, so why not mix them together?

Summary: Villain puts on a show for Hero’s friends, and takes a risk that they regret.

I’m open to continuing this if anyone wants ^^ I know it’s a little weird though.

CW//Pet whump, forced to perform, power suppressors, collars, cones of shame, muzzles, bit gags, mitt cuffs, threatened punishment, failed escape, scopophobia, stage fright, dehumanization

“Now, I wouldn’t have to do this if you would behave. I hate doing this, you know. You’re going to make my friends think you’re some kind of wild animal.”

A low growl rumbled in Villain’s throat as their head was jerked around by Hero’s forceful hands. A trio of plastic buttons sounded with a rhythmic pop pop pop as they were undone, allowing the plastic cone attached to their collar to be slipped free and tossed to the ground.

The removal of the opaque blinders sent Villain for a loop, suddenly regaining access to their peripheral vision. Yet, they were given no chance to stumble, or even to ease their dizziness. The fingers gripping their chin like a vice would not allow such a thing. 

Hero must have known that the muzzle was too small. The sheer amount of force it took to force the damned piece of metal over Villain’s jaw should have at least told them that. Even as the device was placed on their face, they could not help but whimper in discomfort, unyielding leather and metal already digging into their tender flesh. As their jaw was forced closed, they could feel the bit already within their mouth dig painfully into their gums. Their whimpers soon turned to muffled cries.

“Now, I’m only doing this because you forced my hand.” Their tormentor sighed. “You wear your mitts because you can’t stop picking. You wear your cone because you kept chewing on the mitts. But you can’t wear your cone on stage, and I can’t trust you not to chew. I swear, it’s like Whack-a-Mole, trying to keep up with your habits.”

The muzzle was pulled taut against their face as its straps were pulled back and fastened. Villain whined, the motion of the metal bars on their face forcing their teeth closed over their tongue, washing their taste buds with the bitter taste of blood.

“Now, if you’ll behave.” There was an exasperated overtone to Hero’s voice, as though they were the one leashed and collared like a dog. “The muzzle can come off after the show.”

Villain wanted to maul that expression straight off Hero’s face. Or, maybe just take the whole face off. Their limbs trembled with barely-contained rage, but they had no time to act on it.

“Be good. I’ll be back in a little bit.” They finished, handing off the leash they carried to a guard standing a few feet away. And, with that, they pushed away the heavy curtain and disappeared onto the stage.

A thousand screaming, primal things within Villain screeched at them, howled for them to do something, to fight back. The guard was terribly distracted, leash looped lazily around a wrist while their hands were occupied with a smartphone. It would be so, so easy, so simple to knock them over, knock them out, tear them to pieces and be free and be normal and-

And Villain lowered themself to the floor, laying down on their side.

No. Their wounds still stung from last time. They had learned better than to attempt to flee with so many eyes on them. They just had to sit. Sit and wait. Wait until they were finally left alone again.

The stage lights turned on, filtering through the backstage curtain with their sheer strength. They could hear Hero’s words clearly, but they knew the speech so well, it simply filtered from their ears.

How many times had they done this show, now? They couldn’t bring themself to care. It was better, not to think about what they had become.

A circus animal. A magician’s assistant.

They wanted to escape. Of course they did. They hated this, hated every second of it. They just wanted to go home. For so long they had desired revenge, but that desire had been extinguished alongside their willpower. Now, they just wanted to go home. To be able to use their hands. To be able to drink out of a cup rather than a bowl. To be able to eat something that couldn’t be described as brown slop.

But they couldn’t. All because of a stupid pair of mittens. Dejectedly, they looked down, where there hands were supposed to be. Where now sat only padded paws of black leather, secured around the wrist with taut straps. That was all it took to disable them.

They wanted to scream.

Villain couldn’t count how many times they’d tried to escape. How many guards they’d jumped, how many wounds inflicted.

And, every time, they were thwarted by something so simple. A doorknob. A window latch. A buckle. All because of a stupid pair of mittens.

That, and the power suppressor. They could feel the cold metal against the back of their neck, firmly secured by their collar.

Theoretically, it would be so easy to get out. If they could reach the buckles on their mitts with their mouth, they could get them off, easy. Then, it was just a matter of finding a window and making a run for it.

Simple in theory. Impossible in reality. That didn’t mean they couldn’t try, though. That they couldn’t act in at least a shadow of defiance.

Villain wasn’t broken yet. They would never break, never. No matter what. It may have been too dangerous to attempt to flee with so many heroes around, but once they were back to their cell? Their next attempt would begin. And this time, they’d be faster. Smarter. Better. And one day, they would get out.

The thought sent a long-lost burst of warmth through their chest. Just to make a point, they snarled as best as they could around the muzzle.

Maybe they would knock the guard over. Just for fun. To show Hero that they weren’t going to sit back here like a good little puppy, just because one of their escape attempts had been thwarted.

They didn’t get the chance.

“And now, for my final act, I have a very special guest.” The words boomed out through the speakers as the stage lights dimmed.

It was time for their act.

Still hardly paying attention, the guard leaned down, unclipping the leash from Villain’s collar. Freeing them.

They could run. The door to the rest of the facility was right there. They couldn’t help from turning their head towards it, red-hot adrenaline filling their veins and overriding the taste of iron in their mouth.

The guard’s boot struck their side with practiced swiftness.

“Go.” They grunted.

They had to be patient. Had to do the smart thing. Had to be a good dog, until the moment was right. Once they were back to their cell, then they could stop pretending to be ‘trained.’

But, for now...

They would just have to “behave.”

Villain raised themself to their hands and knees, then, slowly, to their feet. Their taut muscles made their gait terribly tense as they pushed through the curtain and moved onto the stage.

They wanted to go back they wanted to go back they wanted to go back.

Every time they came on stage, they forgot just how horrible it was. Or, perhaps, it simply got worse every time. The stage lights were hot enough to make them feel as though they were laying on asphalt in the dead middle of summer. And, even with the lights obscuring their forms, they swore they could still see every member of the audience. See their eyes, staring, transfixed.

As soon as Villain emerged from the wings, the laughter was overwhelming. It seemed to echo off every wall, resound from every speaker. They swore that their heart and stomach switched places.

Still, they kept moving, even as they shook worse than a nervous chihuahua. It was just an act. An act they knew how to perform, even as they wished more than anything to bleach the memory from their mind.

In the center of the stage, a sort of pyramid had been constructed of wooden chairs, built in such a way that, at the pyramid’s peak, a single chair was balanced. A platform.

Climbing the pyramid, they were unsure if the chairs shook because of their own unsteady placement or because of Villain’s trembling. An eternity of stage lights and staring eyes and chortling audience members later, they were at the top, balanced precariously atop the peak.

They hated the view that the position gave them. There must have been a hundred people out there, a hundred pairs of eyes, a hundred mouths pealing in laughter.

Villain swallowed down a mouthful of bile.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you all of who my assistant used to be.” Hero smiled.

More laughter.

“But now, they’re here to show you just what they can do, when they’re not trying to destroy our city!”

This time, the audience’s chortling nearly drowned out the subtle, mechanical click that sounded from the leather loop about Villain’s throat.

Their power flooded their chest, warmer than the strongest alcohol.

Was it even their power, anymore, when they were only allowed access to it when it pleased their captors? They tried not to think on that for too long.

With measured steps, Hero approached the pyramid of chairs on which their prisoner was precariously perched.

A moment of silence, and Villain was falling.

Hero’s boot struck a leg on one of the chairs forming the structure’s foundation, snapping it effortlessly. At once, the pyramid collapsed.

No matter how many times they performed the act, the way their heart leapt to their throat was always painfully, horribly real.

But it was all an act, and they were the tiger jumping through the hoop.

Villain’s powers tore from their body, swirling about their limbs, their back, their feet, until they were floating, bobbing up and down in the air.

From the audience, applause and amusement resounded in equal number.

“Go!” Hero’s shout cut through the air, a whip striking a performing lion.

Just an act. They could do this, they had done it so many times.

Still allotting plenty of strength to keep themself afloat, Villain sent their power out in every which direction-- a swarm of flies, searching and grabbing whatever they could find.

Gasps echoed from the audience members below as, from the tables before them, their very plates and forks were whisked away. Spiraling dishware formed a series of rings about the floating villain’s body, as though they were a nucleus, circled by energy in pure form.

The chairs were next, legs ripped from seats and seats torn from backs, until sticks of wood formed yet more rings. There were a dozen, now, and hundreds of objects making them up. Villain felt sweat dribble down their forehead, trying to keep track of it all.

But Hero was not yet satisfied. They could see it on their face.

The next batch of dishware came from the kitchens, accompanied by a flood of flying office supplies. New rings formed, staplers and cutlery and serving plates, all spiraling, twisting, until Villain could no longer be seen beneath the sphere they had formed around them.

“Give it up for this former villain!” Hero cried out, and the audience did not protest. Their clapping was interspersed by only a few spots of giggling.

When the applause had reached its crescendo, it was time for the finale. Sweat poured from their forehead in liters, now, dribbling down their sides, a thousand swirling things around them, concealing them from the-

The world beyond.

No one could see them. And with so many things under their control, what was one more?

Undoing the buckle on their muzzle was like spinning plates, while balancing on a ball, which was atop an elephant. While underwater. Every neuron in their mind was pulled in a separate direction, yet, a tiny ounce of residual willpower gave them the strength they needed.

The buckle was undone, the strap pulled free.

This was it. But not yet. No, not yet. They used their powers, holding the muzzle to their face, ensuring that it looked to not have been disturbed at all.

The applause was deafening.

Around them, the rings of dishware and wood scraps and staplers and staples began to grow-- a ball of plasma, writhing as a living thing, breathing, until it took up nearly the whole stage.

All at once, it broke. Each and every of the thousand pieces, the million atoms, stopped spinning. Plates swirled through the air, returning to their original tables without a single chip in their porcelain, cutlery neatly stacked beside them. Office supplies were returned with the same perfection, chairs twisted back into their proper forms, and once again stacked in their pyramidal form.

Villain gasped for breath as they lowered themself to the floor. The resounding applause did not help, not in the slightest. Instead, it made them feel as though garotte wires had been pulled taught about their lungs, their throat. Why did everything have to be so loud?

They hoped that their tears mixed convincingly with their sweat.

When the clapping quieted to nothing, Hero again took center stage.

“Thank you, everyone, for being here tonight!”

More applause. Didn’t their hands hurt?

“That’s all I have for you this time around. Dinner will be out in a moment, and I’ll be joining you all in a moment!”

The noise from the audience continued as Hero turned, moving off the stage. Like an obedient puppy dog, Villain kept on their heels. When, at last, they pushed through the backstage curtain, they felt about to collapse. After a few moments, the horrid cacophony finally, finally stopped.

They were done. They’d done it. They’d pleased Hero, they’d performed, and now, they would be alone, all the way up until the next show.

Hero stopped once the two were firmly backstage, away from the blaring stage lights and the chattering people outside, signalling for Villain to do the same.

“You did good.” A hand in their hair. They wanted to throw up. Or, better, bite Hero’s hand off. “See, if you just behaved like that all the time, you wouldn’t have to wear any of this crap.”

Hero drew their hand from their head.

“Damn are you sweaty. Takes a lot out of you, huh? You can have a rest, then.”

From the guard, they took the leather leash, reattaching it to the collar’s D-ring. And-

A click. The power suppressor.

Then, a clatter. Their muzzle striking the floor. They’d forgotten that they’d removed it.

Oh god oh god oh god.

Any cheer that Hero had been emanating was gone in an instant. This time, the hand in their hair was a restraint, yanking and forcing  their head to the floor.

“I swear.” The fury in their tone was barely contained. “I’m done with this! I’m done. I can see that I can’t trust you.”

Villain could hear their heartbeat, banging against the concrete floor below.

“Clearly, you need that lock on the collar. The mitts, too. But that’s going to take some time.”

Some time. Some time to rest.

“If you can’t be trusted on your own, then you’re going to have to go back to your trainer.”

If Villain had any water still left within their body, in that instant, every drop turned to ice.

“They’ll supervise you until your new collar is ready. Come on, now. I can’t wait to explain this to them.”

[whump-town]

Give and Take

This one's for you @genevievedarcygranger

I couldn't even tell you what this is about but it's something? Like about Hotch? I'm pretty sure there is no plot so just buckle in or whatever. I don't know, this is weird

The key to building a profile, to standing before someone and piecing together the important parts of their character, is to figure which parts of themselves they give to you and which parts they accidentally show. Most people are fairly easy to read (which is the optimal word, really. No one wants to be profiled but most people don’t mind a little reading on them. Makes them feel special, understood). The thing about secrets, about people, is that they always carry their burdens. It’s like any wound, you naturally lean to protect what hurts. And when once you figure out what hurts, when you can spot the source of the blood you’ll find no matter how advanced a species humans pretend to be, we still have the look of a wounded animal. A dog backed into the corner of an alley. A lame cat waiting to see if swift justice will rain down.

And the wound being protected speaks measures but more importantly…

It’s the reaction-- what happens when the wounds been found and what they anticipate the reaction will be to it.

But, hey, that’s all complicated nonsense. Take it with a grain of salt. Honestly, people always tell you everything that you need to know about them. Especially when they have something to hide.

The first time that Aaron Hotchner ever saw a dead body he was twelve.

The river is unforgiving. That May had brought treacherous storms. Drops of rain that fell so hard, so roughly they’d leave welts on exposed skin. Children still marched to school with the threat of their umbrellas being snapped out of small hands and the wind pushing back clothing, trying to disrobe them as they fought against its pushing hand.

Two days of hard rainfall had the river spewing over the bridge in town. Spitting up its murky water like a well-fed newborn, leaving the fallen limbs of trees and dead fish to rot in the sun. By the time the storm blew over the children were as unsettled as the river itself. Jittery with energy, begging for release. So, out they went. Mothers called from their front porches, father’s leveled threatening fingers-- stay away from the river.

It’ll suck you in and it’ll never let you go.

Johnny Martin was three years older than Hotch. He’d failed kindergarten, first grade, and the seventh grade and was generally regarded as a pointless child, someone to look over. Nobody worth a damn fails that many grades, you know? Nobody worth giving a second chance to let alone a third and a fourth. Except it wasn’t that Johnny was intellectually any different than the other kids. It was just as simple as his father was a nobody, a heavy drinker, and his mother was a weak, dreadful sight. So no one ever tried. His teachers didn’t pay him any attention. No one did, really.

That’s probably why he drowned.

He was bloated, Hotch didn’t even know what he was looking at for a moment. There was a cut across his face, the skin raised around the edges that nearly made it look like pursed lips. A panting mouth. Then he’d seen the eyes, bulging and red. He hadn’t screamed, wasn’t even afraid. No point in wasting the energy on something like that. The real things worth fearing lived at home.

He never told anyone about Johnny Martin.

They found his body a little while after Hotch did. A group of twenty-somethings trampling through the woods with their artfully rolled joints wedged in cigarette cartons and the cheapest beer they could afford. He climbed up a tree, watched them call the cops, and take Johnny Martin away.

For a week, he watched everyone pretend like they gave a shit about Johnny Martin. Heard his English teacher profess some make-believe story and saw the tears glimmer in her eyes. In death, Johnny Martin became a whole person. For the first time in Johnny Martin’s entire life, he wasn’t a ghost, he was a boy. A living thing for which people felt remorse, for which people mourned.

When they’d never looked at him before.

Hotch wanted to know if that’s all it took. Is death really all he needed to become a whole person? For someone to notice the cigarette burns on his arms or to look at him? To notice him? Is absence the only way to be known?

He’s only told the general outline of that story twice. Once while drunk at a college party, one of the few places that sort of talk is welcome. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?” And they circle around to him. Expectant eyes filled with the reflection of the flames of the fire dancing. He’d been thinking about his father’s office. The sound of the gunshot filling the house. Walking slowly down the hall, still stepping around the weak points in the floor so that he wouldn’t make a sound. Standing there looking at the blood splattered on the roof.

They put heart attack on the official death certificate. Illegal, sure, but not as ugly as suicide. Besides, a man like Richard Hotchner’s reputation would be ruined by his final actions. That couldn’t happen. So he’d been given a hero’s goodbye. A veteran of the Korean war sent off to the sound of his widow’s sobs, his two sons standing like little soldiers.

But that sort of thing ruins the mood. Kills the vibe so artfully created by the warmth of the dying fire and the joints being passed around.

So he tells them about Johnny Martin.

They hang onto his every word.

When he tells Dave it’s a diversion.

He’s laying in a hospital bed, the morphine has him slurring a bit but he’s talking more than Dave’s ever heard out of him. The kid hardly makes a peep for the three months he’s been working with them and he gets tossed down a few sets of stairs and he’s suddenly impossible to shut up. Dave was just trying to fret over him, expressing some concern until Haley could get here to do the heavy lifting. He ends up with more than he bargained for.

“No, s’okay. I’ve seen dead bodies, sir. Promise.”

Hotch tells him about Johnny Martin, curates a similar story to the one he told that night around the fire.

He’s a good storyteller and, though Dave can tell which elements of the story have been shifted for his enjoyment there are truths in all lies. Dave wants to ask what Hotch means when he mumbles out that part about ghosts, he doesn’t catch the exact wording but the implication. His dismissiveness towards Johnny Martin “some people you never notice, they’re just ghosts and there’s nothing you can do to change, to be seen”. Dave doesn’t ask what Hotch means by that and he still manages to find his answer.

Hotch has this tendency to step back. All his manners and smiles are for flourish, Southern hospitality that allows him to nimbly work his way through a crowd. Secretly, he’s an introvert. He always finds his way to the corner of the room, back facing the wall and watching. It’s where he’s most relaxed, where he’s unnoticed.

A ghost.

But even ghosts can be found out.

Even ghosts give a little bump in the night.

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t actually believe in ghosts but for a week he thinks he might. It freaks him out so bad that he tells Derek but he’s lost so much sleep freaking out over this that he mostly just sounds a little crazy. The fact that he tells Derek speaks measures but before everyone else, Derek was who he relied on and Derek is who he falls back on.

There was a broken plate in the kitchen, a plate that he didn’t break because he’d only gone to the living room. He couldn’t tell what it was but there had been this strange scratching. Then the plate fell. Honestly, he tore off. Ran to his bedroom and to Haley and when she asked what that sound was he said he hadn’t heard anything. Though he didn’t tell Derek that part, he more or less crawled into Haley’s arms and laid there until he felt safe again. Until her half-conscious rubbing at his back lulled him back to sleep.

They didn’t die so at least it wasn’t a serial killer.

It’s a cat.

Hotch’s ghost is a cat.

An old mangy orange thing that Hotch reluctantly takes into the house, Haley names him Casper. Naturally, she can’t let it go. Her husband the bravely trained, frequently praised federal agent tucking and running because an elderly cat had managed to let itself into their home.

Derek asks her about it, the ghost, the next time they all go out for drinks and she makes him swear to secrecy but he tells the others.

Not that day, nearly a year or more later.

After New York.

Penelope Garcia stays up all night watching what she thinks is going to be her friend’s last hours. Watches Hotch get tossed like a rag doll by a car bomb, and land discarded out of the view of the cameras. Just gone and she’s torn between not wanting to know and knowing she has to look. No matter what she’s going to see, she has to go on. They sift through the recording, speeding up the time-lapse. She watches him slowly gain consciousness over a stretch of twenty minutes, all taking place in less than a minute for her. Sees him stumble as he tries to stand, sagging against a street lamp and gagging up nothing. His stomach was too empty.

He’s disoriented, limping around the road.

Then came Sam.

The kid who tried to kill Hotch standing over his shoulder, touching his arm, and so close, so dangerously close. She cries, sits there and cries as she urges Derek to be faster. What if he has to finish the job? Kate was moving around, they were both alive, but Hotch can’t protect her. He can hardly stand.

He screams himself hoarse.

As Derek runs up on them all he can smell is burning rubber and blood. He’s breathing oddly, too quickly and his ribs aren’t moving the right way but Derek can see Hotch. He’s right there coherently speaking, words clear. So it doesn’t matter, the blood-splattered out on the road and running down Hotch’s collar.

And then Sam…

And the ambulance.

And Kate.

Reid, Prentiss, and Rossi are waiting for Hotch when he steps away from Kate. Reid had seen how immobile Hotch’s right shoulder had been, how stiffly it had moved as Hotch struggled into his kevlar. Rossi had seen his poor coloring, the bruises under his eyes from his lack of sleep. The way the cuts looked against his face. Prentiss had been behind him. She always is, creepily just a step behind. She’d seen how awkwardly his right leg had taken his weight. She even rolled her eyes when she noticed he forced himself to stop limping once she saw.

But what they all knew, what they’d all seen was a clock.

Another timer dangerously close to zero.

You know what they say. The bigger the man, the harder the fall.

Emily can’t get the sound of his body hitting the ground out of her head.

Hotch gets a room, courtesy of the entire hospital still being cleared out, to sleep off the drugs they give him. Groggily he groans, wakes up enough to look around him and falls back to sleep.

JJ gets sick, it’s too early in the pregnancy to be morning sickness but they’ve all just had an awful night and she’s filled with this senseless guit. Can’t stop thinking about Hotch’s soft, sheepish congratulations. Why didn’t she just tell him? What did she think was going to happen?

9/11 left New York hypervigilant and even with the threat eliminated the team is asked to stay in one place. So they stay with Hotch, all crammed up on top of each other. Legs thrown over laps and blankets jerked like children, a group of adults afraid to fall asleep. It’s impossible to sleep so Derek tells them about Hotch’s ghost, filling the dark room with noise. Better than sitting here just watching Hotch breathe, waiting for each inhale. He exaggerates it, of course. Hotch is asleep and can't exactly defend himself. Not that there’s all that much he could say-- he spent three sleepless nights ghost-hunting a cat.

“He ever tell you about that ghost haunting him?”

The next morning, still groggy and his presence of mind making it impossible to not feel the pain but too heavy to really care, he doesn’t fight with Derek nearly as much as he should.

They take the case of The Angel Maker Part 2 and, for once, Hotch does what’s best for him. He takes time off, drives home to save his ears from the trouble of the jet climbing to proper altitude. He gets back on a Wednesday, the others are waiting (Garcia may or may not have tracked his phone). Climbs slowly out of the car, the shrapnel wound on his leg hasn’t healed yet, and doesn’t look nearly that scary standing in jeans he’s had to roll the bottoms of and a patchy beard.

Which is why he doesn’t wear jeans. Suit pants he can have tailored to fit both his waist and the length of his legs. The problem with Levi's or a pair of Wranglers is that one of those measurements is always wrong. So the waist is small enough but the length isn’t long enough. He has to compromise one of them and he typically caves in the length.

Garcia knits him a hat that winter. It’s black to match the rest of his clothes with a red little fuzzy ball at the top. He thinks he can accept the gift and forget it-- like the gloves Reid got him or the cigars from Rossi. That’s not the case. He wears the hat. In a mix-up, a crowd of suits, he’s much easier to catch with his little red fuzz ball sticking out over the crowd.

And he isn’t allowed to forget about Reid’s gloves. He’s guilted into those too and finds himself being ushered into cases where the weather will be chilly with his only access being that hat and a pair of gloves.

The parts of Aaron Hotchner that he gives without prompting aren’t necessarily not him. He is decently grumpy and a workaholic. The man can not take a compliment, a fact that Morgan and Prentiss love to exploit. He’s boring, repetitive. Anyone who has spent more than a week with him can testify to that. He just likes to eat the same foods over and over and isn’t too picky but he won’t touch uncooked cauliflower because it’s texture is weird. Like a bouncy ball. As far as spending time with him goes, another weird thing to learn is that he’s messy. Methodical, yes. Messy… at the same time. He does have a bookshelf and his books are organized but he’s also really bad for leaving his unfinished books out on tables like decorations.

The parts that don’t come readily, the parts that require reading or profiling or just generally bugging the shit out of him are decent too. He’s an optimist. He wants to believe everyone is good, redeemable. Partially because he needs himself to be and because he’s a hopeless romantic and an optimist and that’s an impossible thing to be in this line of work. But some people are just good and some people are worth a second chance (and a third and fourth). He thinks that one-day people will forget he exists-- what happens when the team doesn’t need him to be around? When there’s no reason he has to be invited out?

And then what?

Aaron Hotchner is afraid of becoming a ghost again.

[franeridart]

Anon said: [Spoilers for non-manga readers] opinion on Baku's hero name?

Very Bakugou, honestly don’t mind it at all! Mostly just surprised it’s, like, legal in the bnha universe for heroes to call themselves stuff like explodo-kills (and also that there isn’t a character limit for hero names??) but that Bakugou would stick with it is pretty damn in character for him so I like it xD still, I’ll probably just call him Dynamight if I’ll ever need to use his hero name lmao

Anon said: not to be the most romantic sap but uh just a kiss by lady a is killin me

Nothing sappy about letting romantic songs get to you!!!! I say, as I’m constantly crying over romantic songs so this mindset benefits me as well lol

Anon said: i may or may not have stumbled across some of your older kiribaku art, the stuff with akane, and she's the best child oc tbh. i actually like her and i tend to not be a fan of child ocs but she's just the cutest darn thing 🥰

I’m so glad you like her!!!!! She was a lot of fun, what a good gremlin ;;;

Anon said: uve heard of dragon!kiri w his hair spikes up, now get ready for dragon!kiri w his hair dowm lookin like the softest boy

AW HECK I think I’ve drawn him in the past, actually!!!! Spike-haired Kiri will forever be my fav Kiri, but there’s just something about hair down Kiri isn’t it!! What a cute boy ;;;; all sharp edges and soft curves, what a lovely sight

Anon said: can i just say your itafushi art is so cute? these two already make me feel and then your art just (つω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

THANK YOU SO MUCH I really need to draw them more, don’t I! goge kinda monopolized my attention there, but the way itafushi makes me feel..........boy the way they make me feel ;;;;

Anon said: good day, poké au thought: 12 y/o bakugo somehow catches a dreepy as like his 2nd pokemon and never questions it

WHY NOT WHY NOT I have a whole team in my mind for the boy tbh but dreepy is so cute ;;;; and anyway, I like my poke!bakugou with as many dragon types as he could possibly get his hands on hahaha

Anon said: Please know that, amongst other factors, you were one of the maon reasons I stsrted Jujutsu Kaisen two days ago and there isnothing more to say except thank you and I'm absolutely in debt with you for that, thank you so much 😍

I’m so so SO glad you’re liking it!!!!!! It can get kinda heavy but it’s such a great story.... honestly I’d been wanting to start it since I saw the first pv for the anime all the way back last year but I was like, you know it’s a mappa anime! so I wanted to watch the anime as a new thing, cause I love mappa, but three episodes in I couldn’t hold back and just binged it. It’s kind of story that just makes you wanna drink it all in one go, isn’t it? so good so good

Anon said: makeup artist kirishima and model bakugo or makeup artist bakugo and model kirishima? :0c

Hmmmmmmmmmmmm can’t say I see either of them much into fashion tbh, but if I had to pick probably model Kiri and artist Baku? I just don’t think Baku would be able to stay still enough to get photographed, and he wouldn’t like the photographer bossing him around anyway, and catwalks would be impossible for him to stomach imho, he’s too restless for it! At least it’s the way I see it haha

Anon said: fdgdhdkfhdafs i had a thought, what if bakugo prefers dogs and kirishima prefers cats and when they meet each other and become friends it's like, "oh." because they have some striking similarities to their fave animals

That’s been my headcanon for a while now, actually!! I think for me it came from two characters in a manga I like that are a lot like a dog and a cat but have inverted fav animals and when I read about that I was like “oh, right, makes sense since they like each other” and then my brain turned it krbk because when does it not lmao

Anon said: your art is the soothing balm to my soul recently, thank you for posting so much beautiful content. i hope you have a lovely week. ♡

sob thank you so much, I’m glad my doodling can help you feel better ;; <3

Anon said: Friendly reminder anon from last time: that post I left last time I had only eaten 7 gingersnaps that day and hadn’t drank any water. So that encouraged me to actually self care. Thank you.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! well I hope you’re taking care of yourself today too! And as fair trade, I’ll do the same myself! <3

Anon said: Hi! I'm an artist and I'm thinking of making a sideblog for my art. Do you have any tips?

Ah man, I’m sorry but I’m not the best person to ask this to! I started this sideblog cause I had too many followers on my main and I didn’t want my stuff to be seen by that many people at first, so whatever I did probably isn’t what you’re looking for :( but really there isn’t much to it, just post whatever you like to draw, tag it as best as you can (but remember that only the first five tags appear in the search page) and be patient, since whatever you do at first you won’t get much attention anyway - the only real advice I can give is to draw something that makes you happy and that you’d draw anyway even if no one were to see it, it’ll make keep posting despite a possible lack of activity a lot easier!

Anon said: Your goge art🥺🥺

I just love them so much ( TT’’’TT)9

Anon said: how the fuck have i not been following you? I remember seeing your bakushima art in the bnha tag and always thinking it's so cute. Now you're into JJK too??? and the satosugu art??? fuckin, diabetes incarnate. I love it. I love you. Your art 10/10. I'm tired lmao.

WELL thank you for the follow!! And for thinking my stuff is cute!!!!! I do my best with that, I want all the soft things for my favs 😌

Anon said: Are you gonna draw Gojou/Getou comic?? 👉🏻👈🏻 WOULD LOVE TO READ IT

you mean an actual doujin? I don’t think I will, sorry! I’m really no good at long projects orz but thank you so much for wishing to read something like that from me!!! ;A;

Anon said: Hello! YOUR ART IS SO FREAKING GORGEOUSSSS!!! I love them so much!! If I may ask you one question. Between Getou amd Gojou, who do you see as top/bottom? Just curious

THANK YOU!!!!! And I honestly don’t care as long as they’re happy and together!!! please let them be happy and together 🙏🙏🙏

Anon said: i want you to know!!! i followed you for your kiribaku art but!!! i love your art so much that idc what you post because it's all just!!!! incredible and wonderful and stunning!!!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!!!! this means a lot to me so seriously thank you so much!!!!

Anon said: d'you think bakugo has like headaches or migraines after training or battles because of how loud his quirk is? like, i listen to music slightly too loud and my head is sending me to hell. (unless you go with the hoh hc which is also 👌)

I like to think Baku’s body is attuned enough to his own quirk that he wouldn’t get drawbacks of the kind tbh, though that wouldn’t be a bad thought for when he just starts to increase the output/width and strength of his explosions............ well, I myself suffer from chronic headaches and migraines so I’m always up for projecting on my favs ngl lmao

Anon said:  so like... dragon kirishima's eyes glow right? like, if we equate his dragon-ness to unbreakable his eyes glow? they also glow when he's half shifted? honestly i just live glowing eyes

Oh hell yeah I’m all for that, definitely definitely, I love glowing eyes with my whole heart and Kiri’s eyes in unbreakable are just so!!!!!! NGH *chef kiss* the more of unbreakable there is in his dragon form the happier I am ( TT^TT)9

Anon said: me, scrolling through your blog: ah shit guess im gonna have to start watching jjk

!!!!! hope it won’t hurt you too much, anon!!

Anon said: dragon!kiri and bakugo having a tug-of-war match over a piece of meat. both have it in their mouths. both are determined to win.

Kiri is turned into his dragon form and Baku still wins, hell yeah

Anon said: your satosugu is top tier!! it's hard to find stuff for them that isn't straight up angst so your art has been super cool and also very very cute!! (tho if you went with angst, it wouldn't be a bad thing obviously)

AH I’m so happy to hear you like them!!!! but also happy you wouldn’t mind angst, as I do like them the best happy and soft but my brain, my brain has been throwing sads my way for a while now 👀 I got some ideas

Anon said: What program/device do you use??

Easy Paint Tool SAI and a wacom intuos!! Though I got myself an ipad+procreate just yesterday and I’ve been messing around with it, let’s see how that one goes!

Anon said: *inahles* i am simping for mohawk man please tell me everything about your ocs immediately or i will detonate

THANK YOU FOR LIKING HIM HE’S CALLED DAVIDE Dav for short, he’s a cat of a man and a music instrument enthusiast (mostly string ones, but he’s very good with the piano as well) - he works in a music instruments store, and he’s a uni student majoring in philosphy! He doesn’t like bothersome things, he isn’t very good at taking anything seriously or putting effort in stuff, but he’s very chill to spend time with and generally a nice chat both if you want mindless thoughts or deep conversations (he’s a philosophy major after all). He can’t sing for shit, he’s got two cats (tago and schelly!), and he just wants a quiet life to laze around but all his friends are hurricanes in human bodies, but then again, he picked them himself so he can’t complain. He’s a good boy!! I’m planning a comic for him and his boy Ross >:]

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 1)

Title: It’s Better This Way (but then why does it hurt?)

"Really, it was Ranboo’s fault, he figured, because if he hadn’t been so stupid, surely he wouldn’t have clung to a business relationship and blown it out of proportion. It hurt now, but he hoped that the pain would dull. He hoped that now he had gotten away from everyone who he cared about but never cared about him, that he would be able to find peace.

It was better this way.

Then why did it hurt so much?"

Part 2

Masterlist

His hands were shaking in the cold, or from stress, he couldn’t remember which one. Maybe it was both. His hands were shaking, his head was pounding, and the comfort room that he had built so carefully did nothing.

His pets did their best, but there was nothing to be done. He was too far gone at this point, and the tears welling in his eyes couldn’t be stopped. There was nothing that could be done to stop his breath from becoming faster, there was nothing that could be done to stop the soft endermen warbles from leaving his throat.

Well, maybe one thing. But it was impossible. There was no way that he would be calmed down by anyone, not when he had overheard what they’d said. No one would hear him and hold him in a warm embrace to comfort him, no one would bother to find out just how messed up he was.

No one was going to take the time out of their stupid days to help him. He just wasn’t worth it, in their eyes.

Ranboo buried his face into the fur of his dog, hoping that his tears would be absorbed rather than hurting him. He didn’t want to deal with more than he already was, it would just add unnecessary complications to what he was about to do.

He stayed sitting for a while, admittedly, but once his noises had quieted and his shaky, suppressed sobs had stilled to slight hiccups, He stood up. His legs were unstable, but he walked, leaning against the wall to reach his chests. 

He filled his inventory with as much as he could carry. He left anything that he could easily get again, he got all of his pets standing, and then he clambered up the rickety ladder. It was dark, and only one lone light was on in the cottage that Ranboo stared at longingly. 

It’d be so easy to reach out.

Ranboo started walking towards the cottage, but he didn’t stop. He kept walking towards the portal, only pausing when he heard the telltale sound of a door opening.

“Ranboo, is that you? What are you doing up?”

Oh, Phil.

He didn’t turn around. He didn’t want Phil to see his puffy eyes, his wavering smile. “Oh, I was just going to see if I could find any mobs, get some experience. Chat with some endermen if they don’t get scared. Don’t worry about me!”

It was spoken with such obviously faked cheerfulness that Phil must’ve known he was lying. He had his pets on him, why did he need a parrot to go mob hunting? He didn’t turn around, surely that was suspicious. 

There were so many things wrong with his alibi, but if Phil noticed the hybrid’s voice cracking with sadness, he didn’t say anything. Why would he? He just gave an “Okay.” and shut the door softly.

Ranboo let out the sob that he had been holding in, stumbling forward and away from his home house. He could find a nice place, rebuild. Find peace.

Then why was he so sad? Was it because he had thought he had finally found people that cared about him? Was it because he had thought that he could finally be himself, and not hide who he was? Was it because all of his hopes amounted to nothing, only serving to crush him more? Was it because, with all of the people in this forsaken land, he was still lonely?

He remembered to take a deep breath, although it was probably closer to a sharp inhale, as he trudged through the snow and to the shimmering portal to the Nether.

He didn’t know what it was, but something in him made the Nether seem so unappealing that he just sat in the snow for a little, thinking. It would be dangerous for his pets, and he didn’t want anything to happen to them...

At the end of his train of thought, Ranboo gathered his pets and started walking to the coast. He didn’t know why, until he was staring down through the water at the stone of a Fortress.

Should he?

It was with startling clarity, then, that he remembered what his people had said to him when he wanted to reach the overworld. 

“You can go, if you so wish, but it is a land of evil. You will find no comfort there. You will come back to us, crying, and will know that we were right. You can go, but be prepared to be faced with nothing but sorrow and pain. Do you want to go, child? Then go, but never come back. We will no longer want you here. We will have nothing to offer but a turned side.”

As Ranboo stood in the sand, looking down, he pondered on those words. Would they accept him if he pleaded long enough? If he cried enough? Would he find peace in the land that he had been so eager to leave as a naive child, only to discover that the way back was sealed?

He remembered the fear that he had felt knowing that the choice was permanent back then, but would it be now? This wasn’t the same place he had emerged.

He made a split-second decision, diving under the surface and ignoring the stinging of the water on his face that made him wince. He landed on the cracked stone, not surprised that there were torches everywhere. What did he expect- humans to not meddle in business that wasn’t theirs? To leave what was peaceful alone? Not the humans he knew. No, they only knew war and manipulation.

He wandered the halls, looking for the portal, patting his pets occasionally as they followed him. He almost wanted to leave them here, but he couldn’t ensure their safety. Not with humans. They were better off with him.

Ranboo almost laughed at that. Nothing was better off with him.

Eventually, he found the portal. It was in a room that had clearly already been found, but the portal wasn’t lit. The space in the middle was filled in, and it looked like someone was using it as a table. It was a good thing he knew who, but his heart still burned with rage at something so important being disrespected and demoted to something as domestic as a table. 

Time passed in a way that he couldn’t quite grasp, but at some point in his contemplation on whether it was worth it, he heard a noise from the hallway. He didn’t move, because he figured he knew who it was.

He was wrong, of course. Just like he always was.

That didn’t mean he had no clue who the being was when he turned to look. He had seen this god, many years ago when he was a child.

“You want to go back?” The voice wasn’t natural, but it seemed similar to the one that haunted him in his darkest moments.

“I’m thinking about it.” Ranboo responded, sitting down on the cold floor.

“You realize you need me to light it? How were you going to get there?”

A heavy sigh passed through the hybrid that looked so small there, on the stone. “I was going to cross that bridge when I got to it.”

It was quiet, but the deity took pity on the child. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll light the portal for you. Help you get back. I can’t promise they’ll accept you back, and I’ll have to close it once you’re gone, but I’ll help you.”

Ranboo scoffed. “Don’t try to be all buddy-buddy with me. I’ve got nothing left to offer back for it.”

It grew dark, as if the being was sucking light from the nearest sources. The black aura around it grew, as its wings fanned out. “Don’t mistake my duties for kindness. You got out, I’m getting you back in. You are going to be just as alone in there as you are out here, it makes no difference to me.”

“Maybe it’ll hurt less in there.” Ranboo whispered. Then, “Light it.”

In a split second, it was done. The black expanse of starry night beckoned him, so Ranboo stepped up to it. Before he entered it, though, the god spoke again.

“If they come looking for you, I’ll let them in. Maybe you need someone to find you, show you they care.”

As Ranboo ushered his pets into the portal, he straightened to his full height and stared the deity in the eyes, ignoring the sudden urge to attack. “Don’t bother. They’ll never look for me.”

And, just like that, he was gone. 

The god gave a slight chuckle as he moved to put the portal back to as it was, only the ominous purple particles giving any clue as to what had just happened. “I don’t know what they’re doing to these kids, but it’s a good storyline. Maybe the script’ll be even more angsty. Ranboo is carrying that, though. Maybe they won’t even use Pandora’s Vault- but you never know.”

And, just like that, it was quiet in the tundra again, the first hints of dawn clinging to the skies. In the distance, a shack lay abandoned, and the people in the cottage slept peacefully. They didn’t know why, but their dreams that night were of a land with pitch-black skies and flying cities. 

They spared it no thought. It was just a dream.

______________________________________

Ranboo emerged from the portal, and was greeted with silence, just as it was with the silence of the snow. His soul felt torn, part of it glad to be back, one hating it. 

He held his head high as he carried his pets to find his old home. Maybe they hadn’t destroyed it, yet. Maybe they had so little faith in him that they knew he’d be back.

The island he was on seemed so... dead. Empty. No endermen were there. 

Ranboo pushed down the feeling of unease that he had. Now was no time for being sick. Not when he needed to travel over the void.

He found the hidden pathways that all the inhabitants of the End used, feet moving almost mechanically as he found the city he needed. His old home. 

When he entered the old house that he had been given, off the side of one of the bigger buildings, he was greeted by one enderman. He was startled by the sudden interaction, but then the other started talking.

“Hello, child. We knew you would be back. You’re later than the books said you would be, though.”

The garbled speech surprised Ranboo, and he struggled to remember the tongue that he had once been so fluent in.

“I am. Where is everyone?”

The enderman gave a short little scoff. “Gone. Packing. We’re leaving the city. We knew you’d be back and want no part in it. You’ve fallen far, child. You have forgotten our language, you embraced the overworld as your own, you smell of humans. We said that we would not accept you back, and you dared test that? You are on your own, and have searched for comfort in the wrong place, hybrid.”

The way that that word had been spoken hurt Ranboo, as if he wasn’t worth as much because of his heritage. He kept his tears at bay, getting his pets to sit down in their new spots.

He didn’t register the enderman teleporting away, but when he stepped into the city he got no comforting welcome, he got no pitied hugs, no one offered him words of advice. They all walked past him, humming, as if they didn’t see him. As if he didn’t matter. As if he was invisible to them as they abandoned their life-long homes to get away from him. No arms circled around him to hold him as he broke, no one gave him the attention that he needed so badly, that he had traveled so far to try and find.

It was then that the tears fell again, finding a new path down his face as the old ones had scabbed over. They burned him, but it didn’t matter. He was even more alone now.

“Please,” He cried. “Please, I’m sorry. Please, I just want a home.”

There was no answer to be spared for the boy.

“Please, I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, I’ll gather stuff for you. Please, I just want someone, please-”

There was no one to respond to his call.

“Please,” He warbled, letting the enderman part of him come out more. “Please, just answer me.”

There was no change in the crowd of lanky, black bodies that gave him a large berth. There was no comfort to be found in those long arms. There was no love in the screeches.

The sobs that racked his body didn’t stop for hours and hours, maybe more, because the sky was no good judgement of time. It was just a dark expanse, almost as unwelcoming as all of the failed versions of family that Ranboo had searched for.

When he looked up next, the city was abandoned for good. It was just him, alone, with no one but his pets to cling to for sanity.

He stayed sitting on the vaguely dusty ground for a while, numb. He’d lost three homes, in just a few days.

As much as he wanted to beg to go back, beg on his knees that he was wrong, beg and plead and hope that someone took pity on him, He knew he couldn’t. He knew he didn’t belong where the sky moved and had colors, he knew that no one would take pity on him, he knew that no one actually cared for him. 

He had to face reality. No one cared for him, they only used him for as long as he could provide something to them, no matter how many things he gave, no matter how many times he searched for even a semblance of a family.

As he trudged back to his small little house and tried to sleep, hoping his dreams would take him far away from where he was, or better yet not even wake up, he was only haunted by the words that had caused this whole thing in the first place.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He really didn’t, but as usual, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_________________

“So, now that we have a base and we have a plan, who are we going to invite to join us?” That gruff voice was Techno. 

Base? Wasn’t their base just their cottage? They had another one?

A softer voice. Phil. “Maybe Niki? She seems pretty against L’manburg now.”

Techno scoffed. “She’s making some land with Fundy, I think. We’ll have to see how that plays out, keep an eye on them. My voices are saying Ranboo, what do you think about that, Phil?”

“Ranboo could be a good choice. We’ve been kind to him, and he’s useful with all of the gifts he’s been giving us. The memory issues might be a problem, though.”

The pig hybrid hummed, before speaking again, “Wait, we could use it to our advantage! Tell him he’s part of it, get him to go feral on whoever we need him to, drop him off at his little shack, and he forgets. It leaves us clear of the blame, it’s perfect!”

Ranboo felt as if all of the air had been knocked out of his lungs. Techno wanted to get him to join their… whatever, and get him to be violent? Phil would refute it. He had to.

“Hmm, maybe.” Phil said. NO, Phil, no, please, don’t agree- “Actually, yeah, that could work really well. He’s got ties with Tubbo, ties with Dream. He can get in places that don’t trust us. Plus, if he keeps giving us gifts, it’s definitely worth keeping him around. Large profit.”

They laughed a bit, and Ranboo slid down the door that he almost opened before catching wind of their voices. He pulled his knees to his chest, ears still picking up their conversation no matter how much pressure his hands put on them. 

“The only problem is I hope he doesn’t get attached. He’s had a rough time, but I’m not sure he’s aware that this is a professional relationship to benefit each other, not a familial one.” 

At those words, Ranboo stood up, and teleported to his comfort room. It had been a while since he lost control of his teleportation, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t even register which one said that.

He had thought that this was his chance, his hope for a life that didn’t kick him down all the time. He guessed not, though, if he was nothing but a means to an end, a money giver, a source of information and nothing else.

__________________

He needed to face reality. Phil wasn’t a good father to his other sons, what made him think that he would be a good one to him? Techno wasn’t a brother, he only cared about anarchy, and if Ranboo was the way to get it, why would he mind housing the hybrid?

Really, it was Ranboo’s fault, he figured, because if he hadn’t been so stupid, surely he wouldn’t have clung to a business relationship and blown it out of proportion. It hurt now, but he hoped that the pain would dull. He hoped that now he had gotten away from everyone who he cared about but never cared about him, that he would be able to find peace. 

He didn’t expect to have to find it alone, on a floating island surrounded by nothing but darkness, with nothing but his fading memory and a vague sense of direction connecting him to the family that never saw him as more than a weapon.

It was better this way.

Then why did it hurt so much?

***

@tommyapollogist sorry, i gotta write more ranboo angst i guess

[lillywillow]

Puppy Love

Summary: When Bucky finds a group of abandoned puppies, it changes his life in a way he didn’t think was possible.

 Word Count: 1178

 Square Filled: Vet Clinic AU

 Pairings: Bucky x Reader

 Warnings: Slight medical themes, someone being a thoughtless jerk

 Author’s Note: Every day, hundreds of animals die needlessly in shelters. If you are thinking of getting a pet, consider adopting one from a shelter and help an animal find their forever home.

This is written for @star-spangled-bingo

 Running a low cost vet clinic wasn’t easy but at times, it could be very rewarding. Sometimes, it made things difficult on the dating front but that started to change when your cute neighbour Bucky asked you out. He was shy at first but after going on a few dates you bonded over your love of animals. Bucky had confessed to you that he preferred animals to people to which you had to agree. Sure there the occasional date that was cut short due to an emergency at the clinic but there was a real connection between the two of you.

One day at the clinic, you were getting ready for your lunch break when you heard a great commotion coming from the reception area.

 “I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to wait in line-”

 “But they need help now!” You saw Bucky standing at the desk holding what looked to be his shirt in his hands and close to his well toned chest. His long hair had been pulled back and he was sweaty as if he had been running.

 “Bucky?” The man locked eyes with you.

 “Y/N! You have to help them! Please!” he begged. As you moved closer, you could see in the fabric five tiny puppies, barely old enough to be away from their mother.

 “Follow me...” You showed Bucky to one of the examination rooms.

 “I was out jogging and I passed a trash can when I heard them whimpering... someone had stuffed them in there,” he said bitterly. “I couldn’t just leave them alone in the trash...”

 It boiled your blood to hear stories of people being so thoughtless towards something so helpless but it melted your heart to see how much Bucky cared.

 “Put them on the table.” Bucky leant forward and carefully placed the precious contents of his shirt onto the stainless steel surface. One by one, you checked the health of each small, squirming puppy. As you picked up the last one, it let out a painful yelp.

 “Oh! I’m sorry, baby. That’s sore, huh?” you cooed, noticing the deep, smelly wound on the puppy’s front left leg. Now that you had found it, you were even more careful examining the pup.

 “I don’t like the look of this injury,” you muttered.

 “Will it be okay?” Bucky asked, picking up a female puppy that you had already checked to pat. The little girl squirmed happily and licked his hand. For the first time, you saw his left arm was made of onyx metal, possibly a Stark Industries prosthetic. Bucky had told you he had lost his arm in the war but it was something he was very private about. He only ever wore long sleeved shirts and gloves whenever he was out in public.

 “It will depend on how badly the infection has set in. We’ll do what we can but the leg might have to be amputated.” Bucky looked down at the puppy in his hands.

 “Dogs can live a normal happy life with three legs. They’re very resilient. They’re all dehydrated and malnourished but seem okay. We’ll run some tests to make sure there are no other underlying health issues... you did the right thing by bringing them in,” you assured him. Bucky smiled softly then promptly grumbled as one of the puppies peed on his shirt. You fought back the playful laugh that bubbled up in your throat.

 “I can find you a spare scrubs top,” you offered.

 “I don’t want to put anyone out,” he mumbled.

 “You wouldn’t be. That’s why they’re called spare.” Bucky shifted a little before nodding.

 “Alright... would it be okay if I hang around here for a while? I’m not ready to go out in public yet...” Bucky was still very self conscious about his arm. No matter how many times his friends tried to tell him not to worry about it, it just wasn’t enough. He had taken a big step in asking you out and for now, that was sufficient for him. Bucky hadn’t wanted you to see his arm but this was an emergency. He had nothing other than the shirt on his back to carry the litter of puppies in and he ran to your clinic as fast as he could, trying to ignore the stares of passersby.

 “I’m sure we could find something around here to keep you busy,” you smiled.

...

 The hours ticked by and eventually it was time to go home. All day, Bucky had worked diligently, cleaning out kennels and assisting with moving heavy objects. When you went to collect him, he was standing in front of the adoption board.

 “Hey, Bucky...”

 “Hey,” he replied, never taking his eyes from the board covered in pictures of animals ready to find their forever homes.

 “Are you thinking of getting a pet?” you asked.

 “My friend suggested getting a therapy dog... do you have any dogs like that?”

 “We don’t have any dogs currently trained to be therapy dogs in our shelter. I could get in touch with someone...” Bucky was silent for a few moments.

 “What about the puppies I found today? Could they be trained?” You couldn’t help but smile.

 “It would take some time but they should definitely be trainable. They’ll need to pass all their health checks and puppy obedience training but, yes, they certainly would be able to learn. As soon as they’re ready, I’ll take you through the adoption process.” It was now Bucky’s turn to smile.

 “Thanks...”

...

 The weeks went by and Bucky was finally able to adopt one of the puppies he had found in the trash. He had chosen the little one who needed its leg amputated (who had been named T-Rex) as he felt a great sense of connection with it. Bucky often came to you for advice on the best way to care for the pup and even started coming to the clinic to volunteer, of course, bringing T-Rex with him. He strictly followed the obedience training which T-Rex passed with flying colours. Since that went so well, T-Rex could be trained to become a fully fledged service dog.

 As time passed, Bucky started to come out of his shell, not only with the help of T-Rex but you as well. You brought out the best in him. Bucky went as far to go on rescue drives to help dogs in need and even went as far as to become an advocate for dogs with disabilities. You couldn’t be prouder of both Bucky and the puppy he had saved. In a way, they had rescued each other.

[ughseoks]

the art of pretend | jhs + ksj

PAIRING; hoseok x seokjin (2seok)

GENRE/AU; fluff, humor

RATING: 18+

WORD COUNT; 4.7k

WARNINGS; swearing, innuendos, a Smidge of angst, overall stupidity, secondhand embarrassment probably

SUMMARY; An AU in which Hoseok is embarrassingly bad at first dates and Seokjin takes it upon himself to fix it. 

— Written for the Be My Bangtanvine collab hosted by @kimtaehyunq​​ 💗 —

MASTERLIST

— banner by @monotape THANK YOU I LOVE YOU 🥺💗 

— special thanks to @j-sope​ for pretty much being the sole reason that this was able to be written. i love u so much u are my everything my favorite person ever ILYLYYLIYLILYYILLYIYILYILYILYLILYILYIYIY

Jung Hoseok is horrible at first dates.

Seokjin likes to joke that the unfortunate souls his friend corrals into going on dates with him are his victims, but that joke usually results in a pouting Hoseok, so he keeps it to himself when he hears the all-too-familiar sound of his friend entering their shared apartment with a loud sigh.

“How’d it go tonight?” Seokjin calls out after a moment of silence. The only answer he gets is an alarmingly loud groan from the entryway, the sound followed by a pair of heavy footsteps shuffling their way toward the kitchen.

Hoseok appears around the corner only a few moments later, a pained expression tugging at his features as he collapses into the chair across the table from Seokjin with a huff. “Bad.”

“I don’t understand how you managed to fuck this one up,” Seokjin sighs in exasperation. “Literally everyone gets along with Namjoon. He’s, like, the nicest person on the planet. What did you even do?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Hoseok defends, pointing an accusing finger at Seokjin. “I’m offended that your first instinct is to blame me. Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was the one who rejected him?”

Seokjin levels him with a cool stare. Hoseok drops his gaze to the table before mumbling, “I accidentally set my sleeve on fire.”

“Jesus,” Seokjin groans, “Hobi, how the hell do you manage these things? What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, okay!” Hoseok cries out, “It’s not my fault that they put a candle right next to the basket of breadsticks! What kind of restaurant uses real candles anyway? This is the 21st century! Fake candles exist for a reason, you know!”

Seokjin sighs. “This is the last time I ever set you up on a date.”

“Aw, come on,” Hoseok pouts, “That’s not fair. I promise I won’t fuck up the next one; I think I’ve got the hang of dating now. Really!”

“Hobi, I literally have nobody else to offer. You’ve run through my entire collection of single acquaintances in the span of a few months.”

Hoseok blinks. “What? No way. You have to have at least one more single friend. You know, like, everyone.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “Hoseok, you have a problem. It’s time to accept it.” He pauses. “But I think I have an idea on how to fix it.”

“No, no, I know what you’re thinking,” Hoseok interrupts. “I wear an earpiece. You sit at a table nearby, you speak into a mic, you tell me what to say on the date. It’s a great idea, Jin, but let me tell you something—it never works. Taehyung and I tried that a year or two ago and it didn’t end well.” He pauses. “At least, I don’t think it did. I’m not sure. I think my brain blocked out that memory for my own mental stability.”

“That’s…” Seokjin trails off before shaking his head. “Nevermind. My plan was for us to go on a few practice dates together so I could train you to be less nervous on your real dates.”

“Oh.” Hoseok’s face lights up. “That’s a way better idea! Good thinking, dude.”

“Please never call me dude again.”

“Would you prefer if I called you daddy?”

Seokjin pinches the bridge of his nose. “Get out.”

“You can’t kick me out of our apartment,” Hoseok pouts, “I live here too, you know.”

“I reserve the right to kick you out when you’re acting like an idiot. It’s stated in section thirty-five of our friendship contract.”

Hoseok curses under his breath. “I knew I never should’ve signed that thing.”

“Well, you did. And you’re gonna have to live with the consequences if you do stupid things like calling me daddy when all I’m trying to do is help you out.”

“Alright, alright,” Hoseok frowns, “I’m sorry.” He pauses. “But you have to admit, it does kind of suit you—”

Seokjin groans. “Fucking hell.”

Their first date happens about a week later. Hoseok shows up at Seokjin’s doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, which isn’t saying much, because they already live together—but he thinks it’s the thought that counts.

“Will you hold my hand over the console?” Hoseok asks with twinkling eyes as he grins at Seokjin from the passenger seat.

“No,” Seokjin deadpans. “I don’t hold hands on the first date.”

“But this is a fake first date,” Hoseok pushes, giving his friend the biggest puppy-dog eyes he can muster. “Surely you can break a few rules here and there.”

“Hoseok, the very fact that this date is fake is only more reason for me to reject your hand-holding offer. I’m not in the business of sharing cooties with friends.”

Hoseok slides down in his seat with an irritated grumble. If Seokjin doesn’t want to hold his hand, that’s totally fine. He’s okay with that. He doesn’t mind at all.

Noticing the dark cloud that seems to have materialized over his friend’s head, Seokjin relents with an exasperated sigh, flopping his hand palm-up over the console in an offer to Hoseok. “Fine. But if I crash this car, I’m blaming it on you.”

Hoseok grins from ear to ear as he excitedly threads his fingers with Seokjin’s. He tries not to think too hard about how perfectly they fit together.

The evening has been… a struggle, to say the least. Hoseok managed to knock his chair over when they were being seated, which would have been fine, except when he tried to pick it up, he ended up tripping over the legs and falling face-first into the aisle beside their table.

Seokjin had been hopeful that the chair debacle would be the most eventful happening of the evening, but that hope had been squashed when Hoseok knocked over a vase of flowers with his elbow during an attempt to pull out a stack of notecards from his pocket. The water had gone everywhere—including his notecards—and the waitress had given Seokjin a pitiful look as she swept up the broken glass that decorated the floor.

(The stack of notecards was mostly blank, Seokjin eventually discovered. The ones that did have writing on them had subjects like ‘windmills’, ‘circuit boards’, and ‘wyoming’ scrawled in messy loops across the front. When Seokjin gave Hoseok a questioning look, he’d explained that they were possible topics of conversation, in case he ran out of things to say.)

And now, half an hour later, Hoseok is finishing up a very long and very boring speech about elephants, looking at Seokjin expectantly as the latter sits in stunned silence.

“Wow. That was… a very thorough explanation of the stages of elephant pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok beams. “I did lots of research. Now, onto the history of the zipper—”

“Okay, you know what?” Seokjin interrupts his friend with a tight smile, “Just… ask me a question about myself. Try to get to know me.”

“Okay,” Hoseok nods, tossing the stack of notebook cards over his shoulder haphazardly. “Okay, I can do that. Easy.” He blinks. “Uh…. I…” He stares blankly for a few seconds before dropping his head into his hands, voice muffled as he mumbles dejectedly, “God, I can’t think of anything to ask you. My mind is blank. Where are my notecards?”

“Just—Just ask me the first thing that comes to mind,” Seokjin encourages with only a hint of exasperation, grabbing Hoseok’s attention before he can reach for the soggy lump of paper sitting on the corner of the table.

Hoseok lifts his head, staring blankly for a moment before his face lights up and he blurts out, “How big is it?”

Seokjin sighs. “Really?”

“Oh my god,” Hoseok wails, “This is hopeless.”

“It’s not hopeless,” Seokjin tries to comfort with a furrowed brow. “You just… need to learn how to calm down. That’s all.”

“It’s not like I’m trying to be a nervous wreck,” Hoseok laments, sullenly snacking on a breadstick. “I just… I get so nervous, you know? My mind starts to run through all the things that could possibly go wrong and I get so desperate trying not to do or say the wrong thing that I forget what the right thing is.”

Seokjin sighs, giving his friend a sympathetic look. “Try not to get too down about it, alright? We still have all the time in the world to go on these practice dates to help you get to the bottom of whatever this problem is. It’ll all work out okay, I promise.”

Hoseok perks up a bit at that. “Thank you, Jin,” he thanks, glancing between the elder and the breadstick in his hands for a few moments before tearing it in half and offering a piece to him with a big, goofy smile.

Seokjin takes it with twinkling eyes. It’s kind of pathetic, really, that as much as he teases Hoseok, there’s absolutely nothing he wouldn’t do to keep that heart-shaped smile on his face.

Seokjin takes a different approach on his second fake date with Hoseok.

After the disastrous first date, the elder had been left wracking his brain for reasons why Hoseok is the way he is. It’s a bit of an ambiguous question, and many people would simply shrug it off as Hoseok being more nervous in social situations than most—but Seokjin knew that there was something else at play.

Hoseok is a well-liked guy. So well-liked, in fact, that when Seokjin is out perusing the town with his best-friend-slash-roommate, he finds that they’re stopped at least twice a day by complete strangers on the street because of him. Granted, the strangers aren’t quite strangers to Hoseok—they’re usually acquaintances he met at the gym, the coffee shop or even the zoo—but the point is that Seokjin doesn’t think there’s a single living thing on this planet that Hoseok isn’t friends with.

Even their houseplants prefer the younger of the two. (Hoseok vehemently denies this, but Seokjin knows it’s true. He thinks it’s because they’re attracted to the sunshine that Hoseok seems to emit every time he flashes his heart-shaped smile their way.)

The point is that Hoseok is most definitely not a nervous person, at least when it comes to platonic human interaction. The younger man is bright and loud and happy all at once, his cheery aura serving as a welcoming beacon to everyone that crosses his path. He has the largest circle of friends Seokjin has ever witnessed, and he’s even been involved in a few long-term relationships over the years.

So why can’t Hoseok seem to just act normal on first dates?

After another conversation with the man himself and a bit of reflecting on their disastrous first date, Seokjin deduced that he still had absolutely no idea what was going on inside Hoseok’s brain. However, he did manage to come up with a new plan for their second date—one that Hoseok was most definitely going to hate.

Exposure therapy.

Of course, Seokjin wasn’t going to tell Hoseok about his plan before he enacted it. That would defeat the point of it all. So, when Hoseok shows up two minutes late to their fake date with a worried expression and a mouthful of apologies, Seokjin levels him with a disinterested stare.

“You’re late.”

Hoseok’s hair is sticking every which way, a few of the sandy-colored strands plastered to his forehead. His fancy dress shirt is one button off from being correctly centered, and his pants are a bit rumpled up from something, the crinkles standing out starkly against the dark material.

“I’m so sorry,” Hoseok apologizes profusely, eyes shining with genuine guilt as he takes a nervous seat across from Seokjin. “I, uh, had to… take my... niece... to.... badminton practice?"

Seokjin hums. “How lovely. Tell me, Hoseok—what’s your niece’s name?”

"Um......... Fuckson? No, no, that's not right... Chlorissa? Torple? America?" Hoseok gulps. Shakes his head. "That—that was a lie. I don't have a niece. Is it hot in here, or is that just me?" He loosens his already uneven tie, glancing nervously towards the bathrooms behind him. "I've gotta use the... the whiz palace. You know. That place. Where you go do your business. Yeah."

Before Seokjin can say another word, Hoseok is tripping out of his chair and making a mad dash for the restrooms, stumbling all the way there. Seokjin winces when his friend takes an accidental turn into the women's restroom rather than the men's, waiting for the accompanying shriek that usually comes alongside Hoseok's all-too-common accidents.

But instead of a terrified scream, Seokjin is met with the face of a nervous Hoseok peeking out of the doorway, his eyes wide and frantic as he makes eye contact with his fake date across the restaurant.

"Bathroom!" Hoseok shouts, ignoring the stares of the other patrons in the room. "It's called a bathroom! Hah!"

Seokjin throws the staff an apologetic smile before dropping his head onto the table dramatically. They have long, long ways to go.

“Hoseok is…. in worse shape than I thought,” Seokjin admits quietly, glancing over his shoulder when he hears the sound of familiar laughter echoing from the table a few feet behind him. Hoseok is sitting by himself, laughing at… nothing. Seokjin turns back to the bartender, a close friend named Jimin, with a look of disbelief. “Is he practice laughing?”

“Maybe you should take a different approach?” Jimin muses, eyes sparkling as he glances at Hoseok over Jin’s shoulder. “Try showing him what a bad date would feel like so he doesn’t psych himself out anymore?”

“I already did that,” Seokjin groans, “I don’t know what else to try. Seriously. He just… ran off to the bathroom. After lying about having a niece.”

Jimin hums. “Maybe try laying it on a bit thicker. You’re still being too nice; you’ve gotta channel your inner asshole. Think about all the shitty dates you’ve been on in your past.”

“Isn’t that a bit mean, though?” Seokjin asks. “I’ve been on some pretty bad dates; I don’t want to traumatize him.”

“Hoseok isn’t made of glass, Jin,” Jimin smiles. “He’ll be fine, I promise. Besides, he knows how much you care about him. He’s not gonna take anything you say or do to heart.”

Seokjin sighs in resignation. “You’re right.” He glances over at his friend once more. “I guess I should get back to him before he breaks anything else. Or has another conversation with an imaginary date.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Jimin grins cheekily, “Have fun bullying your fake date!’

Seokjin flips him off before making his way back to the table, already in character when Hoseok greets him with a warm smile and bright eyes. He finds it hard not to immediately melt at the sight—not for any reason in particular; Hoseok just has that effect on people—and when he takes his seat across from the younger man, Seokjin has to push down the urge to smile back.

“What did Jiminie have to say?” Hoseok asks cheerily, fingertips drumming nervously against the tablecloth. Seokjin ignores the question and reaches over to take a french fry off of Hoseok’s plate. The younger man blinks at him in confusion, the ever-present smile on his face slipping slightly. “Jin? Is everything al—”

“So,” Seokjin interrupts loudly and leans over to snatch another fry from Hoseok’s plate, still chewing on the first one he stole as he speaks. “How do you feel about sex on the first date?”

“Uhh…” Hoseok trails off uncomfortably, shifting a bit in his seat. “I’m sorry, w-what?”

Seokjin pauses in his chewing and stares at Hoseok silently for a few seconds before swallowing dramatically, eyebrows raised in slight annoyance. “I said,” he drawls, “How do you feel about sex on the first date? I need to know if tonight is gonna be worth my time.”

“That… that’s....” Hoseok murmurs in disbelief, “Um. Wow. Okay then.”

A few beats of silence pass, the two men staring at each other uncomfortably until Seokjin breaks the silence. “Another important question. How do you feel about full moons? I love them. Personally, I feel really connected to wolves. I’m pretty sure I was a wolf in my past life, actually.”

“Wolves are… cool, I guess?” Hoseok agrees, the end of his sentence twisting to sound more like a question than a response. “They look fluffy.”

“Fluffy?” Seokjin splutters, “You’re kidding me. They’re ruthless killing machines, Hongjoong. The epitome of what an alpha male should be. I was definitely an alpha wolf in my past life.”

“Hongjoong?” Hoseok asks, pointedly ignoring whatever the hell else Seokjin just said.

“Oh. My bad. I have a date with my boyfriend later tonight—his name is Hongjoong—and I got your names kinda mixed up.” He pauses. “Wait, what’s your name again?”

“Hoseok,” he grits out.

“Ohhh,” Seokjin grins lazily, “I remember now! You’re the dude with the flat ass. Your profile said you were a dancer, though, so I thought there was a good chance you’re good in bed. We all have to make sacrifices, I guess. You get it, right?”

Hoseok’s jaw drops to the floor. It’s going to be a long, long night.

“I can’t believe you’d say that, Seokjin,” Hoseok murmurs, his eyes widened in disbelief. “That dog was my best friend, it crushed me when we had to let him go—”

“Brring brring,” Seokjin interrupts, holding up his phone before pretending to talk to someone on the other end of the line. “Oh, hey Hongjoong. Yeah. No, I’m not busy. Just on a date with the flat ass guy I told you about.” He’s silent for a few moments, never once breaking eye contact with Hoseok as he speaks into the receiver. “Yeah. Hold on, I’ll ask him.” He covers the receiver with the palm of his hand. “Hey, wanna watch a porno with me and my boyfriend tonight?”

Hoseok sits there in shocked silence for a few moments before a line of anger creases his brow, eyes narrowed in irritation as he sends a disgusted scowl Seokjin’s way. “No, Seokjin, because you’re disgusting. I am disgusted.”

Seokjin stares blankly for a few seconds. “So, it’s definitely a no?”

“I don’t understand why you’re being so horrible!” Hoseok raises his voice, gesturing wildly as he groans in frustration. “We’re just two people trying to go on a date. It’s supposed to be fun!”

“You’re right,” Seokjin grins, placing his phone down on the table. “It is just a date. Well done, my friend.”

Hoseok tilts his head, brow furrowing in confusion. “Huh?”

“I’m sorry I was so rude to you,” he explains, “But now you see that even if everything goes wrong, you’ll survive. Dates are meant to be fun, Hoseok—there’s no need to put so much pressure on yourself.”

“Oh.” Hoseok blinks. “Ohhh,” a grin begins to stretch across his face as he leans back in his chair, “I see what you did there, you sneaky, sneaky smurf.”

Seokjin shakes his head, watching with a small smile as Hoseok immediately delves into his opinion on the newest Scooby-Doo live action movie. Some things never change, he thinks to himself, unable to keep the wave of fondness that washes over him at bay.

It’s on the third date that Seokjin realizes he loves Hoseok.

Now, in a normal situation, Seokjin would agree that the third date is a bit soon to be making such powerful declarations. But this isn’t a normal situation, and Seokjin is pretty sure that he’s actually been in love with his best friend for a long, long time.

He isn’t sure why it took him so long to figure it out, nor does he know why the sight of Hoseok laughing at a joke he made while sipping on a strawberry milkshake is The Moment™ that the realization dawned upon him—but that doesn’t matter; not really. Because Hoseok is smiling at him with crinkles by his eyes and dimples on full display and he thinks his heart is about to beat clear out of his chest.

Seokjin isn’t an absolute disaster on first dates like his friend tends to be, but he hasn’t had a long term relationship since moving in with Hoseok two years ago, either. He never really took the time to think about why that is—he always assumed he just hadn’t found “the one” yet—but looking at it in hindsight, it’s because nobody compared to Hoseok. Nobody compares to him now, sitting across the booth from Seokjin with his twinkling eyes and excited hand gestures.

Hoseok is doing far better than he did on their past two dates. Seokjin managed to convince him to leave the notecards with topics of conversation on them at their apartment, and while Hoseok was nervous that he’d run out of things to discuss without them by his side, he soon realized he had nothing to worry about.

He had nothing to worry about, because Seokjin is completely and utterly enamored by every little thing that Hoseok says, clinging to the words that fall from his lips no matter how silly they might be. Because Hoseok’s words have a warmth to them; they’re instilled with pure joy, spoken with a bright smile and sprinkled with love.

“Jin?” Hoseok’s voice breaks Seokjin out of his thoughts. He’s waving his hand haphazardly in front of his face, peppering in a snap of his fingers every so often for added effect. “Anyone home?”

“Cut it out.” Seokjin bats away Hoseok’s hands, fighting the smile creeping onto his face.

Hoseok pouts. “You weren’t paying attention to me.”

If only you knew, Seokjin thinks to himself. Instead, he says: “You haven’t done anything yet to grab my attention. By now, you’ve usually broken at least one inanimate object and offended at least two workers.”

“That means I’ve improved!” Hoseok points out with a grin, chomping down excitedly on a curly fry dipped in ranch. “I think I’m just about ready for a real date, Jin.”

Seokjin freezes. “You are,” he agrees slowly, trying to fight the sinking feeling in his chest.

“You know, there’s this cute boy who gave me his number the other day at the ice cream shop,” Hoseok babbles mindlessly as he scrolls through his contacts, “I could shoot him a text. He seemed nice enough, and it’d be a great way to test my improvement out in the real world, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin murmurs as he fidgets with the strings on his hoodie. “Yes. That sounds great, Hobi.”

The fake date carries on like normal. Seokjin rolls his eyes at Hoseok’s antics one too many times, and the younger man laughs a little too enthusiastically at his cheesy puns and dad jokes. It’s nothing out of the ordinary for their fake dates—except this time, Seokjin finds himself wishing it was real.

It’s been a long time since Seokjin has allowed himself to sulk, but he’s pretty sure that being hit with the realization that he’s in love with his best-friend-slash-roommate and knowing that his feelings aren’t returned are good enough reasons to dig into his emergency stash of ice cream.

Hoseok is out on a date tonight. A date that isn’t with Seokjin. He left about fifteen minutes ago, Sekojin notes as he glances at his watch in dismay. He’s probably out cracking jokes and knocking over chairs and breaking water glasses and embarrassing himself—all with a stranger.

Not Seokjin.

Never Seokjin; at least, never again.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of knuckles rapping clumsily at his front door. He sets his ice cream down on the coffee table with a huff, because he has a sinking feeling that his perfectly valid plans for a lonely night filled with self-pity are about to be interrupted. He just wants to eat his ice cream in peace, dammit—not to mention he hasn’t even had time to be sad about Hoseok’s date yet.

But when Seokjin opens the door to see Hoseok standing there with a smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers, his heart can’t help but tremble.

“Hobi. This is literally our apartment, you don’t have to knock.”

Hoseok winks. “I know.”

“Did you forget your keys or something?” Seokjin asks, the hint of exhaustion tinging the edge of his words suddenly fading away to make room for confusion when the smattering of pink, yellow and white flowers in Hoseok’s arms suddenly registers in his mind. “Wait, why do you have flowers? I thought you were meeting that boy from the ice cream shop? Oh my god, did you already run him off, that has to be a new record for you—”

“I’m the one who called off the date,” Hoseok interrupts, his grin never fading as Seokjin continues to look at him with growing uncertainty.

“What? I thought you liked him?”

Hoseok shrugs. “I went to buy him flowers before we met up, but I realized that I didn’t really want to be buying flowers for him after all.”

“I… don’t think I’m quite following what you’re saying, Hobi,” Seokjin drawls, eyes wide and brows raised. “You called off the date because you didn’t feel like buying flowers?”

“I called off the date because I realized that I wanted to be buying flowers for you, not the cute ice cream guy,” Hoseok says cheerily, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “I wanted to be buying a bouquet of flowers for you. I wanted to be meeting you at that restaurant, for a real, actual date.”

Seokjin blinks. Hoseok carries on.

“You see, I was looking at all the different colored roses and I thought ‘Hey, these colors remind me of Seokjin’, and then it hit me that I’m kind of in love with you. Like, really in love with you. Head over heels. Absolutely bonkers. Unbelievably enamored, if you will. Hey, has anyone ever told you that you have really kissable lips? They’re, like, super soft and shiny and pretty. I really wanna kiss them. Can I? Is that too forward of me?”

Hoseok finally halts his rambling of words with an excited grin, completely oblivious to the way Seokjin stands flabbergasted just a few feet in front of him. His chest feels warm and fuzzy and he doesn’t think twice before reaching out and pulling Hoseok into a kiss. It’s messy and uncoordinated and their teeth accidentally clash when Hoseok makes a loud noise of surprise, but it’s perfect, their bodies fitting together like two missing puzzle pieces as they sink into each other’s embrace.

And when Seokjin finally pulls away after an indiscernible amount of time, he finds that the only words he can manage to say are, “That was the least romantic confession I’ve ever heard.”

“Sorry,” Hoseok grins, not actually sorry at all. “Does this mean that you like me back, though?”

Seokjin throws him an incredulous look. “I literally just made out with you in our front doorway. Where all the neighbors can see us.”

“Bros kiss all the time, my dude. I just wanted to make sure that was an ‘i’m-in-love-with-you’ kiss, not an ‘i-know-we’re-bros-and-all-but-i-kinda-wanna-kiss-you-because-you’re-hot’ kiss.”

“Why would it ever be the second option?” Seokjin asks, dumbfounded. “Wait—which of your ‘bros’ have you been kissing? Why didn’t I ever know about this?”

“Jungkook. Only when we’re drunk, though.”

“Oh my god,” Seokjin groans, “Is that where the two of you would run off to every time we went to a house party together?”

Hoseok snickers. “Maybe.”

“I did not need to know that. Please, take it back. Wipe my memory away with one of those little Apple TV remotes from Men In Black.”

“Don’t worry, Jin,” Hoseok laughs, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. “You’re the only person I wanna sneak off with now. Besides, Jungkook has his eyes on Taehyung these days.”

“Whatever,” Seokjin grumbles in a voice that the both of them know isn’t truly bothered. “And to be clear, that kiss earlier was actually a ‘you’re-an-idiot-but-for-some-reason-i-love-you-too kiss. Now get back over here and let me kiss you again.”

//

Seokjin and Hoseok’s dates still manage to end in disaster more often than not. But Hoseok always reacts with an embarrassed giggle and a smile on his face, and Seokjin wouldn’t want to have it any other way.

A/N; yes i’m alive. sorry 😳

MASTERLIST

© ughseoks 2020, all rights reserved. do NOT modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[buckyskorpion]

11 Hours - part one

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Reader

Summary: bucky is the mystery you can’t wait to solve. if you can get out of his bed long enough, that is. a biker au.

Warnings: gang-typical violence, sex scenes, alcohol mentions, probably more to come so stay tuned

A/N: um yes so hello another au and another wip..... dont hate the player hate the game. i hope you enjoy this though! this is my take on a biker!bucky au because we definitely dont have enough of those. let me know your thoughts on this, critiques, predictions, anything! my ask is open. also i wont be taking tags for this so please dont ask. 

title taken from 11 hours by wet | playlist

You lie on your stomach, sheets pooled by your ankles, and watch Bucky watch you. One hand propping him up on his side, the other tracing slow, hair-raising circles on your bare back. He’s not really seeing you though, eyes glazed over so they look shiny and huge, big enough to get lost in. You roll away from him, off the edge of the bed and onto your feet.

“Going?” he asks, voice rough. You can’t remember the last time one of you spoke - the time between breathless moans and now seems stretched, like a liminal space you’ve both been sitting in for far too long.  It’s time to get back to the real world. You shrug one shoulder, rooting around his bedroom floor for your clothes to redress.

“It’s late,” you say. He huffs an agreement. The two of you didn’t get back to his apartment until after midnight, so who knows the time now.

“Let me call you a cab,” Bucky says, rolling onto his back to pat around the bedside table for his phone. You toss him a look over your shoulder, chosing to ignore him as you pull your skinny jeans up over your ass. Bucky pauses to watch, tongue flicking over his lips and not bothering to hide his grin when you catch him. You throw your jacket at his head which he catches with ease, laughing himself back into the pillows. Ugh, he’s such a menace.

You walk back over to the bed once you get your last shoe on, closing the distance you’d created that was so obvious in the contrast between his bare skin and you, fully dressed. You lean over him, letting him tug you close with a hand on your hip while you pull him up with a grip on his dog-tags. You kiss him, a hard press of lips and a quick swipe of your tongue that he tries to follow but you pull away. He lets you go, rolling his eyes at the tease.

“See ya later, tough guy,” you say, backing up to the door. He tosses your leather jacket back to you, and you catch it with one hand as you head down the hallway. It’s the closest thing you’ll get to a goodbye from him, so you let the front door click shut without another word.

You shrug into your jacket as you race down the stairs of Bucky’s apartment building, heading for the laundry room. It’s not like you know Bucky - all you do is fuck on any day you both happen to be free, starting at a grungy bar in downtown weeks ago and ending here, in some strange friends with benefits situation (minus the ‘friends’ part). He’s hot, and you’re not looking for a relationship, so it’s perfect. Only, something about the scars on Bucky’s knuckles and the motorbike he drives you home on after the bar makes the hair on the back of your neck raise. Something about Bucky is bad news, and you’re not about to get caught up in it just for some (mindblowingly good) sex.

So, you head to the laundry room and climb out the window rather than using the lobby doors. Nobody sees you, and it’s easy to get to if you stand on the dryer in the far right corner. You don’t know why you think someone might be watching Bucky’s apartment, or following you from your late night visits, but your dad always said you were paranoid and it’s never hurt you this far in your life. You swing a leg through the window and drop down into the patchy grass below.

From here you scale the fence into the gym parking lot next door and enter the street that way, nobody the wiser. You stuff your hands in your pockets as you walk down the street, itching for a cigarette or some gum or a pair of earphones, something to keep you company as walk home in the middle of night in New York. There are still people out and about, because of course there are, it’s New York. You make it home without a hitch and immediately head to the shower to wash off the night.

Naked again, before you get under the jet you check your phone. Bucky has texted you - probably a joke or something, his pretence for checking you get home safely. Tough guy my ass, you think as you open the picture he’d sent. He’s holding up the black lace panties you’d been wearing, the one’s he’d pulled off with his teeth and tossed aside without a second thought. Under it, he’s sent another message. Think you forgot something.

Did I really forget them? You try to bite back a grin, because it’s sad to be standing in your bathroom smiling at your phone, but you’re unsuccessful. You watch the three dots under Bucky’s name start and stop, then start again, making your heartbeat pick up. You’d made the oh-so-confident Bucky ‘dont know his last name and don’t need to’ falter. It still gives you a thrill.

Don’t think you’ll be getting them back.

Consider it a present, perv.

You like it

No comment.

You jump in the shower, leaving your phone on the vanity. You can’t leave the shower until you rub one out, the rounds of sex you’d had a mere hour ago long forgotten at the thought of Bucky doing the same thing as you to the panties you’d left behind. Maybe you don’t want to get caught up in whatever shit Bucky is in to set off your paranoia radar, but you certainly want to get caught up in him. If you aren’t already; irreversibly tangled.

***

You never find Bucky, he finds you. Or rather, he gives you a call and you know within a few hours you’ll be at whatever bar or diner he asks you to meet him at, building up the tension until you both can’t take it anymore and go back to his apartment. It doesn’t matter what you say to him, or how many times you say no - you both know you’ll be there.

This time he catches you leaving your dad’s place, pushing through the gate as you put the phone up to your ear. You turn to wave goodbye to your dad in the window he always stands at to see you off towards the subway, and say, “So soon?”

“Hello to you too,” Bucky grumbles, but you know there’s no heat in it. You’re grinning as you dodge pedestrians, tugging your puffer jacket tighter around you with your free hand - the New York winter chill has started to set in and it’s biting through even the hoodie you’re wearing under the jacket.

“Hello, Bucky,” you say, hoping he can pick up on the thick condescension you’re handing him, “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I can hang up,” Bucky warns, and you smirk. You’re winning this round, at least.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby.” You jog down the subway stairs, hoping your line doesn’t cut out as you move underground. It doesn’t, Bucky’s reluctant laugh filtering clear as day through your phone.

“Baby, huh? Moving onto pet names are we, doll?”

You wrinkle your nose, “Ugh, not if they’re from the nineteen forties, no thank you.”

“I’m sure you hate it,” Bucky says, sarcasm heavy. You can hear his eyeroll from here. “What are you doing?”

“Getting on a train,” you say, as you do indeed slip through the almost-closed doors and try to avoid any and all surfaces around you. “What are you doing?”

“Talking to you,” Bucky says, grin audible. It’s your turn to huff now - Bucky never tells you anything about his life, what he’s doing, who he’s with. It’s another thing that makes you think he’s hiding something, but instead of finding it infuriating and a dealbreaker like you should, instead you’re fascinated. Your mission is to figure Bucky out, piece by piece.

There’s a muffled voice on the other line, someone talking to Bucky and you imagine him covering the receiver with one big palm. A hand that you want on you, running down your skin and pressing down over your throat and dipping between-

“You there?” Bucky asks, jolting you out of your daydream. You’re blushing, suddenly too-hot in the layers that were previously not doing enough to ward off the chill.

You clear your throat and say, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, what?”

“Mmhmm,” Bucky says, clearly amused. “I said, I’ve got a favour to ask you. Something a bit different.”

“Oh?” It had been weeks of going to dive bars and underground diners, meeting Bucky in dark corners to drink rum and cokes and eventually fuck each other senseless until you’re sure Bucky must get noise complaints. Never had he once indicated he might want to change the routine you’d set up. Never had he asked you for a favour. To say you were intrigued was an understatement.

“Come to a party with me tonight?” he asks. You have to replay his voice in your head to make sure you heard right, stunned into silence. He takes your pause for a ‘no’, hurriedly filling it with, “I get if it’s a no, but my friend Nat is a drill sergeant and she’ll give me the third degree if I don’t bring-“

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you say, interrupting his nervous ramble. You’d never heard Bucky sound anything but aggressively confident before. It’s throwing you for more of a loop than his invitation. A large part of your brain tells you to say no. You don’t trust Bucky, really - you barely know him. But thats why you want to say yes. Going to this party might change that. “I’ll go. What time?”

“Eight tonight,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, you do,” you laugh. You organise to meet at his apartment, not quite ready to give him your address yet, and hang up. Your mind is reeling, sure everyone on the train must feel the impact of that phone call, too.

They’re all going about their business as if something monumental hasn’t just happened. Bucky has invited you into his life, to meet his friends, as his date. What happened to not-friends with benefits? What if this changes the arrangement you’ve carefully cultivated, so perfect for your independent lifestyle and Bucky’s obvious commitment issues?

The temptation is too much. You practically run home when you get off at your stop, anxious to get ready. You’re about to get a few more pieces of the Bucky puzzle and you have to look good for it.

***

Bucky stops you in the front hall of the house, a hand on your arm as he stares down at you. He looks comically large in the tiny Brooklyn town house, even if it is ten times nicer and more beautiful than your place will ever be. The party filters in from further inside the house, loud music and laughter and the obvious clink of beer bottles sounding muffled through the bubble of you and Bucky.

“My friends are… a lot,” he says, drawing his lip between his teeth. You tilt your head at him, amused by what you can only assume is nerves radiating off Bucky. He rolls his eyes at you, kisses you on the forehead quickly, and adds, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I can handle myself, tough guy,” you say as he tugs you by the hand through to the living room where the party is in full swing.

“I hope you’re not calling that punk ‘tough’, lady,” a man calls out from the couch, pointing the neck of his beer at Bucky. His tone sounds aggressive but the wide, gap-toothed smile he gives says otherwise. He gets up and pulls Bucky into one of those manly half-hugs. Bucky doesn’t drop your hand as he pats the guy on the back, and you try in vain not to read too much into that.

“Sam, this is (Y/n),” Bucky says, and to your surprise Sam pulls you into a hug as well. You make wide eyes at Bucky over Sam’s shoulder but he just smirks, clearly amused. He’s still holding your hand.

“Nice to meet you!” Sam exclaims, a bit too loud in your ear but you don’t mind. His happiness is infectious. “Come meet Natasha, she’s going to love you.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, letting yourself be led by Sam with an arm over your shoulders to the couch he’d just vacated. Bucky drops his grip but follows too-close behind you, his body heat almost like a physical touch on your back, reminding you he’s there. You wonder if he’s nervous about what you’re going to say to his friends, or what his friends are going to say to you.

“Because,” Sam says cryptically. You roll your eyes - he’s sounds just like Bucky.

Sam stops in front of the redhead woman he was sitting next to when you entered, dropping the arm from your shoulders. She immediately stops her conversation and stands up, giving you a once over with a smirk tucked tight in the corner of your mouth. You try not to feel intimidated but it’s hard - she’s beautiful, and scary, and did you mention beautiful? She shoots an amused look to Bucky over your shoulder, and in response Bucky rests his fingertips on the small of your back. Barely there, but just enough.

“You’ve brought someone, James,” she says, turning her attention back to you and holding a hand out. “Natasha, lovely to meet you.”

“(Y/n),” you say, taking her hand. It’s soft -  you half expected her to break your hand. “Thank you for having me.”

“Oh, you’re adorable,” she says, and you don’t bother hiding your frown. You don’t like feeling condescended and Natasha seems to be exuding that in palpable waves. Bucky must feel you stiffen because he steps closer, if possible, and slides the hand on your back around to grip your hip.

“Nat,” he says, with warning, and you glance up at Bucky to find him having some kind of silent stare off with Natasha over your head. Eventually he looks back down to you, smiling a bit and squeezing your hip, don’t worry about her. To you, he says, “Let’s go say hi to Steve.”

“See you later, (Y/n),” Nat says, wiggling her fingers in a wave as you follow Bucky to the kitchen. You ignore her, stepping closer to Bucky on instinct as you weave through people packed wall to wall. That was weird, but what did you expect? Bucky did warn you.

Steve turns out to be a giant blonde teddy bear who sweeps Bucky into a hug that lifts him onto his toes. It’s endlessly funny to see huge, muscled, intimidating Bucky being manhandled by a touchy, clearly tipsy behemoth. Bucky doesn’t let it stand for too long, though, bringing Steve into a headlock and sending them both tumbling into the kitchen bench.

“Jerk,” Steve gasps when Bucky lets him go, eyes narrowing. Bucky grins, breathless, and punches him on the shoulder.

“Punk,” he says fondly. You’re mesmerised. You’d wanted to see more of Bucky’s life but you never expected this. It’s like watching him with his family, and it makes something soft and fuzzy swell in your heart which is bad. Very, very bad. Maybe you shouldn’t have come.

Steve finally notices you’re there and you do the normal introductions, watching your hand disappear in his huge one as he shakes it. They’ve all been very welcoming, in their own ways, you notice (bar Natasha, but something tells you she’s always like that). They don’t seem to question your sudden appearance at their party or with their friend, holding Bucky’s hand and being tucked into his side as he passes you a beer and gets to talking about things you have no hope of following. You’re happy just to watch Bucky, smiling and laughing with pointed teeth and crinkles by his eyes. You still don’t really understand why you’re here, but you’re not going to question it. This feels like a stolen moment, something you’re not meant to see and might not see again so you try and commit as much to memory as you can.

The night goes on, talking with Sam and Steve and Natasha who appear to be Bucky’s closest friends and the only ones he bothers making time for. Bucky doesn’t stop touching you the entire time. At first you think it’s nerves, but the more you observe the party around you when the conversation turns to something you can’t contribute to, the more you think it’s for everyone else rather than Bucky’s nerves. You catch a lot of people eyeing his hand on your hip or his arm around your shoulders, or just looking at Bucky in general. Hardly anyone interrupts your little party of five but not for ignoring you - it’s almost like they revolve around you, in tune to the groups’ every movement, but they wouldn’t dare approach. It’s weird. You try not to look too hard into it but your dad is right. You’re paranoid.

Eventually it’s just you and Bucky sitting on a bench outside, a canopy of fairy lights casting shadows from his unfairly long eyelashes as he looks down at your entwined hands in his lap. You tug against his grip, causing him to look up at you and you almost lose your train of thought. Bucky’s eyes are searing blue, the hottest part of the flame.

“You’re being very possessive tonight,” you say, squeezing his hand for emphasis. He doesn’t look away from your eyes, cocking his head to the side and you have the distinct feeling you’re being tested.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks. You don’t answer straight away. Truth be told, you have no idea what’s going on. You went from fucking Bucky on a semi-regular basis, keeping it at strangers who bone and nothing else, to being glued to his side at a party with his closest friends in what feels like no time at all. Whiplash, is what you feel. You don’t think you hate it, though.

“I never said that,” you tell Bucky, and watch as his face morphs from calculating to that shit-eating, confident smirk you’ve come to know. You’re relieved to see it, the sparkle of his eyes as he leans closer to you in the dark of the garden. This, at least, you know.

“You’ve done well tonight,” he says, and you hate how you glow at the compliment when you should be rolling your eyes. “I know I’ve asked a lot.”

“It’s alright Bucky,” you say, smiling at his seriousness. You’d think he’s asked you to commit a crime or something. “Although, I don’t know why you needed me here. I’m glad you did, but…”

“But you thought I only wanted you, to fuck you?” he finishes, kicking his eyebrows up in amusement. You hate the way you blush, ducking your head from him to try and hide it.

“I feel like that was a very logical conclusion,” you say defensively. What else had he given you? You didn’t even know his last name.

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head back up to look at him. He’s smiling soft, not condescending at all, and he moves his hand to cup your cheek in his palm and hold you there, looking at him.

“Maybe this was a test,” he says, licking his lips. Biding time. “To see if I can trust you.”

“Do you?” you ask, eyebrows kicking up.

“Jury’s still out,” he says with a grin, light-hearted, playing it off as a joke but you know from the look in his eyes that he’s being somewhat serious. He looks out at the garden then, still holding you close, and says almost thoughtfully, “My friends like you, though. Even Natasha.”

You scoff at that, and he turns back to you with that crinkly, squishy smile he gave to Steve before. It catches you off guard, enough to not see the kiss before it comes but you catch up as fast as you can. You want to slide into his lap and run your fingers under his shirt, but that’s probably a bit inappropriate in front of a bunch of people you just met. You settle for a frustrated groan against his mouth, biting his lip and tugging so he’s forced to chase you against the back of the bench, crowding your space. He drops your hand to slide his up your thigh, fingertips dangerously close to your crotch, kissing you hard enough to bruise. His tongue in your mouth is scalding, stubble against your skin a delicious burn, and you would’ve gotten lost in it if it weren’t for the very pointed cough from behind Bucky’s shoulder.

It’s Natasha, standing with her arms folded and a smile hidden somewhere in the green of her eyes. You try to mentally will away the flush in your cheeks as Bucky pulls back, hand still on your thigh but turning to glare at Natasha. You find yourself somewhat hiding behind the bulk of his shoulder despite yourself, letting him take the reins.

“Steve is puking,” she reports, raising one eyebrow. “Sam requests your assistance.”

“Fucking ‘course he does,” Bucky grumbles roughly, getting to his feet. Right before he storms away he pauses, leans back down to kiss you again, and then he’s back on a warpath through the house. Other guests part for him like the red sea, and you watch with furrowed eyebrows as they also seem to watch him go. He never goes anywhere without an audience. Perhaps you were right to be paranoid about him.

Natasha is still standing there when you blink yourself back to the garden, watching you with an unreadable expression. You straighten your holey, vintage t-shirt under your leather jacket and stand, not enjoying the power difference with her standing above you. You wish Bucky had taken you with him, even though you didn’t particularly want to watch Steve throw up everywhere. It would be preferable to being stuck under Natasha’s x-ray vision, though.

“I like your boots,” she says. It takes you aback - such a typical girl thing to say at a party to someone you don’t know, and Natasha doesn’t give you ‘typical’. You glance down at your Docs, and then back up at her pretty sundress with a sexy v-cut.  Sure you do, you think sarcastically, as you both stand there like night and day.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, “And again, for inviting me. The party’s been great.”

“Has it?” she asks, and why do you feel like she’s asking three questions at once? As if sensing your apprehension, she smiles and adds, “Just, I know we’re a bit full on and being the new girl at a party is always difficult.”

You blink, surprised once again. The sincerity throws you for a loop, as everything seems to with Natasha. You say, “I mean, yeah, but you guys are great. You all seem really close, it’s- nice. Like  a family.”

Something flashes in Natasha’s eyes, that amused little smirk returning to her face that fills your gut with dread. Was it something you said?

“Come on,” she says, and just as you think you can’t be surprised by this woman anymore, she winds her arm with yours and starts leading you back into the house. Throwing you a conspiratorial look you’re not sure you’ve earned, she says, “Let’s go find the boys. I’m sure Steve’s finished throwing up by now.”

Part Two

~~~~~ please let me know what you think!

[weeb-writor]

Bakugou’s S/O dies in a crash, leaving him a single father

Hello, gonna be very honest I forgot how to read properly and read a request wrong and wrote a 3000 word fic for it, woohoo! But i mean at least you guys get a fic from it, lol. Italics are flashbacks, bold is reality trying to pull him out of his head, and the regular text is reality. The actual request should be up tomorrow. Reader is neutral and I didn't specify the birthing process! Hope you all enjoy.

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

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Bakugou’s S/O dies in a crash leaving him a single dad, he has flashes backs of your life together.

TW: Death, depiction of a car crash and blood. Kinde heavy angst

Words: 3052

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

“I am so sorry sir but there's nothing we could do for them, w-” The doctor went on but the words slurred together in Bakugou's mind. This isn't how it was supposed to go, you were both supposed to grow old together. Supposed to send Kaori to her first day of school together. To bully the shit out of her first significant other. Go all out on each and every one of her birthdays. To give her at least 3 more brats to hang out with...to cry as you sent her off to college. This isn't how it was supposed to go, he was supposed to protect you, to be your hero. Everything you both had promised to each other was slipping through his grasped fist and the flashbacks were not helping either.

“Watch where you are going, Pomeranian.” You said to him.

“Pomeranian? The fuck, watch your mouth shitty extra!” He roared back at you.

“I think you’re the one who needs soap in his mouth, you're cursing every other word.” You cocked a brow at him.

“Whatever you god damn extra, get outta my way i'm gonna be late.” He backed off shocking his small group of friends.

“What the heck bakubro! If I said that to you I would be dead! You’re caught by the balls already!” Denki said pouting

“Whaddyah just say dunce face? I am not and it doesn't matter. I went easy cause they're so insignificant I wont see them again.” He said with a shrug as they walked into the training yard where their class was meeting.

“Alright, today we have a few helpers from other classes to help you with physical combat skills without the use of your quirks. Pair up with them, if you can actually beat them the first go than you pass. If you don’t, then well you fail, and will do supplementary training with me after every class.” Aizawa said, zipping himself into his sleeping bag.

“Hello class 1-A, Im Y/N. I am in charge of everybody you're about to fight, we've all trained in various types of Martial arts, and uhh you're probably all gonna lose but try your hardest alright?! I've got match-ups based on your physical abilities, so let's begin.” You said getting everyone into their pairs.

“So much for never seeing them again, huh?” Sero said laughing at the fuming bakugou.

“Yeah you’ll be seeing a lot more of me Pomeranian boy, but for now let me wipe the floor with you.” You said getting into a fighting position. He remembers how he lost that fight, terribly he might add. You only offered to help him after the loss, ignoring all his cries of protest. He didn't only lose the fist fight, he lost his heart to you. He had hoped you would never give it back to him, but here you are giving him his heart back. He hated these images, he wants them to stop.

“Bakugou”

“Go on a date with me.” You said as you and bakugou walked back to the dorms together after a sparring session.

“What!?” He yelled at you a deep shade of red.

“You know, on a date, and then you know if all goes well like 2 more before you kiss me and ask me to be officially yours because i'm not easy, you know?”

“Who asks like that!” He continued to yell.

“What did you want some flowers too, bakugou.” You giggled at him.

“You damn, dumbass! Fine but we're going now!” He said grabbing your hand and pulling you away.

“Wait but we are sweaty and I wanted to look nice! You're such a tyrant, Bakugou!” You sang as he pulled you away but slammed into his back as he came to a halting stop.

“Katsuki...call me Katsuki.” He said looking to the side with a blush. This moment was precious to him, your stupid giggle always brought brought blood rushing to his cheeks and made his heart race. As precious as it was, he begged his mind to stop, he didn't want to see what he couldn't have anymore… he wants to forget.

“Bakugou!”

“You know, if i knew you were so messy I wouldn't have moved in with you.” Bakugou yelled to you as he put up one of your many blankets that were always littered around the house.

“Sorry not Sorry, Kat, it's your fault for keeping this damn house like an ice box all the time.” You said as you shoved some more takeout into your mouth.

“And why did you order takeout, i wanted to cook instead of eating that shitty and so unhealthy food.” He nagged you some more but you only giggled. He smiled, that had become his favorite sound.

“Because Mr. Pro- Hero some of us are college students barely staying afloat! It's my last semester so let me live, you ass! Also you are so much like your mother babe, it's kind of funny.” You said to him. His head was bulging in irritation as he sat next to you.

“I can't believe I want to marry you…” He said shaking his head with a sigh. You put down your takeout and stared at him with wide, teary eyes.

“You want to marry… me?” You said to him, he chucked at you before placing a black velvet box in your hand.

“Yeah, so say yes and put the ring on.” He blushed looking away from you.

“You jerk, this is how you ask me? And like an idiot of course I'm putting on the ring with no hesitation.” You giggled around your tears, admiring the ring you had just placed on your finger.

“Yeah, as I recall, you asked me out the same way. Whaddyah want some flowers?” He teased you with a grin. You looked at him with burning passion before your lips met, engaging in a fiery dance of passion. Stop, stop. Please just stop, he begged his brain. At the moment he thought it was perfect, it was so you and so him. Now, he wished he did it on tv or yelled it from the rooftops. Maybe then it would have shown the universe, or god, or whatever was taking him from you just how much he needed and loved you. Just maybe it would have permitted this outcome.

“Bakugou!!”

You and bakugou stared down at the little 6 pound baby. She was sleeping peacefully for the first time since the girl came home, which was 4 day ago! Maybe it was because you had just taken her to meet her grandparents and she didn't want to deal with her grandparents much like her father.

“Give me that baby!” his mom said swopping the baby into her hands. You only giggled at her excitement but Bakugou threw a fit.

“Mom! She's a fuc-freaking newborn! You’ve got to be gentle and support her head! You’re gonna hurt her, it's dangerous” He shouted at his mom.

“Oh hush you ingrate. If that was true believe me kid you’d be dead by now, would've saved me a lot of trouble. Now come on little Kaori, I know you've got it.” She said looking down at Kaori.

“What's she got?” You asked curiously. The blonde did not respond, only blew a little stream of air on the baby's nose and then turned her towards you and the blonde next to you who was still pouting. The baby stirred before waking up giving you all the meanest mug you had ever seen come from a baby.  She stared at bakugou and then at you before going back to sleep.

“She’s got the bakugou bitch face or the bakugou glare or even the bakugou mean mug. However you want to call it but that doesn't matter cause she’s got it.” His mom said placing the sleeping baby in the basinet you guys had brought.

“Did that brat just glare at me!?” Bakugou whispers, causing you to burst into full belly laughter.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” he said to you trying to hide his small smile that was brought out by your laughing.

“Nothing, I just love you and I believe you just said H-E double hockey sticks so we're getting takeout on the way home, love.” You said kissing his cheek. He only stuck his tongue out at you before mumbling a quick ‘i love you back’. It's getting more painful now he's drawing closer to the day he knew his mind was counting down to. As much as he wanted to relish in the memory all he could think of was how Kaori wouldn't remember you or your melodious laughing. How he should have said I love you more clearly in that moment. He wanted it to stop, he wanted the flashes to stop, the memories to stop but they wouldn't and he knew because they were telling your story.

“BAKUGOU!!”

“Come here, dumbass I wanna cuddle!” Bakugou yelled from your bed.

“Hold on I just wanna call your mom and make sure Kaori is okay. It's the first time Kaori has been away so long. She’s only eleven months, she's probably scared without us.” You said with the phone in your hand pacing.

“Babe, if you are so worried you should know I called my mom while you were bathing. Kaori is chasings around my mom's fat cat. And my moms gonna call when they are putting her to bed so we can say goodnight. Now, get over here and quit worrying I want to cuddle you.” He said finally getting you relax enough to lay down, you rested your head on his chest.

“You're such a good dad, you were worried enough to phone your mom.” You said breathing in his caramel scent.

“Of course I did, I worry about you and Kaori whenever yall are out of my sight. I love you both too much yet not enough at the same time.” He said to you kissing the top of your head.

“Katsuki I want us to always be this way, I want to always be with you and kaori smiling. I love you both too much too.” You said back to him straddling him to meet his eyes.

“I want some more brats and a cat and a dog. I want everything with you. And I want it for forever” He said looking up at you with passion. He needs it to stop, he can't relive the same nightmare. He didn't want the image of you dying in his hands to replay, but that's where his mind was heading, wasn't it?

“Bakugou!? Can you hear me!?”

“You know when people said you become boring when you have a baby I didn't believe them but were totally boring. We just did 10 over the speed limit to pick up Kaori.” You said taking a glance in the mirror to see her cute little grumpy face.

“Baby I realized we were boring when we went to that baby store on our day off to look at baby stuff and we went “ ohh” and “awhh” to every third object we saw.” He said back to you with a chuckle. You giggled at him and your eyes fluttered shut for just a second, it was a second too long because when you opened them you slammed into a car ahead of you that had just been in an accident causing a pile up. Behind you a semi rammed into your suv doing terrible damage to the car and everyone inside. Bakugou was the first to wake and quickly fought to get himself free. Once he did he was all over you but you were in far worse shape and the metal of the car dug into you, slicing you open, and locking you into place.

“Noo.. Kat get Kaori first.” you whispered to him.

“Y/N, i'll get you out first, you're right here. Then we’ll get kaori together.” He said tears spilling from his eyes.

“Katsuki, please get Kaori first. Please, i'll try to get loose myself” You plead with him, he thought about it but you were more stuck than her and you were bleeding heavily from the metal cutting into your abdomen.

“Katsuki Bakugou! Her first, then me! I’ll wait for you, promise.” That was all he needed to hear, his heart ached for his little girl who was crying softly more shocked than hurt.

“It's alright baby we're gonna get you safety and then dadas gonna come get mommy and we’ll all go home cuddle.” He said as he pulled the baby from her car seat, recognizing ‘home’ and ‘cuddle’ she clapped at him. He planted gross, wet kisses all over her face before dashing to the place where he saw all the flashing lights congregating. It was a pretty big pile up so there were a lot of ambulances. He took the first one open.

“This is Bakugou Kaori, she’s eleven months and has no allergies to anything or any medication. I'll be coming back with Bakugou y/n who has a pretty deep gash in their abdomen and isn't allergic to any medication either.” He said as the EMT took his baby from him. He almost didn't want to leave her but he knew you were waiting on him, so he dashed back to your totaled car where he saw people crowding your figure as they had just pulled you out.

“Y/N!” He said dropping to the ground taking you from the girl who was holding you.

“Come on, you're bleeding a lot we’ve got to get you to the ambulance.” He said tears cascading from his eyes as he tried to lift you while simultaneously slowing your bleeding but as he lifted you not only did you scream, blood rushed out of your gash at a very alarming rate.

“We can't lift them, they're losing too much blood, the ambulance got to come down here….They’ll die if we take them down there.” Someone said as Katsuki placed you back on the ground. He wanted to yell at them and tell them they were wrong but he knew they weren't. As well as he knew the ambulance wouldn't fit down here, it was hard for him to fit through the cracks of the cars. He had to try though for you, for Kaori, and for himself.

“You're all hurt, go get to an ambulance and get some help, idiots.... And please, I'm begging you, make one of them come down here.” The group of people nodded as they raced for the ambulances.

“Told you I’d wait on you, Kat.”

“Yeah, you did such a good job, baby! You are so strong, love. They went to get help, everything's gonna be alright.” He whispered to you clutching your body closer to him.

“Who are you trying to convince me or you.” You laughed coughing up blood.

“Stop laughing, dumbass this isn't funny.” He gritted his teeth at you.

“Alright then stuffy, onto the serious business. I want Kaori to grow up knowing what love is, so tell her all our cheesy stories. I want her to grow up knowing she is so loved by you so tell her everyday from me and you that you love her more than anything. I want her to know she can come to you for anything so don't be such a hardass to her when she starts to rebel a little…. I don't want her to forget my face or my voice too much, so as much as it might hurt at first show her all the pictures and videos we took over the years. And when she's old enough to understand what happened tonight tell her she doesn't need to go to my grave if she ever wants to talk to me, I'm always watching over you both, promise.” You paused to throw up some more blood. “And now for you my love, I won't say anything to cliché. Like ‘i want you to find love’ cause we both know I am the jealous type but if it happens don't worry I'm not turning over in my grave. I want you to keep following that dream of yours if anyone can be the Top hero and a single dad it’s you, Kat. I want you to indulge yourself and eat takeout sometimes that stuffy diet of yours isn't fun. Be sad for as long as you need but just don't hold it all inside and try to continue on like everything is fine. It's okay to cry, to need a break or some help or both really. Lastly, Bakugou Katsuki, I love you and I am so sorry we didn't get that always and forever we wanted.” You said using the last of your strength to caress his cheek. He sobbed as he grasped your hand and held it tighter to his cheek.

“I love y-” he tried to say but stopped as he realized you were already gone. You didn't get to hear it back from him… the scream that ripped from him was pure anguish in its finest form. He should've been quicker to say it. He should have said it more often. He just should have. And now he was begging his head to stop playing these flashbacks to stop driving the knife further into his heart, he had a daughter he was trying to live for. He just wanted it to stop.

“DADA DADA”

Just like that he was drawn from his head. He looked around to see his friends and family staring at him in concern and his daughter at his feet with fat tears rolling down her face. He quickly picked her up, cursing at himself as he probably just scared her.

“What are you crying for you, little brat?” He started but paused as fat tears of his own rolled down his sunken cheeks “Everything's gonna be alright soon, so we shouldn't cry for too long okay, Brat.” He said as he hugged Kaori tighter than he should have. Somewhere in his mind he did believe it. That he and his daughter would be okay but for right now he was trying to stay afloat in the waves of suffocating flashbacks.