#and that at this rate a pt 3 will probably be necessary

[igbylicious]

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt 12

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, FWB to QPR

ch. summary: Wooyoung assures you that you don’t have to worry about San after his drop. San proves him right.

wc: 10.6k

ch. warnings: bratty duo Wooyoung & reader, brat tamer San, threesome, phone sex (kindof???), nudes, overstimulation, edging, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, pussy slap, cumming in pants, degradation (@ Wooyoung), dumbification (@ reader), rough sex, spanking, choking, panties as a makeshift gag & light bondage (@ Wooyoung), condomless sex w/ an IUD, voyeurism/exhibitionism-ish, anal fingering / sex between Woosan, safe word checks; ‘green’ & ‘yellow’ are used, aftercare, mention of jerking off in a public bathroom, nicknames for reader (‘baby’, ‘good girl’, ‘sweetheart’)

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

You didn’t expect many things to change now that Wooyoung has moved in with San and ‘officially’ is your next-door neighbour. He’d been over all the time anyway, spending more nights at San’s than in his own bed. Really, what difference could it make?

Quite a difference, apparently.

Before, Wooyoung felt perfectly comfortable to treat San’s place like his own. But now that San’s apartment is Wooyoung’s apartment too, his habit of ‘treating places like his own’ has transferred over to yours.

You’d blinked in surprise the first time Wooyoung just let himself inside and plopped down on your couch to play games on his phone. (Your couch is more comfortable, had been his explanation. You really can’t dispute that claim. It is.) But you hadn’t kicked him out, and Wooyoung correctly interpreted that as permission to invite himself back in any time.

Sometimes he shows up because San isn’t home. Sometimes San comes along. And sometimes, San just chills back at his own apartment while Wooyoung hangs out with you.

(San doesn’t seem to mind this, though one time he did suspiciously start bombing the groupchat with selfies and messages right after Wooyoung stepped through your doorway. Wooyoung had just rolled his eyes and ignored it; apparently San had been playing video games and literally groused at Wooyoung to ‘not distract him when he’s busy’.

“Serves him right,” Wooyoung had declared, and cackled a laugh when you asked him if they were actually bickering or if this was just foreplay again. “Probably foreplay,” he’d admitted, and you got a definitive answer later, when faint whines drifted through the shared wall after Wooyoung had gone back to San. Good for him!)

Wooyoung doesn’t crash your place constantly or anything like that; but the realisation does quickly sink in that by moving in with San, Wooyoung also moved in closer to you, almost treating the two apartments like one singular unit.

Damn, no wonder he’d made a point of asking if you were alright with it all!

Most of the time, Wooyoung is more than welcome — but one unannounced visit did prompt a conversation about the concept of ‘alone time’, and your occasional need for it. The timing had just been bad on both sides; you and Wooyoung were each worn out from exhaustion, a perfect breeding ground to spark tension. Wooyoung had taken your need for distance as a personal rejection and, to be fair, your tiredness had made you a little short with him.

However, this time you’d worked through it together, not needing San’s intervention to talk and hug it out.

Together you’d agreed on a better communication cue for Wooyoung to turn his ass around and go back home when necessary, and you’d reassured him he was more than welcome on most days; it wasn’t a reflection on him personally. With that, you could happily go back to enjoying this big shift in your life.

And a big shift it definitely is. Sure, San also dropped by unannounced sometimes, but not as often as Wooyoung.

Not because San is distant with you; far from it. His apartment had simply turned into the usual meeting point to hang out — plus, he’s more of a homebody at heart. Unlike Wooyoung, San doesn’t often feel the urge to leave his natural habitat unless outside forces persuade him to. He’s not pressed about the time Wooyoung spends over at your place; maybe even enjoys having an occasional quiet moment to himself.

…However, San did get pressed about something else; your regular grocery runs together.

After Wooyoung moved in, San got lowkey possessive of this chore you’ve always done together. He even went into a jealous sulk when you and Wooyoung went to the store one time without telling him. You’d felt a combination of surprised, flattered and slightly annoyed at his moody reaction, which seemed a little overblown to you.

It had prompted another conversation about the new living situation; and you were embarrassed to realise how badly you’d underestimated San’s attachment to sharing the simple, domestic chore with you. A swift reconciliation followed, along with more hugs.

Yes, there have been a few bumped heads, also between San and Wooyoung, but the sting always fades quickly. They’re nothing but small growing pains while you settle into this new normal. Growing pains just means there’s growth, San pointed out, and though Wooyoung teased him for his simplistic conclusion, you agree with San.

But on this particular evening, there are no growing pains.

Just you enjoying the new normal of Wooyoung lounging on your couch, while San is out with some old schoolmates. Wooyoung is on his phone, keeping you company while you catch up on one of your shows — to which he only half-pays attention and then gets miffed when he doesn’t understand the plot.

“I’m just saying, I don’t get why they’re suddenly all buddy-buddy! It doesn’t make sense!”

“Oh my god, Woo, you don’t get to complain if you don’t actually bother to watch!” you groan, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “Seriously, you’re lucky you’re cute or I’d kick you out of the house. Let me watch in peace, alright?”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Wooyoung complains. “I was just asking. They were at each others’ throats like two seconds ago!”

“You’re hopeless,” you sigh with a shake of your head, then pause the episode so you can take a bathroom break. It’s not like you can focus when Wooyoung pelts you with questions every five minutes anyway.

By the time you get back, Wooyoung has thrown his phone aside and is dramatically slouched across the couch. He lets out a huge, bored sigh when you return, looking up at you with a long-suffering gaze.

“Hey,” he says when he catches your eye, “can I eat you out?”

“What? Now??” You splutter out a laugh at the utterly serious expression on his face. “Is this because I said you’re cute? Positive enforcement to trick me into giving you more compliments?”

“Come ooonnnnn,” Wooyoung groans, letting his head fall back against the cushions. “It’s been ages since I last got to do it, and I’m so fucking bored.”

“Oh, so the pleasure of my company is not enough to keep you entertained?”

“Eh. Would be more entertained by the pleasure of your pu—”

“Alright, alright!” you laugh. Fair enough; you stepped right into that one.

You plop down on the couch, in a corner spot not taken up by Wooyoung’s sprawled limbs, then shoot him another look.

“…Seriously? You want to? Without San?”

It’s not without precedent for you to fool around with one of the guys without the other, but still extremely rare; and usually it’s just a little foreplay or prep while waiting for the other to join. (Plus that one time when San put Wooyoung on a sex ban after bratting too close to the sun. That’d been a fun week.)

“Without San, yeah. Or…” Wooyoung says, “we could call him, give him that excuse he wanted to come home early.”

You snort. “Don’t think this is what he had in mind.”

(San hadn’t been all that excited about going out with his old mates from school, an invitation accepted out of politeness — but he’d declined the offer from you and Wooyoung to come with. “Might need you to create an excuse for me to leave early. Phone in an emergency or something,” he’d said. Though you suppose that ‘Wooyoung was hungry for pussy’ could count as an emergency, at least in Wooyoung’s eyes.)

“That’s what makes it fun, right?” Wooyoung says, grinning widely at you. “We can get Sannie all nice and riled up. Might even get him to punish us for starting without him, if we play our cards right.”

That’s where you hesitate. Goad San into punishing you?

Wooyoung notices, and sits up next to give you a thoughtful look-over. You roll your eyes at his scrutiny, suddenly self-conscious.

“So…” he says slowly, “can’t help but notice you’ve been on your best behaviour for San ever since I moved in.” He leaves room for a meaningful pause. “Ever since he dropped.”

“I’m always on my best behaviour,” you huff defensively. “You’re the brat around here, not me.”

Wooyoung snorts. “You aren’t always. Don’t pretend you don’t ever get up to trouble.”

…Fair point. You usually lean towards the ‘good girl’ end of the submissive spectrum, but there have been plenty occasions where you were a happy accomplice to Wooyoung’s mischief, or even initiated some of your own.

“Okay, so what’s going on?” Wooyoung asks. “You nervous about pushing San too far?”

A ‘no’ bubbles up instinctively, but you manage to swallow it down and give the question some honest thought. Are you nervous?

“There just hasn’t been an opportunity,” your surface thoughts argue.

That is true, sort of. Between the chaos of Wooyoung’s move into San’s apartment and you having a busy time at work, your sex life isn’t exactly super active. Not non-existent either, but you’ve focused more on the casual hang-outs, just spending time together while everything around you settles down.

Yes, your surface thoughts have a point — but it only takes one cursory glance underneath them to find the vivid memory of holding a trembling San in your arms.

“Okay, you’re right, I’m a bit worried about that,” you admit quietly. “He… San looked so small, Wooyoung. I don’t want him ever feeling like that again.”

Wooyoung puts his hand on your thigh, gently scritching his fingertips over your jeans. “I don’t want him to, either,” he says with a wan smile. “But—”

“Yeah yeah, listen I know it’s stupid,” you interrupt him, sighing in frustration. “I know I’d be pissed off if San suddenly stopped spanking me or whatever just because my brain bullied me about it one time.” You know Wooyoung has been bratty at San since then and San has happily tamed him down, so why the hell do you feel this resistance?

Wooyoung fights down a laugh at your rant, balling his fist in front of his mouth. “It’s a little stupid, yeah!”

You whap a hand against his shoulder, though you can’t help but laugh with him. “Hey, you aren’t supposed to agree with me!”

“What am I supposed to say then!?”

“You are supposed to tell me, ‘no, it’s not stupid, but San is a grown-ass man and he is fully capable of telling us himself if he can’t or doesn’t want to go that hard with domming us anymore’!”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s pretend I said that.”

You give Wooyoung a heavy side-eye; he grins back at you — and after a long beat of silence, together you burst out in a light bout of giggles.

“Sorry I’m making this way more difficult than it needs to be,” you apologise, still laughing a little. “I’m into the idea, I really am, it’s just…”

“Just gotta get past the hurdle. I get it,” Wooyoung says, and from the soft furrow between his eyes you know he really does get it. His hand squeezes your knee. “Listen, if I know San at all,” he says (and he does know San pretty damn well), “the two of us will have some fun getting him worked up, which means he gets to have fun punishing us for it, which means we all end up having fun together. How’s that sound to you?”

“Sounds… fun,” you say, relaxing into a grin. There isn’t much room to argue with the way Wooyoung has laid it out to you.

He bites his lip, a dark shine in his eyes. “Then sit back and let me get my mouth on that sweet pussy already.”

Again, he leaves no room to argue.

So before you know it, you are sitting back on the couch and Wooyoung is well underway to getting his mouth exactly where he wants it.

You draw shallow breaths as you look down on Wooyoung, who sits on a pillow between your legs. You’d braced for him to descend on you in a frenzy — but Wooyoung has a quiet focus on his face as he slowly rubs over your inner thighs through your joggers, like he is matching up reality to his memories.

He squeezes firmly, molding the soft meat to the shape of his hands, and you let out a soft whine as Wooyoung’s patience quickly wears down yours. You tilt your hips up in an unsubtle demand, causing Wooyoung’s concentration to break with a grin.

“Oh? Look who’s in a rush to get eaten out now,” he rasps. His thumbs brush just shy of your cunt, which is stirring to life rapidly. “After all that grief you gave me about it too, ch.”

Wooyoung playfully tsks his tongue at you, the crooked curve of his lips only working you up more. It doesn’t help either that he’s half naked, wearing just his baggy shorts; Wooyoung had nobly sacrificed his hoodie for you to sit on when you made a half-hearted point about ruining your couch. Honestly, you don’t know if it’ll do much good; already you can feel a sticky wetness between your legs and he hasn’t even fucking touched you. Like Wooyoung said; it’s been a while, and your vagina is being very dramatic about how lonely she’s been without the company of his mouth.

“Just fucking get on with it,” you say, the power of your demand nullified by the breathlessness in your voice. “We gotta rescue San from his social obligations, don’t we?”

“Ahh yes, that’s why we’re doing this,” Wooyoung giggles, but he still obliges and tugs down your sweats.

You’re about to protest again when he leaves your underwear on, just basic cotton panties with no sex appeal whatsoever — but they do something for Wooyoung all the same, and your complaint melts away under the heated, hungry look in his eyes.

Wooyoung’s torturously slow pace has been driving you up the wall, yet you let out a startled squeak when suddenly he dives in, his face pressed against your clothed cunt.

“Fuck, but I missed this pussy,” he grunts lowly, then laps a thick stripe over the damp spot already forming in your panties before suctioning his mouth over the fabric, eerily close to your clit.

You suck in a sharp breath, hands flying into Wooyoung’s hair to tug him a little higher. He lets himself be guided without resistance, apparently no longer in the mood to tease. You’ve been with a few avid puss appreciators in the past, but none of them hold a candle to Wooyoung, who truly gets as much out of this as you do.

Through the barrier of your panties, his teeth graze over your clit. Sharp sucks and indirect bites soon have your thighs trembling, your underwear soggy with arousal and Wooyoung’s saliva.

“Missed this pussy,” he groans again, thumbing at the drenched strip of cotton — and completely knocking you off balance with what he says next. “Missed making you feel good…”

“Hm— hmh, Woo—”

You know it’s not that deep, that it’s just rambles from Wooyoung already getting tipsy on your clothed cunt; still the urge bubbles up to say something, to tell Wooyoung how good he makes you feel every damn single day. Just by being in the same room as you, by hanging out on your couch or sending you photos he’s proud of, by texting to ask if you’ve eaten yet. But you can’t get a single word out, all coherency stolen from your lips as Wooyoung pulls your panties aside and latches directly onto your clit.

Making up for lost time, Wooyoung aggressively reacquaints himself with your leaking pussy. You whine as his lips suction around your clit, giving the already swollen nub a quick nibble before his tongue swirls and flicks. He slurps noisily against your cunt until your hips start to jerk, and you realise with alarm that you’re about to cum, just like that.

“Fuck, Wooyoung…” You swear under your breath, arching into his mouth — only for Wooyoung to pull back for soft swipes at your folds.

You groan as the build-up fizzles out into a light burn, and slump into the couch.

“Seriously?” you grumble, giving Wooyoung’s hair a firm tug to make your dissatisfaction known. He just lets out a muffled chuckle, filling your apartment with lewd wet noises as he kisses and suckles at your sodden folds, gentle but thorough.

However, his abrupt slowdown does give your head a chance to clear up, and something occurs to you.

“H-hey, Wooyoung?”

“Hm?”

“Not that this isn’t great, but weren’t we supposed to rile San up?” You’d expected Wooyoung to be on his phone already to let San know what he’s missing out on. But instead, the phone lies right next to you on the couch, ignored in favour of feasting on your cunt.

“Hm.” Wooyoung lifts his head, grinning up at you with glazed lips. “Then we gotta give him something to get riled up about, don’t we?”

“Starting to think I’m the one you’re trying to get— f-fuck, ah Woo—!”

Wooyoung’s nose bumps right into your clit as his tongue thrusts inside your drenched hole, plunging as deep as he can reach. You feel his lips stretch into a grin when you immediately rock into him, his breathy laugh falling coolly against your wet heat. You pull harder at Wooyoung’s hair and a whine shudders through him, freely letting you dictate his pace as you grind on his nose.

You find yourself back on the edge within a flash, whimpering and squirming now that Wooyoung has stopped his teasing. He is fully dedicated to tipping you over, groaning against your cunt as he tongue-fucks you with unruly abandon; less about technique, and more about pure, uncontrolled voracity.

Your breath comes in sharp hitches as Wooyoung somehow pushes even harder into you, the beautiful hook of his nose sparking electricity through your core. He moans eagerly as you start to clench around his tongue, his shoulders preventing your thighs from clamping shut as tendrils of heat coil in your abdomen.

You can tell it’s going to be an intense one even before it hits you. “F-fuck, Wooyoung,” you whimper, rocking into his face, “Woo, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop, ahh fuck fuck fuck—”

He does not stop.

Wooyoung’s eyebrows knit in pleasure as you coat his tongue and chin with your slick. He pulls back from fucking your cunt to suck on your clit, firm pressure that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your toes curl, body seizing up with every long, hard aftershock; one so intense that you’re not entirely sure if you just came twice.

Reluctantly, Wooyoung parts from your cunt when you push him away with a weak whimper. He grins at you, dark eyes sparkling and his face covered by a glossy shine from the nose down.

He ignores your whine when finally tugs off your ruined panties, then uses two fingers to spread your lower lips wide open. His grin sharpens at the sight.

“Now there is a view that’ll get San going,” Wooyoung says, decadently licking his lips. “All pretty and puffed up, and all for me.”

(The possessive streak sends a weak jolt through your hypersensitive pussy.)

Finally he grabs his phone, and raises it up to you in silent question. You nod quietly; no further words are needed to understand his intentions.

You’re still catching your breath; a challenge when Wooyoung is lining up a shot with his cameraphone. It’s hardly the first time he has taken nudes of you, but there’s just always a look of intense focus in Wooyoung’s eyes whenever he handles a camera — especially when it’s pointed straight at your glistening cunt.

(“She’s just so photogenic!” Wooyoung once claimed, fondly patting his beloved model before he took another shot.)

“You’re such a fucking dork,” you giggle when, even now, Wooyoung takes a moment to consider the angle.

“Artist! I’m an artist!” Wooyoung objects loudly, flicking your clit in retaliation. “Gotta do justice to this masterpiece, don’t I?”

With that, Wooyoung snaps his photo — but he does not send it to San right away. Instead he starts texting, mumbling out the words as he’s typing. “Dining… out… at our neighbour’s………… oyster bar.”

You bite down a laugh at his phrasing. “Pretty sad excuse for a bar if they only have one oyster!” you tease, but can’t fight down the giggle when Wooyoung shows you the text; a cheeky 🦪💦👅 added at the end.

“Quality over quantity any day, sweetheart,” Wooyoung winks, then sends the text.

Now there is nothing you can do except wait.

Well. Not nothing. Wooyoung wipes his face and gets up from his knees, then unceremoniously presses your legs together so he can make himself comfortable on your lap. Your various states of undress are like mismatching puzzle pieces; lined up all wrong with Wooyoung’s bare chest and you naked from the waist down — but you don’t get a chance to fix this discrepancy before his phone starts buzzing.

“You aren’t gonna answer that?” you ask, a little breathy as Wooyoung slowly leans in for a kiss.

He makes a noise that seems to mean ‘not yet’, focused on first giving you a faint taste of yourself with lazy swipes of his tongue. You clutch onto his waist with a moan, parting your lips for him while San is forced to wait. Wooyoung grinds into your lap, his already hard dick pressed against your stomach as his tongue flicks against the roof of your mouth, then tangles with yours.

It can’t have been too long before he pulls away — the phone is still buzzing — but it feels like eons, leaving you in a slight daze when Wooyoung finally answers San’s call and puts him on speaker.

“What the hell guys,” San mopes, his pout audible through the phone. There’s muted music in the background; mostly bass-tones, like it’s coming through a wall. “Without me?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says simply — and hangs up.

“Wha—” You blink at Wooyoung in surprise but he just shrugs, an undertone of sass to the casual gesture. Using his free hand, he slides down between your bodies, pressing two fingers solidly against your clit. You hiss at the sudden stimulation, though you’ve recovered enough to be able to take it. “You — hmnm — you think he’s gonna call back?”

Wooyoung’s lips curve up into a fiendish grin. “He will, if he wants to.”

San does want to.

Almost immediately, Wooyoung’s phone buzzes again. This time, Wooyoung doesn’t make him wait as long. “Where are you?” he asks before San has a chance to speak up.

“Bathroom stall,” San says. “You really couldn’t wait until—?”

“Great! Just jerk off in there if you wanna join in so bad,” Wooyoung says cheerfully, pinching your clit just hard enough to draw a loud whine from you.

San groans at the sound. “Seriously? Someone could walk in here, I don’t—” but he can’t finish. Wooyoung has hung up on San again; and now sends him the picture of your swollen pussy, lewdly dripping with slick and saliva.

The wait is slightly longer this time.

For a second you wonder if your plan has gone awry; San might have taken Wooyoung’s suggestion to just get it on with Rosie Palms out there. Still, your moans lilt a little higher at the thought of San getting himself off on nothing but a picture of your cunt; maybe he’d take a nude of his own, hand wrapped around his flushed cock in a dirty bathroom stall. (A video even, if you would be so lucky.)

However, the plan proves to still be on track when a phone buzzes again; yours.

You pick it up with a shaky hand, shamelessly moaning as Wooyoung toys with your sensitive cunt. You barely have to play up your reactions; sure, the goal of all this is to provoke San, but it definitely works out for you too.

San lets out an exasperated sigh at the pornographic noises that greet him, though there is an obvious tightness to his voice. “You two are unbelievable,” he groans. “Are you trying to piss me off?”

Well. Duh.

“J-just, hmn, just get your ass over here if you — ahh Woo… — if you’re that upset about missing out,” you manage to gasp out between moans.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung agrees, playfully smacking your clit, “we can’t always wait around for you, you know.”

You hang up on San mid-whine, and drop your phone onto the couch.

Wooyoung grins proudly at how easily you slid into the role of his bratty partner-in-crime. “Now,” he says, “don’t tell me that wasn’t fun.”

“Yeah,” you happily admit. “Definitely fun.”

You and Wooyoung ignore San’s next call completely, too distracted by making out again; and then you leave San on read when he sends “heading back now” to the groupchat.

“Come, bedroom,” Wooyoung mumbles against your mouth, barely breaking away from the kiss as he gets up on his feet and pulls you with him. “Don’t wanna ruin my knees before San gets back, and I plan to spend every second until then between your thighs. Let’s get comfortable, alright?”

“A-alright,” you gasp, letting yourself get pulled along. “Um… how long should it take him?”

Wooyoung shrugs. “Eh, like fifteen or sixty minutes? Something like that. He wasn’t sure where they’d go.”

Alarm shoots through you. “Wooyoung?! That’s a wide range of time!” Your body is still on edge — could you handle him for a whole fucking hour, while San can come in at any moment? An aggravated San, who has all that time to plan how he will punish you and Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung just ushers you onto the bed, yanking off your shirt and hurriedly disposing of your bra.

“You don’t want to? I’ll be nice, promise,” he purrs, a deep hungry rasp in his voice. His face is partially shadowed as he hovers over you, but his gleaming eyes are unmistakably pinned on yours. “Just want to get another taste before Sannie gets here… Might be our last chance for a while, if we got him real worked up.”

You swallow thickly at the thought; you’ve successfully appealed to San’s soft side as a dom in the past — but after you and Wooyoung hung up on him three times? You wouldn’t put it past him to take oral off the table for a while, maybe sex entirely.

“Y-yeah no, okay. Yeah, let’s do it,” you say, nodding shakily. Might as well take what you can still get.

Wooyoung bites his lip, pleased with your quick response. “Good,” he murmurs, slowly shifting down the bed with a wicked smile like he’s already forgotten his promise to be nice.

While by no means small, your bed is not quite as large as San’s, so it takes slightly more manoeuvring to get the both of you comfortable. But soon enough Wooyoung has his arms wrapped around your thighs, spreading you open once again for your pleasure and his own.

Sometime over the next ten to fifty-five minutes, the world melts into a blurry haze.

True to his concerns, Wooyoung feasts on you with the frantic urgency of a man who might never get to taste his favourite meal ever again. You writhe under his plump lips and sloppy tongue, gasping at his unrelenting enthusiasm. Wooyoung only slows down when he has to catch his breath, but even then he leaves sweet pecks and nibbles on your plush thighs and the fold of your stomach.

And then he is back, laving your twitching cunt with undivided attention like he’s forgotten about all San entirely, not a care in the world as he laps and strokes and nips at you until your back arches and your moans grow higher and louder until no more sound escapes your throat at all.

You’re on fire, lava pouring through your veins and liquefying your bones from the inside out. You lost count of all the times Wooyoung teased you right up against that edge only to pull back, and you can do nothing but lay there and take his endless edging when he curls three fingers deep inside your aching cunt, moaning around your clit.

Wooyoung ruts against the mattress, harder and faster when he feels you tighten again, until he suddenly groans and shudders, slowing down to a lazy grind — and you realise with a start that Wooyoung has cum in his shorts, just from grinding and eating you out.

Now he’s gotten his own release, Wooyoung is finally gracious enough to stop withholding yours. He babbles against your slit but the words are too muffled to hear, letting you only catch a hoarse “so good” and “fucking drown”. His wrist snaps harshly as he finger-fucks you, lips smacking as he goes back to sucking on your clit, obscenely wet noises filling your bedroom. You can’t fight it. You can’t do anything. Only surrender to the maelstrom that pulls you under, dragging you down to the depths of another forceful climax, pleasure cresting slowly, inescapable, until you bite down sobs and whimpers from its intensity washing over you.

Your body trembles, trying to escape and pull back up for air — but Wooyoung holds you down, and you mewl as you get overwhelmed again. The needling overstimulation is too much this time, refusing to recede. Weakly you try to squirm away from Wooyoung’s mouth, pushing at his head.

“N-nno wait, stop, Woo, too much— Y-yel—”

Before the colour can fully pass your lips, Wooyoung already peeks up from your abused cunt. “Stop? You need a timeout?”

You nod shakily, gasping for air. “Y-yeah. Timeout.”

Wooyoung hums in acknowledgement, slowly crawling up your body. He leaves sticky, open-mouthed kisses on your skin, just a soft brush of his lips. Hips, stomach, the underside of your breast, until he can’t help but linger at a stiff nipple.

“How about this?” he mumbles, gently sucking at the pert nub. “This alright?”

“Hm,” you moan out, weakly slinging an arm around Wooyoung’s shoulders.

He chuckles at your fucked-out state, nuzzling into the valley between your breasts. “I’m too much for you too handle, huh?” he teases before lightly mouthing at your nipple again.

The gentle stimulation feels good, giving you a chance to come down at your leisure without tumbling into freefall. Slowly, you relax under Wooyoung’s soft attentions.

“Ohh, I’m gonna be in trouble once San gets here,” you sigh, though you don’t regret a moment of it. “Fuck, that was a lot.”

“Sorry,” Wooyoung chuckles — and though his grin is not the least apologetic, the soothing brush of his fingers over your waist is. “I’ll try to draw most of his ire, alright?”

“Pff, how selfless of you,” you drawl, rolling your eyes. Like Wooyoung wouldn’t happily take most of San’s ire any day.

“Hey, anything for my best girl,” Wooyoung says with a cheeky wink. “Soooo,” he continues, eyeing your calmed state, “can I finish my meal? I’m still hungry, you know.”

“Oh my god!” you laugh, whapping him on the shoulder. “You’re messing with me, right? You have to be messing with me.”

“Only if your answer is no.” Wooyoung shifts just enough that you can feel him pressed against your thigh, already half-hard again.

You groan, head falling back. “You’re fucking insatiable, you monster.”

“Isn’t it great! Also, not hearing a ‘no’ in there.”

“No,” a new voice suddenly interrupts. “You don’t get to finish your meal, Wooyoung.”

Startled, you fling upright so quick that your chin almost knocks against Wooyoung’s forehead. Even though you knew he was coming, somehow the figure at the open doorway still surprises you.

San.

Leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a dark, displeased expression on his face that is completely at odds with the friendly knitted brown sweater he’s wearing. How the hell had you not heard him come in? His eyes are narrow and sharp, thunder crackling behind them.

“Get off her, Wooyoung,” San says in a near growl, sharply jutting his chin to the side. “Let me see what you’ve been doing.”

Wooyoung scrambles off you at once, just as caught off guard by San’s sudden appearance as you.

San saunters over to the bed, his pace unhurried. There’s something in his hand, you realise, but you can’t make out what it is before he grabs one of your legs and yanks you closer to the edge of the bed, making you fall back onto the mattress with a startled yelp.

Your breath catches as San coolly inspects your cunt, his tongue pressing into his cheek in agitation. “Hm, Wooyoung sure had his fill of you, didn’t he?”

“S-sensitive,” you whine as two rough fingers delve through the slick mess between your folds.

San rolls his eyes — and slaps you right on the clit. Not at full strength but enough to make you jolt against his hand, mewling at the sharp impact. He continues his inspection, but then his eyebrow raises in mild surprise at a realisation. “He didn’t fuck you?” San asks, giving you a piercing look.

“No, I—”

“Shut up, Woo. Not talking to you,” San says, his voice stony.

Wooyoung just scoffs, unintimidated. (Couldn’t be you.) “Don’t ask questions if you don’t want answers, Sannie.”

San’s eyes snap to him, now full-on blazing with impending retribution. He gives Wooyoung the same examining look as you; and takes notice of the crusted stain in the crotch of Wooyoung’s baggy shorts. San’s lips curl into a mocking imitation of a smile. “Ahhh… So that’s why you didn’t fuck her. Couldn’t make it that far. Not surprised, you always are a quick climber.”

“That’s not what happen—” Wooyoung bristles, but San is on him within the blink of an eye. He grabs Wooyoung harshly by the jaw, thumb and forefinger digging into his cheeks.

Now that the harsh intensity of his attention is not directly on you, it’s easier to take full stock of San’s appearance. There’s that stormy look in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw — but his shoulders are relaxed, his posture brimming with confidence.

San is thriving, right in his element; he enjoys this.

“Yeah, didn’t expect you to follow any orders today,” he says, his voice a low growl. “Good thing I can just shut you up myself.” He lifts up his other hand, and you finally realise what he’s holding onto.

Your dirty panties.

Carelessly left behind on your couch, now bunched into a tight ball in San’s fist.

San gives them a contemplative look, never relaxing his grip on Wooyoung’s face. He takes a slow, deep sniff of the stained cotton, then holds up the ball in front of Wooyoung, waiting one deliberate beat to give him a chance to object. But Wooyoung stubbornly holds San’s gaze, only groaning when the soiled ball of underwear is forced past his lips as a makeshift gag, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Wooyoung’s jaw shifts as he lets out a muffled noise, already saliva pooling around the fabric as he struggles to take the gag. San just watches in heated silence, a satisfied glint in his eyes.

“I have to assume you won’t listen either if I tell you not to touch yourself,” he scoffs, and yanks Wooyoung’s hands behind his back. San grabs for your discarded shirt, an improvised but effective tool to tie Wooyoung’s wrists together.

Wooyoung moans around the gag, squirming against his bindings as he looks up at San with big, gleaming eyes.

San tuts at the desperation on display, running a condescendingly sweet hand through Wooyoung’s hair. “Show me the signal,” he orders, and pats Wooyoung’s cheek in approval when he lets out three sharp grunts in a rhythmic interval. “Good. Now just sit and watch until I feel like dealing with you.”

Tied up and gagged, Wooyoung now has no choice but to obey.

You might as well be tied up too, the way you’re frozen in place as you watch, wide-eyed. Your breath hitches when San sharply turns his head to look at you, heat crackling through him.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

Whatever held you in place before is shattered by San’s order, your body already moving before your mind gets a say in the matter.

You scramble onto your hands and knees as told, anticipation shivering through you. You can see Wooyoung from the corner of your eyes — but San is fully hidden from view as you wait with baited breath.

You whine lightly when a warm hand rubs over the curve of your rear, perched in the air, and you instinctively push back into the touch.

San tsks at your body’s eagerness, equal parts amusement and derision, and he squeezes at the soft meat of your ass. You shudder, bracing for the flat of his hand to strike, to have its impact leave a divine searing ache behind.

The expected hit does not come. Instead, San gropes your thighs and forces them further apart — and buries his face right in your leaking cunt. He groans as he breathes in deep, just like he’d smelled your panties earlier, this time straight from the source.

You gasp at the sudden press of his mouth against your puffy, tender clit, your elbows buckling as you fall onto your forearms; inadvertently arching your back to provide San with even better access. He makes good use of it, his hot tongue sweeping greedily at your slick.

“Hngh, San— wait—” you moan, unprepared for the assault on your sore cunt.

“‘Wait’?” he growls, a muffled vibration through your core. “You two could hardly wait for me, could you? You let Wooyoung eat that pussy all day but not a drop for me? I didn’t fucking think so. No, baby, you’ll take it.”

He sucks harshly at your clit, moaning as more arousal gushes forth. His nose presses at your weeping hole, his fingers digging mercilessly into your ass.

“You’ll take it all,” San groans again. “How many times did he make you cum, baby? You owe me that many at least.”

“N-no— Can’t, Sannie— Hmm—” You whine, trying to pull away from his ravenous mouth. “’S too much, I can’t—”

San yanks at your hips, his fingers like steel bindings as he keeps you in place, giving you no chance of escape. Sharp teeth nip at your clit in warning.

“What did I fucking say?” he snaps. “Too much? Not my problem. I’m not settling for Woo’s leftovers, so you’ll give me a nice, fresh taste of that sweet slick. We’ll work out the number later. For now, I don’t want to hear another damn sound from that bratty mouth unless it’s a safeword, understood?”

You whine in confirmation — but now San does smack your ass, his lingering handprint throbbing warmly in your skin.

“Not. Another. Sound. Are we clear?”

Fuck. You bury your face in the sheets, desperately stifling another moan.

“That’s right,” San says coldly, kneading at the struck cheek. Then he is back on you, grabbing at your ass as he reintroduces your clit to his lips.

You cry out; immediately earning yourself another spank. Your fingers tear at the bed, scrambling for something to hold onto until you manage to clutch onto a pillow and press it to your face. It’s easier to muffle yourself this way, and you need all the help you can get.

Where Wooyoung had been teasing and edging you endlessly, San has no patience for that. He’s pushing hard and fast, smacking your ass every time you get a little too loud to his liking — which happens more and more as he forcibly drags you closer to his desired orgasm, leaving your skin beautifully sore and glowing with heat. The ruthless intensity of San in a mood like this is impossible to withstand, your vocal cords helpless before the punishment of his lips and tongue and hands.

Soon you are openly grinding back on San’s face, sobbing into the pillow and teething at the corner as drool saturates the cover. You can just barely see Wooyoung through blurred vision, squirming and whining against his gag and bound wrists.

Your jaw goes slack as San mouths sloppily at your clit, his nose rubbing against your fluttering entrance, clenching around nothing. You can’t keep your mouth closed, feeble moans spilling out no matter how you try.

“Hmph, look at you,” San sneers when you cry out at another spank. “What a needy thing you are, just as bad at following orders as Wooyoung. Usually it’s my cock that fucks you dumb, but apparently you don’t even need that much to wipe that pretty head of yours empty.”

“Ngh, hmm, n-no… ‘s too good, San,” you whimper, “gonna cum…”

“‘Good’?” San lets out a harsh, low chuckle. “Baby, this is supposed to be a punishment.”

“No! No no please, Sannie, please—” The thought of being denied again at this point sends your clouded thoughts into a desperate tailspin, and you forget all about San’s instruction for silence. “S-sorry for playing without you,” you babble mindlessly, pathetically, “shouldn’t have teased you. Need you — hm, ahh! — please, feels so good… need you Sannie, please please please—”

“Aw poor thing, need me to make you feel good, do you?” San hums, a pleased undercurrent rumbling in his low voice. “You need Sannie’s cock so bad, baby?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Tell me, baby. Tell me you want my cock.”

“Want Sannie’s cock,” you sob, sniffling against the pillowcase. “Want you inside me, always fucking me so well…”

“Then cum on my tongue first.”

Finally, an order that is easy to follow.

It only takes a few more greedy sucks at your clit, and San groans deeply as you gush on his tongue with a strangled cry. His grip on your hips is unyielding as you convulse, your legs instinctively trying to kick out at the force of your release. Your upper body is nothing but a crumpled mess on the bed, knees shaking as San eats you out through every pulse that rocks through you. He moans contently every time you clench around his tongue, pleased at your quick obedience, until he relaxes his hold and lets you slide down onto the bed.

You pant hard, still clutching onto your pillow and blinking away tears. By now the pillowcase is uncomfortably cold where you drooled and sobbed into it, and you push it away with a weak whine.

Faintly, you hear the rustle of clothes and the sound of a zipper behind you, but your attention is drawn back to Wooyoung, still bound and on his knees.

The sight of him is mesmerising; his face is flushed, chin covered with wet, shiny streaks from gagged mouth. There’s an obvious tent in his crusted baggy shorts, and he grows more fidgety as you watch him, jaw shifting around your dirty panties in his mouth, struggling against your tied up shirt.

Every cell in your body yearns to reach out and touch Wooyoung, to bring relief to his aching cock — but San pats your ass before you can do anything unwise.

“Up,” is his simple order; though he does most of the work himself, lifting you back on your knees with a firm grip on your waist. You tiredly fold your forearms to rest your head on them, keeping your eyes on Wooyoung as San’s pelvis presses against your ass.

You shudder when San’s cock glides through your sticky folds, your lower lips clinging onto his hard length.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, baby,” he groans, rocking his hips against you. “I bet I can just slide right in there, no problem.” His tip presses at your entrance, walls stretching pliantly for him after all this foreplay.

You moan weakly, wiggling your ass. He’s a snug fit in this position, but you’re ready, so fucking ready for San to fill you up. You can’t help but move on your own accord, and San’s breath shallows as you push back into him, his thumbs rubbing encouraging circles on your waist as you sink yourself down on his thick cock.

“That’s it, that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, his dick twitching inside you. “You know who treats this pussy best. All mine now.”

Heat licks through you at his possessiveness, at Wooyoung’s pitiful moan in response. Your head feels fuzzy, too mindless to agree or protest, but San does not seem to be waiting for a reaction, only for you to completely bury his cock in your wet cunt. Already you’re panting; just the feel of him stretching your walls is enough to make you dizzy, solid pressure resting right against that spongy bundle of nerves.

Then San starts moving.

You already knew you were in real trouble all the way back when he first put you on your hands and knees. That’s how San likes you when he intends to use every ounce of strength in his body, inflicting the full force of his gym-rat lifestyle on you. Hitting deep and hard until you’re nothing but a ragdoll for him to pound into, his hands squeezing tight enough on your waist to leave bruises, your ass sore from the slam of his hips.

Thank god he no longer makes you keep quiet. Your cunt is fucking wired from all the edging and overstimulation and you can feel yourself leaking around San’s cock, arousal streaking down your thighs and dripping onto the bed. San grunts hoarsely with every thrust as he fucks an electrified heat into your abdomen, fuelled by the noisy squelch of his cock being swallowed up by your sopping hole.

You moan out pathetic, hiccuped whines in time with his thrusts, gnawing your bottom lip raw. Wooyoung swims in your vision as tears well up again, your fingers clawing at the sheets for purchase. Your untouched clit throbs, so overwhelmed yet your orgasm feels so far away, even with San hitting right against your sweet spot.

“Gonna cum for me again?” San asks, demands, though a familiar whiny lilt is creeping into his voice. San is close.

“I— I don’t know— dunno if I can—” you mewl, and San seems to realise your genuine distress.

Suddenly you’re hoisted upright against him, one arm locked around your middle; his hand splayed over your stomach, the other pressed on your sternum, just underneath your throat. San’s rhythm barely breaks at the change in position and he continues to fuck up into you, unforgiving.

“Fuck, so tight,” he hisses, the fit of him inside you even more snug like this.

He mouths at your neck when you let your head fall back against his shoulder, your hand flying into his hair to anchor yourself. San groans when you yank at the sweaty strands, his hips stuttering for just a moment before he regains himself and falls back into his rough pace. His thumb inches upward, brushing over the base of your throat, and you moan in encouragement for him to reach a little higher.

“Not yet, baby,” San rasps. “Gonna take care of you, just need you to touch your clit first. Then I’ll get you there.”

Obediently you reach down with a shaky hand, unable to do more than just a clumsy rub with two fingers; but San holds true to his promise. His rough pace slows into deliberate thrusts, smooth and so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat, where his hand ghosts across your skin. Suddenly the orgasm that felt miles out of reach, is right on you.

San’s breaths fall hard and hot against your ear, his fingers teasing at your neck. Barely squeezing, just making you unable to forget they’re there.

“That’s it, let go now,” he encourages. “Give it to me, hmn, wanna feel you cum on my cock. Fuck, you feel so good, baby, just a little more for me.”

There’s a budding heat stirring in your cunt, sharp enough to pierce through the cloudy overstimulation that fogs up your brain. Your entire body trembles against San’s hold, moans growing in pitch. You whine when your fingers falter, just as you dangle over the edge — but then San is there, taking over.

The pads of his fingers are rougher than yours, their firm pressure on your clit exactly what you need. Your hand in his hair tangles deeper, the other clinging onto his arm to stay upright. San groans as your nails dig into his wrist, but he keeps going, an unstoppable force driving you over that edge.

You glance to the side, and it’s when you meet Wooyoung’s watery eyes that you know you’re done for.

“F-fuck, San, San, I— I’m gonna—”

San can only whine in answer, bucking his hips a few more times before he stills inside you with a loud, strangled moan, coating your walls with ropes of white. He stays buried deep inside you, panting for breath as he takes away yours; tightening his grip around the sides of your throat. You gasp — or you try to — inhaling raggedly through the partial restriction of your airflow. San still rubs at your swollen clit, and white heat floods your brain as you dissolve in his arms, reduced to a delirious, light-headed haze.

After a few brief, endless seconds, San’s hand relaxes. He murmurs soft encouragements, guiding you through it as you whimper against him through the lingering waves of pleasure that lick at your worn-out cunt.

Again San lets you slump down onto the bed; but this time he moves with you, pressing light kisses against the side of your face. He gently shushes your whine when his cock slips out and leaves you empty, cum trickling down your thighs. “Good girl,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Did so well for me.”

“Hmn,” you moan hoarsely, instinctively trying to pull San in for a cuddle. You make a weak noise of complaint when he doesn’t budge — but you instantly release him when you remember why. Wooyoung.

San chuckles at your neediness, brushing a tender thumb over your cheek. “Wooyoungie needs taking care of now, baby. Gotta see if he’s learned his lesson yet. You alright? Give me a colour.”

You nod, a tired smile making its way onto your face. “Green,” you sigh contently. “Wanna watch…”

“Of course you do,” San says, breathing a fond laugh. “Have fun, hm? Need anything first? Blanket?”

San lingers just a moment longer with you, ignoring Wooyoung’s small noises as he helps you into a robe to make sure you don’t get cold, and hands you a pillow that hasn’t been drooled on.

Then San finally turns back to Wooyoung — and his entire demeanour shifts, his shoulders seeming to grow wider as he sinks back into the cool, hardened dom with a brat to punish.

Wooyoung lets out a garbled whimper around the gag when San’s fingers ghost over the cum-stained crotch of his shorts, but San moves past it, tugging at the waistband instead.

“I assume this means you didn’t play with his ass and open him up for me, did you?” he asks you, a mocking grin on his lips. “No? That’s fine, lube is in the drawer, right?”

San rummages through your nightstand, ignoring your toys in favour of a bottle of lube. You curl up on the bed to make yourself comfortable as you watch how San puts the bottle down next to him, first sitting on his knees in front of Wooyoung.

“Hm, what to do with you,” San ponders, holding Wooyoung’s jaw with a less than gentle touch.

Wooyoung moans, arching his hips forward, but the unspoken suggestion goes ignored.

“Did you get a good look at how I had to punish our sweet girl? Bet you dragged her into this,” San says with cold derision — and completely correct in his assumption. “You’re a bad influence, Woo. Getting my good girl into trouble just because you were hungry for some pussy.”

(Even as a spectator, something flutters in your chest at the petname — though you don’t think it’s wholly deserved here. Wooyoung might have been the brains behind this scheme, but you weren’t exactly a reluctant co-conspirator. Still, you stay quiet, too eager to see how this plays out.)

Wooyoung makes another unintelligible noise, drool leaking past his gag onto San’s fingers. He juts his head insistently against San’s hold, his eyes shimmering with the silent plea to remove your panties from his mouth.

San scoffs, pushing Wooyoung’s face away.

“What, are you hungry for cock too? Is that what you want, to gag on something other than those panties you ruined?” San shakes his head, sitting next to Wooyoung so he can slide a heavy arm around his shoulders, almost ominous in the way he pulls Wooyoung close. “No Woo, I don’t think you deserve that after what you pulled today.”

That’s all the warning Wooyoung gets before San pushes him down, manhandling him onto his stomach, his cheek pressed into the sheets. Wooyoung groans through the gag, starting to squirm but San pins him with an unyielding hand between his shoulder blades, not letting him escape.

Your breath hitches when Wooyoung meets your eyes, his face contorted with desperation as he wiggles against San’s hold, tears brimming on his lashes. His eyes squeeze shut when San smacks his still-clothed ass, a choked moan escaping his stretched-open lips.

“Hold still while I take these off, understood?” San tells Wooyoung, who shudders and shows his first sign of voluntary obedience today as San slightly raises his hips to unbutton his baggy shorts and yank them down along with his underwear. San doesn’t take them off all the way, leaving the clothes bunched around Wooyoung’s ankles — and somehow that makes it all the more undignified. Like San doesn’t find it worth the effort to properly unclothe Wooyoung, his crusted shorts staying there as a mocking reminder of how he’d humped himself into an orgasm earlier.

You find yourself fading into a foggy dreamscape as you watch San and Wooyoung; their combined efforts have wiped you out completely, a wonderful exhaustion sunk deep into your mind, muscles and bones. San’s punishment of Wooyoung melts into a blurry series of moments, each deeply imprinted on your brain;

San spreading Wooyoung’s asscheeks, fingering him open while deliberately avoiding his prostate; just a cocksleeve to be used with no right to his own pleasure. Wooyoung moaning in desperation, trying to rock back into San, only for San’s hand to wrap around the nape of Wooyoung’s neck, pressing his face harder into the mattress until he obediently holds still again.

How the bindings around Wooyoung’s wrists start to loosen when San finally fucks into him with hard snaps of his hips, but still Wooyoung can’t do anything but scramble for something to grab onto — he is so far gone it does not even cross his mind to take out the gag from his mouth. San, bent over Wooyoung’s prone body, his chest heaving from exertion, skin glistening from sweat. Wooyoung’s cries as his dick rubs against the sheets underneath with every brutal thrust.

You watch it all, heat prickling through your veins as San and Wooyoung envelop nearly all your senses just by letting you be their quiet witness again.

The sight of San using Wooyoung for his own pleasure. Their moans and whines filling your ears, the heady smell of sex saturating the air; even the mattress bouncing underneath you in time with San’s pace. You reach down between your legs for a swipe of San’s cum, just to get a taste as well, but you’re met with the soft pang of disappointment to find it has already dried and crusted on your thighs.

But the disappointment can’t last, not when San takes mercy on Wooyoung and slams into his prostate with every thrust, Wooyoung’s muffled yet loud cries echoing through your bedroom.

“Come on, that’s what you wanted, right?” San goads him, a thick vein protruding in his neck. His voice is shaky from the strain, low and rough. “I know you got jealous, watching me fuck her. You couldn’t wait to get fucked like that yourself. That tight hole filled up with my cock, my hand on your neck. Well, now you got it,” he spits, tightening his grip, pressing the side of Wooyoung’s face into the mattress again. “Show some fucking gratitude and cum for me.”

Gratitude comes with a choked keen, with struggled bucks of Wooyoung’s hips; his cock still trapped between his stomach and your bed as he falls apart under San’s command. His knuckles are white from how hard he clutches at the sheets, eyes squeezed shut and face streaked with sweat, saliva and tears.

Slowly Wooyoung’s stifled moans die down into weak whimpers, his limp body feebly rocked up-and-down as San chases his own high.

“Haa, fuck fuck—” San folds over, burying his face between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades as he finds his release, spilling with stuttered thrusts until finally he collapses completely. He only barely manages to catch himself, sliding next to Wooyoung instead of crushing him under his weight.

You release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding, still drinking in every detail of the two men entangled. San tries to catch his breath, running a soothing hand over Wooyoung’s back. Carefully he turns Wooyoung onto his back, who moans but lets himself be moved around by San’s strong hands. San props himself up on an elbow as he leans over Wooyoung to peel your underwear from his mouth and toss it aside, then plant a tender kiss on Wooyoung’s puffy lips.

“You okay?” San asks quietly, brushing sweaty strands of hair out of Wooyoung’s face.

Wooyoung only nods at first, like he’s still a little stunned, but then he manages to find his voice. “Fuck yeah, I’m okay. That was… fuck,” he groans, hoarse but emphatic. “I love you so fucking much, you know that?”

San lets out a breathless laugh at the sudden declaration. “So much that you hung up on me before I could even get my hand down my pants!”

“You know me, that’s how I express my affection,” Wooyoung mumbles tiredly, while he reaches out a hand at you, beckoning you to come cuddle.

You do exactly that while San gets you all some water, grabbing an energy bar for himself. (You don’t even eat those, but somehow San’s favourite snacks have sneaked their way into your home anyway.) Then he comes to join you and Wooyoung in the middle of your cuddle, where you both get to use San’s chest for its rightful purpose; a comfy pillow to rest your weary head.

Still, in the peaceful quiet of the aftermath, you can’t help but take a moment to observe San, take stock of his condition.

What you see is reassuring; San is tired, but the right kind of tired. His eyes are clear and shining, a slow smile playing on his face as he leisurely plays with Wooyoung’s hair and brushes his fingers over your arm in small, soothing patterns.

San raises an eyebrow in question when he notices you looking. “Hey, got something on your mind?”

You huff a small laugh, not sure where to even begin answering that.

“That was amazing,” you smile at him, “but… you were wrong about Wooyoung.”

“Hm? Wrong how?” San asks, confused, while Wooyoung perks up in curiosity.

“You said he was a bad influence,” you explain. “Not true. He was a good one. A really good one.”

San raises a playful eyebrow. “You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, baby.”

So you do. You explain how you’d been nervous about pushing San too hard, how Wooyoung reminded you to trust San, trust him to know and guard his own limits. Helping you past that mental block, reviving the knowledge that San enjoys this type of play as much as you do.

San listens intently, his fingers idly combing through Wooyoung’s hair and squeezing at the nape of his neck — affectionately, this time. Wooyoung listens too, his eyes shimmering at you. You’d half-expected him to preen and giggle at your praise, or to badger San for being too tough on him, but instead he is quiet; touched by your recognition that his encouragement was about more than just being bratty for a bit of fun.

Wooyoung lightly pinches your side as you finish speaking; a gesture you’ve come to recognise as a substitution for when he wants to kiss you outside of sex, just like how San likes to rub his cheek against your shoulder or the side of your head. Small ways they’ve found to meet you halfway while staying within your comfort zone; enabling them to show their physical affection without crossing any hard boundaries. Something warm flourishes in your chest at the gesture, feeling safe and cherished.

“Yeah, let’s be very clear,” San says when you finish talking. “Really, I don’t put up with being a hard dom just to make you and Wooyoung happy. I mean, obviously I wouldn’t go there if you weren’t into it,” he adds quickly, like you didn’t literally witness him breaking down at the mere thought of hurting you or Wooyoung, “but yeah, I like doing this too.”

“Oh, I know, that was more than obvious today!” you grin. “I just needed reminding. This was a great reminder.” In more ways than one.

San chuckles, shaking his head — but then a mischievous gleam sneaks into his eyes. “Well… I might have a little something then. In case you ever need to refresh your memory in the future.”

Your brow furrows in confusion, and you exchange a look with Wooyoung while San reaches to grab for his phone, then settles back down. He holds his phone so you and Wooyoung can see the screen, and your eyes widen when he pulls up the most recently made video.

On it, you can just barely see enough of San’s surroundings to know he is standing in a public bathroom stall — but more importantly, you can perfectly see how his jeans are undone, pulled down just enough to release his cock. He is hard and aching, jerking himself off with quiet moans, desperately trying to keep the noise down.

“Fuck, Sannie, I didn’t know you had it in you,” Wooyoung says breathlessly, sounding almost proud.

“What else was I supposed to do, walk out with a massive boner just like that?” he sighs, shaking his head.

Your cheeks are on fire as you watch how the San on the screen groans tightly when he spills into some tissue-paper, almost doubling over. Instant heat pools between your thighs, and you press your face into San’s chest with a moan, suddenly so turned on again that you don’t know what to do with yourself.

San chuckles, rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. “So you like that, huh?”

“San,” you groan against his chest, “you have no fucking idea how badly I want to go down on you in a public bathroom. Like. Right now.”

“Hm. Cute,” he has the audacity to say, while Wooyoung’s laugh cackles to life next to you.

Lesson learned. No need to worry about teasing San too much.

[scoops-aboy86]

See You Everywhere (Secret Admirer pt 3)

Steddie Week 2024, July 3: Long / mutual pining / Holding Me by Warlock

It's still July 3 in my time zone, haha I made it! *lame fist pump*

wc: 3293 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

Darling Steve,

You amaze me on so many counts, not least by thinking I would stop writing to you after that, holy shit, not stupid at all. I see the vision, baby, and I think it’s precious that you’d rather picture me in disguise than imagine me wrong. But, sweetheart, you have to know that there are no wrong answers in these letters. This is much more firmly within my comfort zone than yours, I know, so I will never judge you for anything you write to me. 

(Although I am honor-bound to gently, lovingly point out that it’s Bilbo, not Bibo. And I hope your band of gremlins does not end up guiding you to lead a life of crime. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it might seem without the swords and the magic and the fantastic creatures.)

But I digress. I would happily slink into your bedroom at night, dressed all in black. (I wear a lot of dark colors anyway, so it’s not that much of a stretch.) I’d scale the outside wall up to your bedroom window and silently slip inside. Step softly so as not to disturb you as I approach the bed, where you slumber peacefully in… I want to say, with hope in my heart, nothing but those Hawkins High gym shorts? Nights have been hot lately, that and leaving the window open should help you keep cool. My own costume would be a little warm in this weather but it is, if I am to preserve my secret identity, a necessary sacrifice; one I would willingly make for the privilege of touching you. 

Do me a favor, sweetheart, and touch yourself while you read this. Through fabric, if you want to make it authentic, if you imagine me wearing gloves. (So smart for that, baby, because honestly you’d figure out a lot about me just from seeing my hands.) Lay back like a good boy, Steve, and let me make you feel good and pull those shorts down. It’s dark, I could pull up my mask a little bit to use my mouth. Suck you until you’re hard, use my hand for whatever I can’t fit in my mouth because I can tell you’re very gifted in that area. It’s a shame I’d have my hair covered because I like having it pulled, but I could still moan around you while thinking about it.

And baby? I’d swallow.

I’ll leave it there because… to be perfectly honest, I got a little distracted and made a mess of myself. You have no idea what you do to me, Steve, I feel like I’m on top of the world and all I’ve done is take the fantasy you provided and run with it. 

Which is embarrassing, because I started writing these letters because I wanted to give you something. You’ve seemed so melancholy ever since last fall and I wanted to let you know that someone sees you and cares. And here I am, selfishly imagining you when I can’t let you do the same, because if you knew who I am I don’t think you’d want me. I’m pretty far outside of your type, judging by anyone I’ve ever seen you with or noticed you show interest in. I listen to music you would probably hate. I don’t like sports, be it playing or spectating. Our high school experiences are on such opposite ends of the spectrum that we practically went to different schools. Your house is a castle and mine a hovel. We have nothing in common but I am filled to bursting with devotion to you that I can’t even. 

Do you really want me to continue writing, Steve? I know you’ve asked me to be before, but we’re in new territory here. I know I started it, but I really do feel like it was maybe uncool of me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

I’ll follow your example and end on a different note. How is it going with your coworker? I don’t have a steady nine to five myself—or the part time version, I guess—but I imagine working with someone who likes to butt heads with you is pretty grating. If it’s an issue, I hope it resolves soon. Wishing you as little stress in your life as possible, I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Before you ask, I do recall saying in my last letter that I don’t mind weird. To clarify: I will accept just about any weirdness from you, sweetheart, but it’s different when I do it. Forgive me my dramatics, but at the end of the day, everyone is their own harshest critic. 

~

Eddie is suffering. He’s haunted, too distracted to plan his next campaign or practice guitar—which, incidentally, are the things that usually distract him too much from things like school work or finding a respectable job. All he can think about is Steve, and by inevitable extension Steve’s ninja scenario.  

He’d laughed at first, okay? (Before, you know. Getting really, really into it.) Not in a derogatory way, but because it was actually a creative solution to something that a lot of dudes might not even consider a problem. 

Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are?

Because, just, Jesus H. Christ. Eddie has fooled around with guys in places out in Indy, and being liked for who he is doesn’t really factor in. So this is… new. He feels almost seen, something that should be impossible while he’s still shrouded in anonymity, and yet Steve seems to be holding space for that veil to be lifted someday.

‘Someday’ suggests a mutual future of some sort, which is sparking a dangerous ember of hope in Eddie’s foolish heart. And in the meantime there’s always the mental image of getting to secretly blow the prettiest boy in Hawkins—

Fuck, he needs to get out of this tin oven of a trailer. He’d put his latest letter in the mail two days ago, then come straight home to jerk off some more and smoke his way into absolute paranoia that this time he’d really blown it. Gone full throttle on that fantasy, then told Steve not to want him, then said something dumb about that girl he works with, and then still mailed it?! 

He needs fresh air. 

(He goes and checks his PO box.)

Any air. 

(No reply yet, but the Hawkins Post Office isn’t known for its speed or efficiency.)

Air conditioning. 

It doesn’t surprise him, really, when he ends up pulling his van into the parking lot surrounding Starcourt Mall. Because Steve Harrington is haunting him and will keep doing so matter where he goes, so why not here? Eddie doesn’t even bother to fight the way his feet carry him towards Scoops. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all—Steve’s ass looks great in both green and blue—but he tries not to do it too often. 

All he wants is a crumb, a tiny direct interaction with the guy, even if Steve continues to remain none the wiser. 

~

Steve is suffering. Which really grates, because he woke up in a great mood! He’s already working on a reply to the latest letter—once again all stocked up on paper, so he can rewrite it nicer if he makes a mess of it this time. Every time he thinks about it his chest (and, okay, sometimes his dick too, he’s still a teenaged boy) fills up with giddy warmth knowing that his Secret Admirer liked his dumb ninja idea. Specifically said it wasn’t stupid and that they had to stop writing to masturbate about it. 

(Girls do that, right? Maybe not as often as dudes, but he really has had phone sex with enough of them to know they’re not necessarily opposed. That wasn’t a clue, Secret Admirer still could be either.)

So today should be going great, but instead he’s felt a headache coming ever since he hopped in his car to drive to work. Too late to take anything for it, though Advil or Tylenol sometimes barely dent in these things. He puts his sunglasses on for the drive and into the mall in the hope that will buy him some time before the worst of it hits. 

If only he could stay home, laying in his room as dark as he can make it with a cold washcloth over his eyes and a can of Coke with a crazy straw at the ready. Even better if he could somehow just call and get Secret Admirer to come over to keep him silent company, refreshing the washcloth for him when it gets warm…

“Shades aren’t part of the uniform, cool guy,” Robin says flatly when he walks into Scoops through the back. “I don’t care how hungover you are, company rules.”

“I’m not hungover on a damn Tuesday,” he grumbles back. But maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe the headache will hold off at least until his break, then if he clocks out early at least he still got half a shift’s pay. Maybe if it holds off a little longer after that he’ll be able to get all the way home without being a danger behind the wheel. 

He leaves the sunglasses folded on the break room table and starts helping her haul fresh tubs of ice cream from the walk-in to the display case out front. 

It’s going to be a long shift. 

~

By the time Eddie gets to Scoops, there’s a line so long it’s practically out the door. Frowning, he checks his watch for the time, something he hadn’t bothered to do in the van, and realizes it’s probably the tail end of the lunch rush. Super. 

Steve and the girl he works with are both behind the counter, taking turns scooping and ringing up each individual customer or group and then cycling back around to help the next in line. As he waits, Eddie watches from behind the cover of his long hair and realizes that Steve seems off today. He keeps squinting under the fluorescent lights, distracted, sometimes asking people to repeat themselves to both their and his coworker’s obvious annoyance. But it’s not until some kid shrieks that she asked for double fudge chunk and he’s scooping regular chocolate that Steve winces and brings his shoulders up like he’s trying to cover his ears, and oh. Oh, Eddie thinks he knows what this is. 

Sometimes I get these headaches that really mess me up. It doesn’t just hurt, it’s like all the lights get way too bright and sometimes my eyes go blurry for a while. Great parting gift from the concussion. Ice cream helps sometimes though, which is convenient if I’m at work. 

The tiniest amount of research at the library (or, in fact, two afternoons in a row) had told Eddie that this could be anything from migraines to a brain tumor, but given the concussion the former is more likely. If Steve is having one of those, this is probably the worst place for him to be: loud, bright, and enough people crowded into the ice cream parlor that even with mall air conditioning it feels lukewarm in here, when what he needs is quiet, dark, and a cold compress. And this is not the kind of place where he can just throw up and take a nap—not without the risk of getting in trouble, maybe fired.

Eddie knows that Steve is going to keep trying to power through it, because he knows all about how the guy is saving up to move out of his parents’ house. (Castle… Oh god, he’d called it a castle in his last letter, why had he done that? He knows that Steve wants out of there, wants somewhere cozy and lived-in as opposed to his mother’s taste in cool and impersonal decor.)

There’s nothing he can do but wait as the line inches forward. As a slight tremor starts to show in Steve’s hands, which Eddie is watching like a hawk. By the time Eddie, still last in line, is within touching distance of the display case it’s a full on shake, and Steve fumbles his ice cream scoop trying to spin it into the side loop on his apron. 

The clatter is loud against the background elevator music version of a The Beach Boys song. Steve’s coworker—Robin, according to her name tag—looks up sharply at the sound, but an uncertain kind of concern seeps into her frown when she gets a good look at him. “Steve? You alive over there?”

Steve, who has gone very pale, gives a slight shake of his head that seems to make his whole body sway. “Need a clean scoop. I’ll just… run to the back,” he manages, then stumbles towards the swinging doors marked Employees Only. There’s a choked noise as soon as he’s out of sight, and Robin seems to come to the same conclusion as Eddie: he won’t be back for a while. 

To her credit, she puts on a passably bright fake smile at the lady Steve had been helping, taking her mostly finished cup from the counter where Steve had left it and adding the requested chocolate syrup on top. 

Finally, it’s Eddie’s turn. But now he’s the one who’s distracted, trying to squint through the frosted glass of the window to the back room for any sign of Steve moving around. 

“What can I get you, Munson?” Robin asks loudly, a little annoyed as though it’s not the first time she’s asked. Oops. 

He also feels a little bad that he didn’t recognize her when she obviously knows him, likely from his lunchtime cafeteria soapbox spectacles, but ever since the first time he’d failed senior year he’d tuned out on all the rising underclassmen besides Steve pretty hard.

Eddie orders while glancing towards the window again and fiddling with the chain attached to his belt loop. “Actually, make that two cones. One for me and one to cheer up your fellow at sea.”

Robin wrinkles her nose. “You, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, want to buy Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington an ice cream cone?”

He shrugs, something inside him shriveling because, yeah, that would seem weird from an outsider’s perspective, the way he usually rails against the jocks. Maybe he’s a little bit of a hypocrite in his affections, but whatever Steve was in high school he’s actually a massive sweetheart now. “Yeah, well. You know Hargrove gave him a concussion last year? King Steve may have been a douchebag to us commoners, but at least he’s not as bad as that piece of shit.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, but finishes scooping into the first cone and reaches for a second. “Are you sure there wasn’t some house party he was at last night? Everyone knows he got that title from being Keg King.”

It feels stupid to go to high school parties when I’m not in high school anymore. They’re too loud and just a couple of beers hit me like a brick because of my stupid messed up head. Partying used to be a good outlet but I can’t do it anymore. 

“Nah,” Eddie dismisses immediately, mind scrambling for a reason he can give for being so certain. “Nothing last night, or I would’ve been there. You know, for business purposes.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “By the way, if you ever need a little relief from the grind of dealing with shitty customers…”

It feels sleezy, and isn’t something he usually does, but it helps sell it. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Robin says quickly, and moves to the register. “That’s three dollars and fifty cents.”

“Don’t forget the sprinkles,” he reminds her while digging the money out of his pocket. With that handed over and sprinkles dumped on, he takes his one cone and gestures grandly to the other. “And maybe don’t mention to his Highness that that was from me. It’d be a shame if he had the same reaction as you and simply tossed away good ice cream.”

That would crush him, actually. So even though he wants so, so badly to stay, he forces himself to leave before he tries to eavesdrop, just to be safe. 

~

“Steve?”

Startled, Steve jolts upright from where he’d been slumped in one of the break room chairs, wet paper towel sliding off his face and landing in his lap. The motion makes his head throb harder, and it’s all he can do to swallow down a groan. “Huh?” he grunts, eyes only open enough to make out Robin’s general shape. 

“Why’d you turn the lights off back here?” she asks, quieter this time. He can’t make out her tone at all through the sharp pain threatening to burst out of his skull, but he’s grateful for the lower volume. And that she doesn’t turn the lights back on. 

“‘S not a hangover,” he mumbles. Which, maybe he missed a step in that explanation. It was there in his head somewhere, surely she’ll make the connection? Or maybe just think he’s got some sort of stomach flu, since he totally threw up in the break room trash can. Hopefully in it. He’s… pretty sure he didn’t miss. 

“I’m getting that.” Very gently, Robin takes his hand and wraps it around an ice cream cone. “Here. Generous donation from a concerned citizen who shall remain nameless.”

Steve blinks down at the strawberry ice cream in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. 

Either this is the biggest coincidence in the world, or Secret Admirer was here. 

Suddenly his eyes are silently streaming, because he could use that comforting presence right about now. It shines through on every page—this overwhelming care that he’s never felt from anyone else, not even Nancy. Whoever it is must have remembered the one time he’d mentioned in one of his reply letters that ice cream helps his headaches sometimes. 

Steve cries because he wishes they would’ve just brought it themselves and done away with the mystery because he so, so longs to feel like someone’s in his corner now. Someone to give him a hug and rub just above his temples, which sometimes helps too. He takes a lick of the ice cream and chews on sprinkles and the tears come a little faster because he wants. 

“Oh shit,” Robin whispers, dropping into the seat across from him. “Are you crying? Steve—Steve, it’s okay, if you’re not feeling up to it I’m not gonna make you go back out there again. Especially not if you’re likely to ralph on the customers but, like, mostly because I’d feel like an asshole. I mean, I heard the rumors about you getting a concussion and that’s why you quit the basketball team and swim teams, but…” She hesitates, holding her hands up like he’s a bomb that she’s worried might explode in her face. “Just, it’s okay. You stay back here and I’ll finish the rest of the shift, you don’t even have to clock out. I’ll handle it.” 

For a moment, with hurt in his head and an ache in his heart and strawberry flavor on his tongue, Steve thinks it could be her. Maybe Robin is his Secret Admirer and it was her own idea to scoop this cone for him. But then she leaves, and that doesn’t feel right either. 

Steve is haunted by a faceless, nameless person that he’s probably crossed paths with without knowing god knows how many times. Or rather, by their absence.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever

[cheswirls]

sa fic rec list [ENG] pt 3

preface: i have a public collection on ao3 of my favorite sa fics on there but not all of them are listed on the front-end so these are some unlisted ones, some i love that can't be added to collections, and one special fic on ffn for fun :)

past non-english language rec lists here and here. ao3 collection here.

-

1) Prince Sabo by drowningrat

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43683183 complete - T rating - 3k - au

this one is rly cute domestic fluff modern au goodness. will never get enough of it, rat's prose and dialogue are too good. ace finds out from a former uni classmate of sabo's how many people sabo's dated before him and gets unreasonably jealous and drunkenly confronts sabo about it at home much to sabo's chagrin. it's really. it's adorable. nothing i say will ever come close to how giddy reading the fic makes me feel. their dynamic is TOO cute they are tooth-rotting with how sweet they are. if you want a quick read pls give this one a chance

2) Song Of Genesis by Echaryn

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8544379/chapters/19587928 complete - E rating - 45k - au

this one is my most favorite saboace fic of all time. i cannot recommend it highly enough, it's that fantastic. this is coming from someone who doesn't read nsfw anymore and hasn't for years now – song of genesis literally is and will always be number one in my heart. if you also don't care abt explicit content, i can assure you it's entirely skip-able in this fic w/o losing any enjoyment or context.

SoG is a 'getting back together' type fic that stabs your heart at every angle and at every opportunity during the beginning. echaryn is a fantastic writer and handles the contents of the story so so so well. the break-up is ace's fault but he doesn't know why / the break-up is sabo's decision but he regrets it at every turn. they're still so deeply in love with each other and one turn of events late one evening is the catalyst to bring them back together.

there are horror elements in this in the background that are done spectacularly well. the tags on the fic itself pretty much cover the extent of it but i do wanna throw by two cents in that i don't think anything about it is particularly graphic. if horror isn't your thing this is toned down enough that you should be fine to skim thru or skip parts if necessary. it's good for a horror enthusiast but it's not over the top for those who could care less.

if you read anything from this list pls read che's #1 saboace fic rec of all time pls and ty

3) Red Moon by emygrl99 and leafyxthiefy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703183/chapters/15330946 complete - T rating - 123k - au

red moon is still, six years after first reading it, the most interesting and well-crafted premise for a soulmate au i've ever heard of in my life. if you're familiar with a majority of soulmate bond types and know this particular one then you'll probably pick it up before the reveal, but if not ooooooooooo you're in for a treat. i won't mention it here to save the suspense.

i've never read another soulmate fic as good as this one, and the soulmate aspect isn't necessarily even the best part?? the atmosphere of the fic comes from character relationships and interactions. ace and sabo start out on the wrong foot and it takes time for them to change their opinions about each other, but as you can see by the length, the journey is done with patience and well worth the effort spent :)

as someone indifferent to a lot of the minor characters in this fic, i actually enjoyed them and their various roles a lot??? i guess the takeaway is that you should look at the character list and take it in stride (and the minor relationship that is tagged is v minor like if it's not your cup of tea pls still give the fic a chance). everyone is a joy to read and experience things through. also the world-building is so well done. i have not been into vampire content for many years now but i can say with full confidence that this one still slaps.

also as someone who enjoys like... not necessarily "slow burn" but like a natural progression of a relationship from people who just met into something romantic – this fic hits all those points for me surprisingly well??? my only complaint is that as long as it is sabo and ace barely admit their feelings for each other by the end. i live and breathe to see romantic relationships in fic and red moon is primarily build-up. the two have to be friends first, which takes time and is good! not knocking the fic for that. jus throwing it out there that it's one of the they-hold-hands-by-the-end shoujo-type stories.

maybe before this gets too long i should uh. TALK abt what the fic entails. it's a fantasy-esque story where sabo, a vampire hunter, is captured and taken prisoner by a vampire coven living in the mountains. while he's being held captive, he discovers luffy, the little brother he'd thought was dead for years, is living among the vampires and is the same age at which he supposedly died. this triggers some mixed emotions in sabo about the coven and its members, but most importantly gives him incentive to act iffy in regards to luffy's "father", ace, who is not intent on being at all friendly with sabo either.

4) Epiphany by Scarletsorceress

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30518460 complete - T rating - 5.5k - canon(divergent)

everything scarlet writes for acesabo is done immaculately. if you read this fic and like it, please do yourself a favor and read all of her other fics as well. there are some real gems she has in her collection, but this one has a special place in my heart considering i really don't read sa fics sets in canonverse all that much.

also because it paints a side of the one piece world that i like seeing a lot in fan content – specifically how gruesome it is and the dire straits average everyday citizens go to to survive above the waves. not even to have a peaceful or even "good" life, but just to life long enough in good health to make it count. one piece follows the strawhats as focus characters, which is why i've never been concerned about reading fic starring them. reading about non-titular characters that dont' get as many updates, or that oda teases the lives of without going into depth, has always been more interesting.

and to go with that, the revolutionary army has by far always been the most interesting group of people in the op-verse for me. any fic that focuses on them and paints a picture of their struggle is worth a read. the fact that this is saboace is great, and i love it, but it's also a bonus to a great fic concept in general, which is:

what happens to RA members when a mission goes south and people are killed as a result of their actions?

i don't think the RA gets enough credit for how well they individually hold themselves together. it's fine to portray a kind of "escapism" and have them be happy because they deserve to be happy, but fics like this where it dives into how much their actions (and failures) affect them are always, to me, taking the RA and stripping them of their masks.

also ace is really, really loving and caring and kind and supportive in this fic, which i love seeing. sabo is a miserable wet rag after a mission gone wrong and ace is there to pick up the pieces. bonus points to the dynamic of ace and koala i love them sm in this????? so so so much.

5) In the Morning with a Cup of Warm Tea by sleepymery

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241962 complete - T rating - 2k - au

this is another from the back-end of the ao3 collection – jus a short and sweet modern au full of domestic fluff!!! that is my bread and butter especially for fics from fandoms where canonverse is so tumultuous and full of strife. which op definitely is!!!! also its not like ace and sabo's canon relationship is happy anyway /shot

this one is happy and cute. a typical morning w sabo and ace on an anniversary of sorts :) all of maery's sa fics are adorable. i used to come back to this one all the time several years ago.

6) How We're Made by paox

https://fanfiction.net/s/12624109/1/How-We-re-Made complete - T rating - 177k - au

i love this one with all my heart and soul. i was actually in the middle of re-reading it a couple years back when it got deleted from ao3 which is :( but it's still up on ffn so!!! ffn it is hehe.

paox at one point was definitely my favorite saboace fic writer and might still be. her prose and writing style in general is so phenomenal in my eyes. the way she writes asl individually and as a dynamic trio (and their various duos as well) really left a mark on me when i first got into one piece. she truly does understand their characters perfectly, and even in a dystopian au such as this, they stay true-to-form throughout.

side note, the majority of this fic focuses on asl and sabo and ace's relationship doesn't change until near the end. it's probably a minor spoilers to say it does but this is a sa rec list so. anyway i threw this up here bc i love paox's writing and this one is complete and more than a drabble. the way she paints sabo's character as a person broken down by an oppressive system, who rises to light the fire of revolution and never stops seeing the good in humanity, it's just perfect to me. this is the man oda brought back from the dead to play a crucial role in the second half of one piece. paox gets it. sabo is so well-written and so true-to-form that any other attempt at his character by anyone else is almost laughable in comparison. this is THE sabo fic of the list.

i have another paox fic (two i think!!) in the front-end list of the ao3 collection so definitely give those reads as well :) one is incomplete but will break your heart nonetheless, the other i think is a longer drabble that has my heart by the throat. i think all the ones still on ao3 are compiled under their old ffn account as well, so navigating to them this the HWM fic link might be a better choice. if you can read on ffn lmaoooo adblockers are your friends.

[finchpost]

Okay okay, hello people of tumblr I have come to you with a gift (literally just my brain vomiting onto your page). My stupid bitch (lovingly) roommate got me into Merlin and now I have to go about meticulously analyzing and rating random episodes I like and their execution. As one does.

BBC Merlin S4E2 Spoilers…

🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑🛑

Okay. So S4E2, The Darkest Hour Pt. 2, yeah? Yeah. The to-be round table going off to seal the split between worlds. Arthur is gonna sacrifice himself. Merlin like “oh no no no, you’re not going to be more self sacrificial than me” and Lancelot like: 🙋🏻‍♂️.

So that being said, I’m here to rate the Lancelot death episode (#1 apparently we haven’t gotten to #2 I accidentally spoiled myself in looking up the episode number sob) based upon the general execution and foreshadowing. I’ll be mentioning previous material briefly but not really in any detail so, off we go!

I knew probably 20 minutes in that Lancelot was going to bite the dust honestly. I called that shit and I’m indescribably proud of it. Which brings me to my first point.

1. The death was not completely out of left field.

No. It was not. The entire episode was Lancelot’s character arc being wrapped up in a nice little bow. We see him getting over Gwen fully, he gets knighted (literally his entire life goal) and on top of it all he’s privy to Merlin’s WHOLE ENTIRE SECRET. And let’s be real here they would not so flippantly allow a character to know the whole thing without plans on killing them off immediately after… can’t let Merlin have anyone to confide in other than Gaius now can we? Plus Kilgharrah literally describes all the traits that Lancelot wanted to embody and then pretty much states that he’ll be tested upon those soon. Like?? We knew a blood sacrifice was necessary so if you’re looking hard enough conclusions can be easily drawn.

2. It wasn’t absolutely heart breaking (no tears on my end)

I enjoyed how the death itself was executed. He literally gets cut away from and then suddenly he’s heroically stepping into the rift between worlds. No bloody stabbing, no horrible death, very concise. Really the following funeral was more heartbreaking. I personally enjoy that. Idk about anyone else. But this is my rating so ☺️.

3. The funeral

It was emotional, it cemented Lancelot’s legacy just how he always wanted it to, and is basically the story of how he’s told in myth. It’s the ultimate conclusion to his character arc.

So.

Honestly.

10/10

Will I be mad when we watch the next episode and he returns after that nice wrap up to his arc? Yeah. Probably. I’d be surprised if I’m not lmao.

RIP Merlin’s #1 FWB. You will be missed. I hope they don’t use your corpse for evil (they will) 😔.

[lotuslolitasblog]

Coffee Pt. 2

For TD Rarepair Week.

Prompt: Double Date

Ships: Shawn x Amy (main ship) & Jo x Brick

Words: 1283

Disclaimer: High School AU + slight references to other fics I wrote on AO3. You can check them out, but it’s definitely not necessary. @totaldramararepairweek2023

For Amy, getting coffee always meant a recipe for disaster. After a fateful exam day, she had decided to steer clear from it to not cause any more wardrobe problems.

This was not a normal day, however, since Shawn and Amy were going on a - sort-of - date.

The local coffee place - Pahkitew Flavors [1] - had a lot to offer. It was more of a diner actually, but Shawn and Amy often went there for their amazing coffee. It became some sort of tradition. It also helped that Sammy worked there and was always willing to give them something extra at a family rate.

Sammy brought them their respective coffee orders: a skinny latte for Amy [2] - she made it her mission to always order something else - and just a plain black coffee for Shawn. “The waffles are coming right up! After that I’m going on break.”

Sammy having walked away, Shawn turned back to Amy. “So, what do people do on dates?” That was… weirdly upfront. Then again, Amy - obviously - had a lot more experience in the matter. She wouldn’t be surprised if Shawn only ever kissed the tender crook of his elbow. [3] “Well, usually, we talk about ourselves and get to know each other, but since we know each other, let’s skip that stuff. We can just talk about whatever comes to our mind.”

“Have you heard that Zombiebusters is getting adapted into a TV show?” “What? No way! They’re so going to ruin it,” Amy scoffed. “Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt. At worst we get to make fun of it!” “You make a strong point.”

Sammy came back with the pancakes and then went back to change out of her work uniform. Meanwhile, Amy and Shawn were discussing who they would cast as the leads in the Zombiebusters TV series. “Timithy Chamalamadingdong? Hell, no. Anyone but him.” “He’s hot enough to draw a thousand fans in.” “His acting style doesn’t fit Alex at all!” “It would definitely fit for the earlier books.” “Nuh uh.” “Do you at least think Nichelle Ladonna should play Grace?” “Duh. She’s amazing. Her stunts are incredible!”

“And for Maja?” “Mmmh. I don’t really know. Not a lot of people could pull it off. She needs to be cold, calculated, good at sports and to have a few screws loose.” “So, like Axel from sci-fi club?” [4] Axel was the newest addition to the sci-fi club. She was a survivalist at heart, with a survival rating - Amy didn’t know people had a survival rate. What could hers be? - of 9,7. She also seemed to believe in the zombie apocalypse. Shawn found her brilliant, but Amy thought there was something seriously wrong with her. “She could fit, oddly enough. I don’t know if she’s the actor type though.”

“Hey!” they heard. Amy’s voice shot up in the direction of the sound. Sammy was walking towards them, uniform in hand. “Did you see someone near the table there?” she asked, pointing to the booth right in front of them. Amy hadn’t remembered seeing anyone there. The booths were pretty much closed off so only the staff and creepy people watchers could see you. Amy wasn’t a creepy people-watcher, but she was curious. She shifted her position to see if anyone was there. No one was sitting at the table. Under the table however…

Jo and her friend Brick - although Amy had some suspicions about that friendship - were hiding under the table. Jo was quite possibly dying of embarrassment, while Brick gestured for her to not tell Sammy. “Nope, no one!” she said.

“Oh, but there are drinks on the table, I should probably take them back to the kitchen,” Sammy replied. “No need, you’re on break! Someone will do that eventually.” Sammy insisted, but eventually, she went out of the diner door without ever approaching the table.

The moment Sammy walked out the door, Amy grabbed her latte & the plate of waffles and she went over to Jo & Brick’s booth. “Hey, where are you going?” Shawn asked. Amy slowed in her tracks, realizing Shawn hadn’t seen the two hiding under the table. “You’ll see.”

Amy entered the booth and put her food on the table. “She’s gone, you can come out now.” Brick and Jo both resurfaced. Jo was holding her face in her hands due to her ever-increasing embarrassment. “Well, cats out of the bag. Why were you guys here?” Amy asked. Jo sinked further into her chair. Brick ended up spilling the beans: “We were on a date…”

Shawn congratulated them and gave Brick a high-five. Amy shared a look with Shawn and grinned. She then turned back to the new couple: “How long have you two been dating?” Jo answered: “He asked me out last Tuesday.” Amy smiled, all smug and mouthed at Shawn to pay up. Shawn grumbled and took out 10 dollars out of his wallet, mumbling “Couldn’t you have done it two days earlier?”

Jo addressed the elephant in the booth: “What are you guys doing?” Amy grinned and replied: “We had a little bet going on about when you would finally ask each other out. I bet on the period between last week and this week. Shawn bet on the two weeks before that.” Brick smiled. “I don’t appreciate you betting on my love life, but if you’re gonna do it, at least milk him for what he’s worth,” Jo said. “Oh but combined with everyone else I get 60 dollars. Everyone was in on it.” “Everyone?” Jo widened her eyes.Shawn nodded.

No one was particularly surprised by Jo and Brick’s attraction to one another - except Lightning who had a lot of trouble understanding that Jo was not a gay male -, but they were all a bit perplexed by the time it took them to admit it. Brick was pretty much the only one to be willing to play peacemaker to Jo’s petty squabbles with Mike, Lightning or… anyone really. Adding onto that, they were basically linked at the hip.

“Does anyone else know?” Shawn asked. “I think Duncan has a feeling, but he’s not really friends with anyone in the group except me so he wouldn’t have told anyone,” Jo said. “Goddamn, you really gotta start hiding it better,” Amy snarked. She really enjoyed hanging out with Sammy’s friend, even if that came with a drop in popularity. Then again, she wasn’t the only cheerleader whose mask was slipping. Dakota was spending an awful amount of time with a gamer named Sam lately.

Jo ended up changing the subject: “I didn’t even know Sammy worked here. Brick, I thought you remembered that sort of stuff.” “Well, Sammy never named the place she worked at. I thought it was a coffee place though. This is a diner!” “Yeah,” Shawn confirmed, “but a diner that makes excellent coffee.” “Ugh, coffee,” Jo grumbled. “I don’t need a drink to stay energized.” “You don’t like coffee? Not even in ice cream,” Amy asked. “Especially not in ice cream. Who thought that was a good flavor idea?”

That conversation turned into a debate about the best ice cream flavor. Amy maintained it was coffee, while Shawn - the traitor - preferred strawberry. Brick liked mango sorbet the most and Jo’s favorite was pistachio [5]. “Pistachio?” Shawn said. “That’s just plain wrong. That’s as good as broccoli cream soup.” Brick nodded. “Et tu, Brick?” Jo gasped. Brick defended his opinion: “You’re plain wrong.” “Judas,” Jo mouthed. “Geez, what happened to having correct opinions? Coffee is the right answer.” “No!” the three others answered in unison. Shawn and Amy’s sort-of date had turned into a full-blown double date. And honestly? It wasn’t that bad.

[1]: AKA Explosive Flavors ;p

[2]: I honestly do not know if you can order that anywhere. I just looked up “basic white girl Starbucks order”

[3]: Why yes, that is a Glee reference.

[4]: Foreshadowing? Possibly.

[5]: They’re all wrong. Raspberry sorbet >>>>

[daringyounggrayson]

"Illness" with Dick and Damian? Maybe add in some batdad fluff? Thanks in advance and congrats on the 700 followers!

thank you <3 and you got the first bingo!! as promised, first bingo gets a longer one-shot. this an excellent prompt choice too, I hope you like the fic!  

I'd give you my lungs so you could breathe (AO3)

Dick pushes sweaty strands of hair from his face, breathing in the night air slowly to steady himself against a wave of dizziness. A cool breeze knocks into him, forcing him to shiver. The shiver agitates his chest, making him cough so hard that he nearly gags. He caves—time to call it a night.

"B?" Dick says into the comms.

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to head in early."

". . . Are you safe to make it back on your own?" Bruce asks, choosing his words slowly, carefully.

Dick stands from where he’d been squatting on the fire escape and walks to the ladder, taking another moment to adjust to the way his head spins before attempting to work his way down to the ground. "Course. Everything’s quiet; I’m just ready to call it a night."

Bruce grunts, but not at Dick. He's busy. By the time Dick’s made it to his bike, Bruce still hasn’t really responded to him, still in the middle of his fight.

"Do you need backup? Dick asks, slipping on his helmet.

A pause, then: "Red Robin and I have it under control. Let me know when you get home."

Dick nods at that and pulls out of the alley. "Sure thing, boss."

oOo

The thing is, Dick isn’t completely useless when it comes to taking care of himself. He watches his diet, does his PT exercises regularly, makes time for friends and family—all that jazz. He also knows that vigilantism isn’t easy on the body, so Dick makes a point to listen to his. That doesn’t mean he benches himself whenever he feels a twinge in his knee or a tickle in his throat—if he did, he’d never leave the house—but when that sort of thing does inevitably happen, he’s careful. He watches it, applies some sort of treatment when necessary, and if it’s really bad, he takes a night off and will maybe ask for Alfred’s opinion. It’s a system Dick’s mastered over the years, and one that he feels has a pretty high success rate. Or an acceptable one, anyway.

So when he woke up the other morning with a cough and something that was almost exhaustion, he fell back on his trusty system. A quick self-assessment told him he was probably just getting a cold. He didn’t feel that bad, and it definitely didn’t warrant a night off, so he told himself he would keep an eye on it—and he did. Tonight, he drove to Gotham and went on patrol feeling perfectly fine, and then he went back to the manor as soon as he realized he was feeling pretty terrible, actually. 

He did the responsible thing, the smart thing. He just didn't make a big deal out of it. Because it's not a big deal.

"It's fine, Alfred," Dick insists. Despite the verbal protest, he patiently lets Alfred run cool hands over his cheeks and forehead.

Alfred looks at him with worried eyes. He drops his hands. "You should have said something."

"They would've just worried.” It would have been an unnecessary distraction, especially since they wouldn’t have believed Dick when he said he was fine. 

"To me."

Oh.

“Sorry.” If Alfred didn’t already say that Dick looked flushed, he'd be worried about the blush that is almost definitely on his face right now. "I really felt fine earlier, honest. I think it was the rooftop tag that did me in." Dick offers a grin for good measure; he’s not sure it helps.

"I should have known something was wrong. You barely touched your dinner."

"Alfred—"

The computer begins to beep repeatedly, catching their attention and saving Dick from the rest of the lecture.

"You are to shower and take medicine for your symptoms,” Alfred orders. “Then straight to bed."

That had been Dick's plan, but Alfred leaves to deal with the latest emergency before Dick can tell him that.

As annoying as it is to be unnecessarily fussed over, Dick can't really blame Alfred for his (over)reaction. The second Dick had pulled his helmet off, he'd broken into a coughing fit. Alfred had run over, worried that Dick had been gassed. The worry was for nothing—nothing but a cold—but it takes a minute for panic to settle. Especially when there have been so many times where Dick’s coughing had been a sign that he was in desperate need of medical assistance. Especially when that had been the case only ten days ago.

Dick yawns, pushing the thought from his mind and heading toward the showers, taking off most of his armor as he goes.

oOo

"I thought you were supposed to be on patrol."

Dick swallows the pill and puts the box back in the cabinet before turning to face Damian. "And I thought you were supposed to be asleep." The pajamas and mussed hair tell Dick that Damian had been asleep. Dick probably woke him up when he was waking to his room. His dizziness had made his footing a little uneven, but he can’t really place full blame on himself; everyone in this house is an insanely light sleeper.

Damian scoffs, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe of Dick's bathroom. "Impossible with all your ruckus . . . Did you manage to get yourself hurt again, then?"

"You wound me." Damian rolls his eyes, and Dick cracks a grin. It’s genuine, but it doubles as a reassurance; this time he thinks it works. "I'm fine, though. No injuries or anything. Just a cold.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t use your illness as an excuse to stay in and watch ridiculous films,” Damian says.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll do that tomorrow. Expect a movie marathon when you get back from school.”

A smile twitches across Damian’s lips, though it disappears as quickly as it came. “You’re staying, then?”

“That was the plan, right? We might have to skip the arcade, though,” Dick says apologetically as he rubs the back of his neck. 

“Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. Losing so severely would only worsen your condition.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dick rolls his eyes and playfully pushes at the side of Damian’s head. Damian swats at Dick’s hand in retaliation, but the smile makes a second appearance. “I’m going to go to bed. I’d suggest you do the same, but clearly you’re already dreaming.”

“-tt-” Damian walks back into the hallway. Hand still on the door, he calls, “Good night, Richard. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Night, kiddo.”

The door closes, and Dick shuts off the lights before climbing into bed and falling asleep.

oOo

Dick wakes up to knuckles wrapping against his car window. He takes a sharp inhale as he lifts his head, wincing as it agitates the crick in his neck he gained from falling asleep against the steering wheel. He straightens up and blinks, then turns toward the window to find Bruce in a suit. 

What time is it? And how did he end up in the car? 

Before Dick can think of an answer to either of his questions, Bruce opens the car door for him. He says, “You fell asleep.”

Dick hums. The vibration irritates his throat and triggers a cough, which he directs into the crook of his elbow.

“Where are you headed?”

“I was gonna go home,” Dick says automatically, rubbing the heel of his hand over his cheek. The vague memory of waking up around noon and feeling terrible comes back to him. He’d wanted to go home and sleep for a year, that had been the plan, the only thing his muddled brain could think of doing. He remembers padding down to the garage and getting in the car. Obviously he’d fallen asleep shortly after that, but Dick doesn’t even remember putting his head down or closing his eyes.

He turns his head and finds he hadn’t bothered to pack his duffel bag, and he’s still wearing his pajamas, feet bare. 

“You’re in no state to drive yourself anywhere,” Bruce informs Dick like that much isn’t obvious to anyone with a brain, even a muddled one.

Dick leans his head back against the steering wheel and closes his eyes. “I just want to take some drugs and crawl into bed for a year. At least.”

"There’s medicine here, and you have a bed in your room.” 

“I don’t want to get you guys sick.”

“I think you’ve already exposed us, chum,” Bruce says softly. He sighs, then grunts as he squats down to get a better look at Dick. “I can drive you, if you really want to go home, but I’d rather you were with someone who could watch you. You don’t look well.”

“Don’t feel well,” Dick murmurs. 

Bruce maneuverer’s his hand to feel Dick’s forehead. “Hnn. High fever.”

Dick hums again. “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

Bruce must’ve just brought Damian home, Dick realizes. “Traffic will be bad.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Dick lifts his head and looks back at Bruce. “I’ll stay here and leave in the morning, if that’s okay.”

Bruce stands and holds a hand out for Dick. “Alfred is making soup.”

“Awesome.” Dick takes off his seatbelt and slowly makes his way out of the car, using Bruce’s arm to steady himself.

Bruce’s eyes are glued to Dick’s feet as soon as he’s out of the car. “You aren’t wearing shoes,” he notes.

Dick coughs into the crook of his elbow as his body adjusts to the standing position. “Forgot. Honestly, I barely remember coming down here.”

Bruce feels his forehead again, then his cheek. “Medicine.”

Dick nods in agreement and lets Bruce lead him into the kitchen. Damian is at the counter, eating a post-school sandwich. Lately, the regular apple or granola bar hasn’t been enough to tide the boy over until dinner; a growth spurt might be around the corner, Dick muses.

“Is Grayson alright, Father?” Damian asks, scanning Dick and frowning at his shoeless feet.

“He’s fine,” Bruce grumbles, leading Dick out of the kitchen without pause. Out of Damian’s earshot, he asks, “Bed or couch?”

Their short walk is already making him a little out of breath—there’s no way he can manage stairs right now. “Couch.”

Bruce steers him toward the couch, and once he’s sitting, Dick lists over to rest his head against the armrest. Bruce throws a blanket over him for good measure.

“Wait here.”

“Where else would I go?” Dick calls back, then promptly coughs into the armrest for far too long. It brings up phlegm this time, and he has to disentangle himself from the blanket to discard it in a tissue. 

Bruce returns with some kind of medicine, a glass of water, and a sleeve of saltines. 

“What are your symptoms?” Bruce asks.

“Cough, fatigue, headache—kind of achy all over, actually,” Dick reports, taking the pill and swallowing it with a mouthful of water. His chest kind of hurts too, and he still hasn’t fully caught his breath from the walk to the couch. It’s not severe, though, he probably doesn’t need to worry Bruce just yet. The wait-and-see approach will do for now. “General symptoms of sickness.”

“It’s probably the flu,” Bruce says. “Did you get your—”

“Yes, Bruce, I got my flu shot,” Dick says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not completely useless, you know?”

Bruce considers this. “Hnn. Get some rest. I’ll wake you when dinner is ready.”

When Bruce returns about an hour later, Dick’s feeling bad enough that he lets Bruce carry him to his room. He sleeps there for another hour or so, and then Alfred brings him soup and bread, of which Dick only eats half. Alfred doesn’t pester him, though. Simply brushes a hand through his hair and makes Dick promise to call him if he needs anything, or if he starts to feel worse.

Dick half-jokingly mumbles that he doesn’t think the latter is possible.

oOo

One week later, Dick feels worse than ever and regrets his joke. He wonders if this is the universe punishing him for his hubris.

“This is bad,” Dick finds himself wheezing to no one. “This is bad.”

The rising sun is shining in through the windows, and everyone in the manor is asleep except for Dick. Dick is in the kitchen, lying on tiles that are no longer cool. He’s in his pajamas and a sweatshirt, a blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. He’d come in here for some tea, but he’d started coughing and couldn’t stop. He’d instinctively curled in on himself, slowly sinking to the floor when he became lightheaded. He still hasn’t caught his breath, and there’s a sharp pain in his chest. He can’t get up, and the kettle is whistling. It makes his head hurt, but he can’t get up to turn it off.

Claws click against the floor, followed by light but quick footsteps. The overhead light flicks on, and in walk Damian and Titus.

“Richard?” Damian asks cautiously, turning the stove off before dropping to kneel on the floor. He rests a hand on Dick’s shoulder. “Richard, what happened?”

“I need Alfred,” Dick says, because his brain tells him he’s the only person who can help him. “Go get Alfred.”

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Damian insists, scowling. He presses two fingers against Dick’s neck, probably to check his pulse.

Dick wheezes some more, then switches back to coughing. Damian doesn’t leave his side, but he does call Alfred on his cell phone as he thumps Dick’s back.

Alfred enters the kitchen at a brisk pace. He’s in his pajamas, too, though it’s paired with slippers and an untied robe.

“He’s wheezing and his lips are blue,” Damian tells Alfred.

Alfred bends down next to Dick, looking him over with a frown. “Would you rather we go to the hospital or treat this downstairs, sir?” he asks, eyes holding Dick’s gaze and not letting it go.

“It hurts to breathe,” Dick whispers, which is answer enough.

Alfred nods, understanding that the closer treatment is the better option. “Very well then. Damian, if you could help me take your brother downstairs.”

They get Dick off of the ground, and soon he’s standing with one arm slung over Alfred’s shoulder and the other over Damian’s. He’s wheezing harder than before, and he can barely put one foot in front of the other as the two of them practically carry Dick down into the cave.

Damian helps Dick lean back against the nearly upright cot, and following Alfred’s orders, he starts an IV and takes Dick’s vitals. They give him something for the pain and put him on oxygen, but when that doesn’t do much to improve his oxygen levels, Alfred insists on pulling out the nebulizer and has Dick do a breathing treatment. The machine is loud and keeps him from falling asleep, but it helps.

When Dick’s lips are no longer blue and the breathing treatment has finished, Alfred collects a sample of Dick’s mucus and leaves to start a sputum culture. Damian stays with him, following through with Alfred’s instructions to take an x-ray of Dick’s chest. Dick is asleep before he can hear the results of either.

When he wakes up what must be hours—maybe even a full day—later, Damian is still sitting next to his bed, reading a textbook and occasionally jotting something important down in his notebook. He looks grown up. In the getting older sense sure—he’s very much a teenager now, all limbs and voice starting to crack—but also in the responsible sense.

“Hey,” Dick says, voice raw and only half-there.

Damian’s eyes dart toward him, then seeing he’s awake, he closes his books and sets them aside. “How are you feeling?”

It’s a question that, just a few years ago, Damian never would’ve asked, thinking that hiding concern or fear was a way to show strength. Now he knows it’s a strength to share those things, to seek out help. And he also knows that showing kindness and empathy is far from a weakness.

“I’ve been better,” Dick answers honestly. “But I don’t feel as bad as I felt in the kitchen.”

“Pennyworth says you have pneumonia and is treating it with antibiotics,” Damian explains. “He also said that the chemical you were exposed to a few weeks ago damaged your lungs, making it harder to fight the infection.”

Yeah, that tracks. “Did he say if the damage is permanent?” With all of the chemical exposures Dick’s faced, he now has a healthy awareness and fear of developing conditions like pulmonary fibrosis. He knows Alfred’s worried about it too.

Damian shrugs. “He didn’t say either way. But from my research, I don’t think so. It will probably just lengthen the recovery process.”

Dick’s eyes droop closed, and he coughs into his pillow a few times. “You sound like a doctor. Have you been ditching class to attend medical school or something?”

Damian scoffs, probably rolls his eyes. “Don’t be foolish.”

Dick chuckles a little. “You know Bruce thought about becoming a doctor before the whole Batman thing.”

“I know my family’s educational history,” Damian says. Then, either to prove his knowledge or add to the conversation, he says, “Our grandfather was a doctor.”

Dick hums in acknowledgment. “Alfred’s kind of a doctor too. Medical training seems to run in the family, huh?”

“I suppose it does,” Damian agrees. “. . . Do you think I should be a doctor?”

“Do you want to be a doctor?”

“Maybe.” A pencil scratches against papers. “I’ve been thinking about it. I . . . I like the idea of being a healer.”

“I think you’d be great at it.” Damian’s smart, a hard worker, and he cares a lot. Plus, he’s already shown that he can work well during medical emergencies. “But you have plenty of time to decide.”

“I’ll start college in three years,” Damian counters. “That’s not a lot of time.”

Dick shrugs. “Eh. I get the pressure, but trust me, that timeline’s flexible.” Dick coughs into his pillow again, tries to clear his throat before continuing. “You can always take a gap year or two, or you could try different majors out before deciding. You could even graduate, start a job, and then go back to school and try something new. Nothing’s set in stone.” Damn, all this talking is making his throat hurt.

“I already told you I’m familiar with this family’s educational history,” Damian reminds him. “But thank you for that reassurance.”

Dick hums again. He wants to stay awake and talk more with Damian, but he’s already asleep.

oOo

A few days and additional breathing treatments later, Dick is starting to feel like a person again. They switch the IV antibiotics to the pill form and he’s allowed to move back upstairs. He’s still sleeping for half of the day, and he can’t make it up the stairs without taking a break to catch his breath, but he’s no longer bed-bound.

They've all been sticking close to Dick, though, never leaving him by himself for more than a few minutes at a time. That morning in the kitchen had given everyone a scare. Had Dick not turned the kettle on, Titus wouldn't have heard it whistle, and then Damian might not have found Dick in time.

But that hadn’t happened.

Damian had found him, he and Alfred had given Dick medical attention, and Bruce had shown up at his bedside the next morning, apologizing for not realizing how sick Dick had been. In another mood, Bruce might have yelled at him for not knowing his limits, for not bringing his phone with him when he knew he was weak with fever and having to put effort into each breath. But Bruce is in a gentler mood, something reminiscent of the early days, when Dick was still his Robin.

Now, in a brief role reversal, his Robin is asleep, and Dick’s currently watching over him. He runs his fingers carefully through Damian’s hair, cradling the boy’s head in his lap. Star Wars is on in the background—Dick and Damian started rewatching the series when Dick first moved back upstairs—but Dick grabs the remote and mutes it so the fight scene doesn’t wake Damian. The kid has had a long week between school, patrol, and trying to look after Dick, so Dick’s happy to see him finally get some rest. Alfred the cat is purring in Damian’s lap, his eyes closed and head tucked under Damian’s hand. Titus is sleeping on the floor, his head keeping Dick’s feet warm.

It’s comfortable here on the couch, and Dick’s considering falling asleep too when Bruce walks in, hair slightly damp and smelling like soap.

“Can I join you?” Bruce asks, keeping his voice low so as to not wake Damian or his pets.

“Sure,” Dick says.

Bruce sits down next to him, and Dick leans against his shoulder.

“How are you feeling?”

“Sick of answering that question,” Dick says, voice neutral if not a little tired. “But not too bad.”

“Hnn.” Bruce starts running his fingers through Dick’s hair, and Dick leans into the touch, closes his eyes. “Does your chest still hurt?”

“Hmm. Just a little,” Dick says.

It’s quiet for a few minutes, and Dick’s breathing slows, becomes more even.

When Dick’s about to fall asleep, Bruce whispers, “Do you want me to turn off the movie?”

“No, we’re still watching it,” Dick murmurs without opening his eyes.

“Damian’s asleep, and you’re barely awake,” Bruce points out.

“Then you watch it and tell us what happens.”

“You’ve seen this before. Multiple times.”

Dick groans, then lifts his head and drops it against Bruce’s shoulder in protest. “Be nice to me—I’m sick.”

Bruce exhales through his nose, amused. “Alright.” Bruce smooths Dick’s hair down and presses a kiss into it. “Sleep.”

Dick mumbles something unintelligible and does what he’s told.

Hours later, Alfred will need to wake all three of them up for dinner, and Bruce will dutifully retell the last half of the movie over soup.

But for now, Dick sleeps, and his chest hurts a little less.

[cupidsintern]

shot thru the heart, pt 4

pt 1 // pt 2 // pt 3

-

Billy was obviously in a pretty foul mood when Steve saw him at school the next day. He didn’t throw Steve a little “hey” of a nod like he’d started doing recently. Didn’t even really look up when Steve sat down. Steve figured Billy probably noticed someone stole his notebook which may or may not have had part of a love letter in the back of it and probably wanted to murder and or never again speak to whoever did it, but then again, maybe he just thought it had been lost?

Steve pulled shit out of his backpack in silence, even as their classmates talked around them, and Steve realized that recently, he and Billy had mostly only been talking to each other. Steve would have to go back to passing full days of school in next to silence if Billy found out about the notebook, and just when things were getting good

The classroom door opened.

A girl- Ellen something? was standing in the doorway in a red pleated skirt and one of those headbands with the hearts on springs. She was holding a basket of roses and a couple teddy bears- Oh my god.

“Valentine grams-” She was explaining to the teacher. As if Steve’s day could not get worse.

The test was going to be postponed for the three excruciating minutes it would take for her to compare notes with the seating chart and one by one hand out Valentines and Steve would just have to sit there wallowing in jealousy and misery.

Steve realized too late that the girl- Ellen… crap, Ellen Studebacker? He thinks?- little headband hearts bobbing, was walking over to him.

“Hi Steve,” Ellen smiled at him, tugging a red rose from her basket and handing it to him like she had probably done a hundred times this week. But he was special, everyone knew him.

The class chattered a little more- someone whistled, someone else laughed- Steve might as well have been deaf to all of it. He wasn't expecting a Valentine gram, only managed a “uh, thanks.” to the girl before she bobbed off on her merry way, and the teacher told them all to quiet down.

Steve got a Valentine gram. He had, a lot going on in his head right now. Way more than there usually was. He stayed up to an ungodly hour last night, later than he had since… you know. But he just couldn’t sleep, he’d felt like someone coated him in slime and he kept getting up to brush his teeth or pace and try hard as he could not to give in a jerk off-

But now he has this. A little heart shaped piece of paper with glitter and lace glued to it to let him know, some girl out there still thinks about him enough to send him a cheesy valentine. What was that thing Billy had said?

Plenty of bitches in the sea.

God he sounded like such a scumbag. Come to find out the guy writes sappy love letters, Steve could almost laugh. He opened up the little Valentine, carefully sliding the rose upright into his backpack before turning back to read:

To: Steve Harrington

2nd Period Class: Room 48

From:

Last category empty, instead of a name, or a “your secret admirer,” the sender had drawn a heart, with an arrow through it. Cartoonish blood dripped off the arrow’s tip.

The swerve of the uppercase S. The line on the H. The tail on the G.

And that stupid shot-through heart.

Steve’s own heart rate reached a yet-to-be-possible BPM he’d know that stupid perfect handwriting anywhere. It was Billy’s handwriting.

Billy sent this.

For a full couple of seconds, Steve drew a complete blank. Nothing happened, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, his heart didn’t beat, he wasn't even sure he breathed.

Then a million different thoughts came crashing down around his ears- almost made him flinch.

Oh my god Billy sent this. To him.

Was this for real? Was this some kind of sick fucked-up-Billy joke? He was just doing it to fuck with Steve’s head- but no. Then he probably would have signed it. Or written some random girl’s name. Not- not drawn a heart. Like the ones he drew in the margins of his notes,

And if Billy was… you know. That would actually make a lot of sense as to why he was such a fucking douchebag.

But what if he wasn't! God but what if he was.

Did he know about Steve?

But god, there wasn't anything to know was there. Steve didn’t- he had never-

Shit, they had a test in class right now, and Steve was sitting with an arrow through his chest and little fucking cartoon hearts around his head.

-

It was just like the universe to make Billy’s main notebook go missing the day before a big fucking test. It was even more like it to set him up to be running on no hours of sleep and sit down in second period to find those stupid fucking Valentine grams being handed out.

In the split seconds before Steve’s name got called, Billy sort of hoped the gram he bought had been lost. They were pretty anonymous to buy, that’s what he’d said to himself when he filled one out, folded it up more times than necessary and jammed it in the little heart shaped box. But now, faced with the consequences of his moment of weakness, he could not be filled with more regret.

Harrington just sat there too, looking dumbstruck turning the Valentine over and over before the test started. Like he wasn’t a bombshell on the worst of hair days- he didn’t even have bad hair days.

Billy was determined to not look, not stare at the back of Steve’s head like he had every other day this year. But for the split second he looked up, Steve was turned ever so slightly to the side, his perfect nose and perfect forelock illuminated by the sunshine pouring in from dusty classroom windows. He was smelling the rose.

Billy left class as quick as he could, the test was pretty easy, but no doubt Harrington would still be in there struggling for at least ten minutes, which gave Billy more than enough time to cool his nerves before steve inevitably cae to find him at lunch like he’d done for the past couple days, just to say hi.

But he didn’t see Steve at lunch. Probably should be a relief, but Billy couldn’t help but feel his heart sinking a little. And then kicking himself for caring at all when really he shouldn't. This was nothing, just like all the other times.

Billy went to switch textbooks at his locker, more of a nerd move than he would usually allow himself but he wanted to at the very least have an okay school day.

But when he went to open his backpack, there was his notebook. He did a double take. He could have sworn the thing was missing. He had dumped his backpack out and turned it inside out on his bedroom floor, got pencil shavings all over the place in the process, and it wasn't there.

But now here it was. Billy opened it.

A note fell out.

“I took your notebook- sorry. Here’s it and the notes back. Probably be easier to study together sometime anyway. If you’re still down.

Thanks for the rose.”

Billy probably had six separate heart attacks in the span of the couple seconds it took to read the note over again. Then he laughed out loud, in the heart-splattered hallway right in front of his locker, didn't care if anyone looked at him weird.

“Thanks for the rose.”

-

this was gonna be the last part but honestly i might write one more just cause i want them to kiss. lmk what u think lads :3

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Wounded Love Pt. 2 (Lady Dimitrescu/F!Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T? Maybe? Almost the exact opposite of the first one. Language, minor violence Genre: Fluff, mainly, with admittedly a little bit of humor? I blame my lack of sleep. And my adhd. Warnings: Implied cannibalism adjacent activities because guess what honey, this is a fucked up family, what do you expect of me??? Sure, they have breakfast in this, there's cute stuff, but c'mon, they don't eat flowers and oatmeal! Notes: Doubt it needs to be said, but this is a sequel to the good ending of part one. Also Cass has one line in this that might be OOC, or seem oddly placed, but admittedly this chapter is also loosely based on a dream I had, and I couldn't not include the few direct quotations I remembered, and she seemed the most likely to say the line. And yes, there will be a part 3, because I am weak and also kind of maybe made this one less plot-moving than intended.

{Wounded Love: The re-woundening}

Every step ached more than the last, even with Alcina supporting you. She had wanted to carry you down the stairs, of course, but you had insisted that you would be fine. Now you were just determined not to complain out loud. One yelp or cry and you’d be scooped up in her arms, surely to be carried for the rest of the day. As much as you appreciated your girlfriend’s assistance, you hated feeling useless, and hated putting a burden on others. So here you were, one arm wrapped around Alcina’s waist, limping ever-so-slowly towards the dining room.

Further ahead (unburdened by your injury) the three Dimitrescu daughters talk among themselves, voices hushed as they too headed for breakfast. It was odd to see them all awake, and socializing, as there was usually at least one who came to meals late. You couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with your condition… or the circumstances that had caused it.

Less than eighteen hours had passed since your fight with a stray lycan, and tension had been high since. While you hadn’t yet spoken to the sisters, you had spoken to Alcina, who had briefly mentioned their concern for you. Whether they actually cared about you as a person or just cared because you are dating their mother is unclear. Based on how they had acted while treating your wounds, though, you were inclined to think that they were fond of you. And seeing as Alcina had already vowed to get revenge on your behalf… well, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that her daughters intended to assist.

“Careful on the last step, dear,” Alcina says, positioned as to catch you if you fell. It takes a little willpower to resist the urge to hop down the rest of the way. As long as you landed on your uninjured leg, it wouldn’t even be that bad. Still, irritating your girlfriend first thing in the morning felt like a pretty stupid thing to do. Instead you just nodded, slowing down even more, and took visible care not to trip. “Good girl.”

Well, you certainly couldn’t say that being careful didn’t have its rewards.

“I have my moments,” you replied, blush rising to your cheeks. Suddenly your pain didn’t feel so bad (at least until you took another step and winced). “Damn, who woulda thought that cutting a chunk out of my leg would make it hurt more?” The leg in question throbbed in pain, as if to prove your point, protesting the weight you put on it. Changing the angle at which you stood helped some, allowing the lower half of the limb to bear more of the burden.

“Dearest…” Alcina starts to say, looking like she was going to readdress her desire to carry you. For a moment you try to avoid her gaze, but she moves in front of you, making sure that you could still hold onto her for support. “I know how you feel, how you want, desperately, to be independent. When I was first… granted this gift, it took a long time to adjust. There was so much I had to relearn how to do, so much that I suddenly needed done for me.” A pause, a deep breath. At last you look up at your girlfriend, warmth in your heart, reaching out to hold her hand. “You have time, my dear, and plenty of it. More than that… this will not last forever. The more you push yourself, the longer your recovery will take. Now, please, allow me to assist. You have already proven how strong you are.”

“Oh, you drive a hard bargain… but if you insist, who am I to decline? Or, well, who am I to decline twice in a row?” You answer, somewhat begrudgingly. It wasn’t much farther to the dining room, you figured, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss to accept help. Or at least that was what you told yourself. Even with Alcina’s encouragement it was so hard for you to accept her help. After all, you were the one that worked for her. Never mind the fact that she was somewhat responsible for your injury- really, you were actively avoiding thinking about that.

It’s much easier to forget once Alcina carefully picks you up. One arm goes under your legs, the other under your chest, lifting you without any effort. You might as well have been a kitten or a child’s toy. The movement does, however, shift your injured leg in such a way that it aches. At this point you can hardly move the limb at all without it hurting, and even the slightest friction against the bandage makes your eyes water.

Apparently someone would be delivering some painkillers later in the day. You assumed it would be The Duke (whose name is apparently not Doug, as you had thought), seeing as he knew some special way to get to and fro without risking the same fate that had befallen you. Which, of course, made you feel a lot better. Getting someone else hurt would weigh on your mind forever.

Regardless, you were safe now, as was your strange, bloody little family. Before long you would even be enjoying a pleasant meal together. Certainly that would help get your mind off of your wound? For now, though, you were met with an unexpected impasse. The sort of impasse that really, really should have been expected.

“Why… is the doorway… so small?” You asked, jokingly, as you stare into the mildly embarrassed face of your girlfriend. It’s already hard enough for her to crouch through the gap normally. When she’s carrying you? Impossible. “Can we ask Mother Miranda for bigger doors? She gave you eternal life and also three kids, she’s gotta be capable of making bigger doors. Put me down, I’ll go call her and-”

“That won’t be necessary, dear,” Alcina cuts you off, not fully appreciating this part of your humor. Or maybe she had already asked for bigger doors, only to be told no?... Okay, yeah, it was probably the first option. With a sigh she sets you down, as gently as she can manage. Ready and raring to go, you start to hobble forward, only to find all three of the daughters waiting for you, just beyond the door. They’re grinning as they watch you, and Bela extended her arm to offer her help. “What appears to be the matter?” Alcina asks from behind you. Accepting your fate and Bela’s arm, you let the sisters guide you to the table, Cassandra holding your other side, and Daniela pulls your chair out for you. Honestly it’s pretty adorable. Evidently your girlfriend agrees, from the way she smiles as she follows.

“Thank you,” you say, more out of reflex than genuine gratitude. Again, you weren’t thrilled about needing this assistance. If the girls notice they’re at least polite enough not to mention it. They simply move to their own seats at the large table, eager to dig in. It feels… strange, to be here, on this side of things. Stranger still to realize you’re the only one intending to eat actual food. There’s wine in your glass, but it’s a much fainter red than those you’ve previously served to your girlfriend. Thank goodness, you think, after how raw my throat was yesterday, I really don’t need to taste any more blood.

Once Lady Dimitrescu sits down, the meal formally begins, with several maidens appearing from the kitchen. Several seem relieved to see you, although surprised, and one even gave you a brief smile. The smile did not last, however. It wasn’t unexpected, considering the nature of her job, the pressures that it put upon her. No one smiled at mealtimes. Well, no maidens, that is. They simply moved around, wordlessly, faces blank, doing exactly as instructed. Only a few days ago you had been among them, fear keeping you in line. Was it wrong of you to care for Alcina, knowing what she was capable of doing to others? Knowing what she might have, in another life, done to you?

A maiden places a plate of warm food, as well as a bowl of fresh fruit, in front of you. For a moment your eyes meet, but she looks away instinctively. Your heart threatens to break.

“This looks wonderful, thank you for your hard work, all of you,” you speak up, glancing at each of the women working so hard. There’s more you want to say that dries in your throat; you are valued, you are deserving, someday I will join your ranks again.

“You don’t need to thank them, they’re just doing their jobs,” Cassandra chimes from the other side of the table. Hearing her say that damn near makes you drop your fork. It’s not an uncommon settlement, particularly among older generations and the rich, but one that irks you nonetheless.

“They’re doing my job. They are taking on extra work, for no pay, because I am injured. Why would I be so cruel as to ignore them? Have I not toiled alongside them enough to call them my kin?” You ask, struggling to keep your voice even. Next to you Alcina is slowly cutting into her meat, watching the scene unfold out of the corner of her eyes, perhaps considering when to step in. On the other end of the table, Bela looks increasingly uncomfortable, as if silently willing her sister into silence. None of the maidens have reacted to what you said, likely too afraid of Cassandra to even consider speaking.

“Ooooh, this is much more fun than our usual breakfasts,” Daniela says, stifling a giggle. “Do you have any other thoughts you’d like to share? Preferably ones that aren’t about me.” At this, Alcina sets her utensils down, clearly intending to put an end to the discussion. Unfortunately for her, you were a bit… impulsive, especially considering the previous night’s activities had left your mind struggling to cope.

“Dead lycans smell terrible. Literally the worst thing I’ve ever smelled, easily, no question about it,” you answer, shrugging a little as you do. It’s such a simple thought that you almost don’t realize how the others at the table react. Until the clatter of silverware on the table catches your attention, that is. All three sisters are eying you with different expressions (Bela is confused, Cass is impressed, and Daniela looks shocked). But it’s Alcina’s wide-eyed stare that gets you to elaborate. “Should I have said ‘a dead lycan’? I only got one, so I guess I shouldn’t say they all smell bad. C’mon, though, they have to all smell bad, right?”

Suddenly Daniela shifts from shock to pure amusement, a fit of giggles overtaking her. You’re still confused, not sure what the matter was, so you just sip your wine and hope someone asks the right questions.

“You… killed the lycan that attacked you?” Bela finally says, after a few moments of her sister laughing, expression still incredulous. When you nod she sort of shakes her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “May I ask how you managed that?”

“Oh, you know, I just meh meh-” you mime a stabbing motion with your fork- “until the stupid thing stopped moving. I had to use a tree branch as a weapon, but then it broke after a few whacks, which actually helped because then I had two stabbing implements to, you know, stab with. That’s right around when it got my leg, and it tried to bite me. Thankfully it wasn’t very smart, so when it leapt at me I just hyah-” this time an upwards strike- “right into its neck. That didn’t kill it, but it was enough to slow it down, which allowed me to stab the other half of the branch into its skull. Made this horrible, horrible sound as it died. Seeing as we are eating, I will not imitate the sound. Not that I could, now that I think about it…”

Once again there’s silence. Even Daniela has quieted now, and is watching you with rapt interest, likely hoping that you’re hiding another story up your sleeves.

“So… did you guys actually think that I managed to run away from the lycan? Or were you under the impression that it simply got bored of me and left?” You ask, casually returning to your breakfast afterwards. No one says anything, at first, taking in your words as best as they can. A few moments later both Daniela and Bela resume their meal, as nonchalant as one could be in the current situation. Alcina, however, rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze with a loving look.

“You will never cease to amaze me, my dear. But let us ensure you never have to… smell, or see, one of those wretched things again, yes?” She says, softly squeezing you as she does. You can’t help but agree, and nod eagerly, mouth too full of hashbrowns to speak. Still, there’s been a shift in the atmosphere of the room. It’s not that the family didn’t respect you before, as far as you can tell, but they evidently hadn’t expected you to prove as capable as you had. It brings a sense of pride to the forefront of your mind, making you completely forget about your injury for the remainder of the meal.

Unable to stop yourself, you insist on helping the other maidens clean up, and Alcina eventually agrees to let you wash a few dishes- as long as you stay sitting the entire time. The last thing you hear before you shuffle off to the kitchen is the start of a conversation between Cassandra and her mother.

“You picked quite a feisty one, didn’t you?”

“That I did, that I did…”

[justafewsmallsteps]

Late for Halloween, but hey, it’s Inuvember. So here’s my annual contribution to my Witch AU, Now You’re Mine. Read part 1, part 2, and part 3 to understand (or you can just like the art?) This time we have exposition and angst. I appreciate any responses in the tags or comments.🥺Or any questions about this AU! Maybe I’ll even want to write more... 

Now You’re Mine Pt. 4  Words: 2208 Rating: T for violence mention and blood

It was a long, slow night for them. After Kikyou disappeared, Kagome barely uttered out his name and traced his cheekbone before falling unconscious once again. Though she stopped bleeding so profusely, he still thought it was best to get her away from the ritual sight. The full moon had his blood running hot in his veins, but the immediate danger was gone. He was on high alert that night, listening for her heartbeat and feeling her pulse to stay calm and keep his transformation at bay. It was a miracle he hadn’t turned with the events that happened, but he was on edge the whole time, red flickering in and out of his vision. His heightened senses also had him feeling extra paranoid.

By the time the sun rose and his mind felt clearer, he resolved to get them back to Kaede’s place. Inuyasha treated Kagome gingerly as they slowly made their way back. She was in and out of consciousness and her waking varied from groggy calls out to him and sudden gasps. He kept reassuring her that he was there, that she was okay now, and that he’d get them back safely.

It was annoying to walk, and that was exacerbated by the ball weight dragging his leg. He still didn’t get why it’d suddenly become so heavy overnight, but he figured it was because Kagome was in such a bad state. He doubted she would have had the strength to fly them back even if she had her broom.

When they finally walked through the entrance, it was already past nightfall. Kaede saw Kagome’s pale face and limp body and flew into action. She brewed up a strong potion to get her feeling better. It was a deep green color, full of dried ingredients to make it extra potent as they rehydrated. Normally the smell of it would send Inuyasha right out of there and far away, but he found himself uneasy being too distant. For a while he fidgeted and did his best to bear it, but eventually it proved too much for his still sensitive nose to handle. He stood outside where the scent wasn’t so concentrated, but paced under the starlight to keep guard. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t. His mind swirled along with the dried up leaves being swept up by wind.

In the early morning, Kaede joins him in the front.

“Kagome slept through the night and she’s still asleep. The medicinal potion causes drowsiness. The human body works best when it rests. She’ll probably be waking soon, but she’ll have to take it easy for some time. She was drained of a lot of blood.”

Inuyasha gives a shrug to acknowledge her. He’s not sure what to say, but he feels a little relieved. He didn’t get a wink of sleep the past few days and it was starting to take a toll on him.

“Dark witches are tricky and aren’t afraid to use any spell to serve their purposes, even if they defy the Laws. Kagome’s been through a serious blood ritual, that much was clear, but she hasn’t been able to recall a lot of what happened, so you’ll have to give me more details, Inuyasha.”

He’s quiet. What happened? A lot more than he was ready for. Between the capture, Kikyou’s resurrection, and Kagome’s near death, he’s having a hard time processing it all. Let alone how it’d been the night of the full moon, so he’d been in a near-transformation haze. Kikyou’s ghost haunted him, and Kaede had reacted so strongly when news of her came up before. Of course she had, they were of the same clan. He now knows for sure that Kikyou didn’t just disappear the night she sealed him. She died before she ever got a chance to kill him. Now she was out there somewhere.

Her words echo in his skull. “Inuyasha, I will be back for you. I refuse to die until I end you. Remember that your life is mine.”

Sensing his hesitation, Kaede adds, “The more I know about the events that transpired, the better I can treat Kagome.”

He shuffles and sighs. “Kagome was captured by some crazy old bat called Urasue. That’s the one who ambushed her at the well. When I found her she was already bleeding out on the ground. The blood ritual was… to bring back another witch.”

“A Soul Trade,” Kaede confirms. “It’s a particularly complex spell, and one that requires many key factors. A dark spell that’s difficult to control.”

“But why Kagome? The old witch was after her specifically! She went through the trouble of kidnapping her right when she came out of the well.”

Kaede lets out a steady breath and lets it mingle with the cold before answering, “For a seasoned witch, it’s easy for us to sense the power potential in others. If you’re saying this Urasue could be a century old, then she fine tuned that sense long ago. Kagome’s magic is especially strong. Haven’t you wondered why a retired teacher like me would take her in so easily? To help her control it. Kagome’s magical aura makes her stand out. You should know. Even barely trained, she's able to do things most can never hope to master.”

“Like make me into her familiar.”

Kaede gives a solemn nod.

“So she was captured because she’s powerful?”

“Partly. It makes her easy to find.”

“Then why else?”

“Who was she used to resurrect, Inuyasha? I can only believe that she’d be necessary to revive another witch. One who shares her immense magic, and one who shares her blood.”

Inuyasha looks away and clenches his fist in his sleeves. It’s like denial. “Her blood… so Kagome is Kikyou’s blood after all.”

“You’ve always known Inuyasha. You said she could be mistaken for her.”

He doesn’t like the thought. “That’s why she could free me then too, right? Kikyou put the spell on me, and Kagome could undo it because they share a bloodline.” His ears droop slightly, and his eyes seem to glaze over a little in thought.

Kaede studies him, her good eye fixes on the chain at his ankle. He’d been dragging it when he entered and exited earlier, the weight leaving heavier trails than before. “Perhaps, but ‘undo’ isn’t the right word. Replace.”

Inuyasha scoffs, but his demeanor turns serious. “When I dragged Kagome out of the spell circle it started to reverse the ritual. Kikyou started bleeding out instead, but then she escaped using Urasue’s broom. I don’t know where she went, but Kikyou’s out there somewhere. It’s why Kagome feels this bad still, I’m sure of it. ”

“So Kikyou is stuck in the middle now.”

“In the middle?”

“An undead. It’s a rare phenomenon, especially for a good witch. There are those who specialize in animating the dead—like puppeteers toying with creatures, but to resurrect life requires a much stronger power. Imagine the strength it takes for a witch to resist a ritual so insidious.” She pauses, “Or the strength it takes to survive it.”

“Is Kagome going to be alright?” His tail swishes anxiously behind him.

“I told you she’s stronger than most.”

“But… what about Kikyou? Does she need Kagome to live? Is she going to come after her to complete the ritual?”

“Kikyou is also stronger than most, maybe the strongest to have lived. She was The Keeper of the Grimoire for a long time. She must have absorbed some of its powers when she locked it away. It’s possible she will turn to it now. For better or worse, I believe she’ll find a way to survive like this.”

“That’s what the hag was after. The Grimoire, just like before.”

Kaede wonders to herself what he means by “before,” but chooses to hold her tongue about it. Whatever secrets Inuyasha has about his past are his own.

“It’s a legend to most witches. A beacon for those who seek power. It holds dark, ancient secrets. Powerful spells that bend Laws instead of breaking them. Kikyou was rumored as the last witch to know its location and be able to access it, so it makes sense that Urasue would attempt to use her to find it, but foolish to think she could control her.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with frustration, the image of Urasue’s head being sliced clean off flashes through his mind. He swallows. “She’s… definitely something.”

“I have a feeling Kagome has the same potential to reach similar heights.”

“But she wouldn’t hurt a fly!” His ears droop. “She’ll have to learn how to protect herself though…” They can’t afford for this to happen again.

It’s that kind of concern he takes for his witch that warms Kaede’s heart and makes her believe that their relationship is more than it seems. Much as Inuyasha complains, there’s a genuine softness with which he treats her. “If you stay by Kagome’s side I’m sure she’ll be well guarded as I continue on her training. You being near her will give her strength, you share it with one another. That’s part of the familiar bond.”

It’s a clear invitation for him to go inside and see her, but he doesn’t know what to do. Part of him wants to check in on her, but another part feels weird about it. He can’t shake the feeling that he has to stay alert. As if on cue, he hears a small muffle from inside the room and his ears stand on alert. He stands up immediately on instinct, his chain making a light noise at the movement.

Kaede looks up and motions to stop him before he can push aside the screen. “I should warn you about the repercussions of stopping the ritual, Inuyasha.” Her tone is hushed.

He raises his brow.

“A Soul Trade links the sacrifice and the resurrected for a short time. It’s like a transfer between the two. It’s possible that because of the ritual, Kagome and Kikyou shared certain things. Emotions. Knowledge.”

His eyes go wide for a second and he holds his breath.

“Memories.”

Inuyasha presses his lips together and stands there for a moment, mind suddenly filling with new thoughts. What had Kagome learned from Kikyou? Did she hate him now too? There was no way, but then again, she’d basically been passed out the whole time. What could she have seen? He suddenly feels like running away, but he’s frozen.

Then the muffled sound repeats, and he hears his name. Everything in his mind shouts at him, Go to her! The familiar bond is pulsing through his head. Ultimately it’s her though, fragile and searching that moves him into action.

He lets his lungs empty and sucks in another breath, the cold sting of it filling his chest and reminding him of the night she freed him. When he felt his heartbeat for the first time in decades. He pushes the door aside and enters quickly, careful not to let too much chill inside.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome calls as soon as he’s in the room.

The scent of her blood has faded, but it’s still there staining her clothes, and it bothers Inuyasha a lot. Still, he wants to know she’s okay.

“I’m here, Kagome,” he assures her as he did their walk home. “Are you alright?”

She smiles and weakly nods at him, and knots in his stomach unravel just a little. She had a way of untangling him from dark places. “Stay by me?” she requests, holding a shaky hand towards him. He flashbacks to her limp hand stuck in the pentagram, to her reaching out to protect him. Of course she didn’t hate him.

The relief swells in his chest, but he doesn’t want it to make a big deal out of nothing. Instead of saying anything, he huffs out a breath to sound bothered and sits by her, the ball annoyingly dragging against the ground on his way. Instead of taking her hand, he checks it for her pulse.

“You need something?”

Kagome blinks, her eyebrows knitting in what Inuyasha can assume is either dizziness or pain. She makes a move to study him, trying to focus on his face. She swore he looked different last night. Red eyes and jagged marks on his cheeks. She reaches out to touch him, but he pulls away and stands up.

He’s relieved she’s alright, but suddenly afraid of her questions. “You’ve been out all night since Kaede gave you that potion. I’ll get you water. You just rest up.” Kaede’s warning is stuck in his mind like tar. There are things Kagome could know now, and he doesn’t want to deal with it.  

Behind him the ball drags on the floor, catching Kagome’s attention again. Visions from the other night flicker in her mind, but they’re vague and fleeting. Some of them seem familiar, and other thoughts feel like she’s someone else. Her head aches to think about them, but her heart reacts with a different kind of pain. She frowns and watches him leave, tucking her hand back to her chest. She’s suddenly overwhelmed with longing, feeling small and pathetic as he walks away.

Why couldn’t he just stay by her side?

[hains-mae]

Flowers - Pt. 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 (end)

(Damian x Reader) Soulmate AU

Rating: T

Ages: Damian and you are 16, everyone’s ages follow after.

Summary: Soulmate AU where the wounds on your soulmate turns into a flower tattoo on your skin, if it heals with no scars the tattoo goes away, if it heals with a scar then the tattoo stays.

It just got worse.

Disclaimer: I do not own DC. If I did, I wouldn’t make it as confusing as it is now.

The convention hall was huge. The lights shone brightly at the many innovative inventions made by the young minds of Gotham City. the entire city was invited to participate after all. As Wayne Enterprise made the whole event international, we had guests from all over the globe looking for potential students to take under their wing. Rumour has it that everyone on the guest list was hand picked by the man, Bruce Wayne, himself.

I looked around in a daze as I clutched the metal briefcase that held my project.

Running in an hour or two of sleep and caffein, I made my way through the growing crowd. Finally I was able to locate my designated table, a small booth in the chemistry section. I made quick work on unpacking the projector and placed it square on a folding table. It would play the presentation of what my project was about and all the necessary details to explain the chemical compounds and a quick scanned blueprint.

“I feel so nervous.” I mumbled to no one in particular.

Then placing a black cloth on the table as my workspace, I made sure to put the specifically designed gun carefully on a stand that I had quickly melded together. The projectiles rested in the container. Only two remained. I stared at it for a while as the scene of that fateful night replayed in my head.

I had found my soulmate.

Which was good.

He was Robin.

Which was bad.

There was a chance he could be Damian Wayne.

Which was worse.

This relationship was doomed from the start. My soulmate was a freaking vigilante! He was running around at night, putting his life in danger. Death was a constant in my mind after that. Knowing that one day I might loose him. It was a weird thing, this soulmate bond that we shared. Somehow meeting him solidified his existence in my life. Now every time I received another flower on my skin I would know what might’ve caused it. Worry started to form in my gut as I thought about the bullet wound in his shoulder.

I shook my head to get any more lingering thoughts out as I willed myself to focus on the task at hand. I needed to get my head in the game.

Pulling the beakers and flasks out as carefully as I could, I placed them each on the other side of the table. I filled them with their chemicals and started the burner. I had wanted to show them the process as a prototype. I doubted anybody here wanted to be encased in rock.

I was so deep in thought as I mindlessly tinkered around to keep my hands busy that I didn’t even realise a figure standing before me until he cleared his throat.

Looking up from my notes my eyes grew wide.

Mr. Bruce Wayne, owner and CEO of the Wayne Enterprises was standing at my table. He had a charming smile plastered on his face.

“My, what an interesting piece we have here. Don’t you agree Damian?” His voice was calm and even.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“I do, father.” He agreed. His eyes caught mine, and all I could do was stare into his green orbs.

“Oh forgive me.” Mr. Wayne chuckled and held out his hand. “Bruce Wayne.”

I returned the gesture and shook his hand telling him my own name.

“Pleasure to meet you.” He said. “And this is my son, Damian.”

“We met.” He said simply, but still took my hand and shook it.

“I’m really interested in your work.” Mr. Wayne continued. “I’d like to come back after I make the opening speech.”

“Of course.” I plastered on the best smile I could muster.

It wasn’t too long after that when Mr. Wayne came back, but this time he had an entourage. To his right he had his sons, all 4 of them. They were exactly as the magazines showed and described them to be. Each one was dashing. I didn’t know much about them, but hearing their names tossed around every day in school made me involuntarily learn anyway.

Richard, the eldest had a polite smile and kind blue eyes. They were warm in a comforting way and his manners were that of a well bred socialite. He waved at some of the students and nodded at a few of the adults he passed.

The one beside him was Jason, his cold glare could strike fear into anyone’s hearts. Especially when he is backed up with high status and money. No one dared mess with him. But even I had to admit there was a certain charm to his features, he had a bad boy kind of vibe.

Tim was next, walking just a few steps ahead of his older brothers. His nose was buried in an iPad and his fingers were flying through the screen at top speed. He was just a few years older than me, and I’ve actually seen him around the campus before, but I never met him.

Lastly, Damian. He stole a glance at me as they walked towards my table and turned to Tim, mumbling something before looking ahead.

To Mr. Wayne’s left were two well renowned chemists that I personally follow. Their works and research papers were incredible, it was actually the basis of my own invention. Instantly the butterflies in my stomach fluttered around.

After introductions were made, I presented my work and did a sample test before leading their attention to the finished product which were the glowing orbs.

“And what inspired you to create such an invention?” Mr. Wayne inquired.

“I just wanted to help.” I said truthfully. “We’re aware of the crimes around our city, and I thought it would make the job of catching the criminals easier.”

“And it will.” He smiled. “I’d like to offer you an internship in my company. And if you wouldn’t mind, a mentorship with my two top scientists there.”

“It would be an honour!”

This had to be the greatest moment of my life. For the first time that day I felt my mood get better.

The rest of the days passed on in a blur. My invention was one of the top picked topics in the scene, much to my pleasure, and the interview for the internships and mentorships went well. I honestly couldn’t ask for more.

Mr. Wayne’s secretary handed me, and a couple of other students he scouted, a form to fill out and sign. Our parents/legal guardians were immediately informed and the school assured them before any action is taken they will be holding another meeting. Everything seemed to be going smoothly. Many of us were able to grab great opportunities, both in and out of the cities.

I looked around and saw all the doors opening up for the next generation in Gotham. Happy smiles and excited chatter filled the room. Promises of a greater future were announced. I realised, this was probably history in the making. This would be where everything turns around for the better. I might sound overly sentimental, and perhaps a tad bit exaggerated, but I was feeling hopeful.

The interviews were over, and after the last of them had been held, the announcement came to remind us of the upcoming gala. We had an entire day to prepare – “Therefore, use it wisely.” Our professor advised.

Many of the girls had rushed out in groups (with a teacher chaperone) as they headed towards the fancy boutiques and malls. I on the other hand decided to be practical. My roommate and a couple of friends that I had made during my stay, required it be essential that I tag along with them. I was peer pressured (and I say that lightly), but it felt good to explore the city without the danger.

“Oh my god I just saw the Wayne brothers!” Someone squealed at the store front that we were in.

“What? No way! Where?” Another piqued.

We heard the teacher sigh and ask us not to make a scene since we were in public. I felt myself tense at the thought of him and his green eyes.

“They’re heading this way!”

I dove behind one of the clothing hangers and hid as best as I could. Good lord, is this some kind of drama series? My new friends sputtered out a greeting as I imagined them walking by, and all I could do was concentrate on not self-combusting.

“Y/n?”

My eyes darted up from the spot on the floor that I was staring at. I didn’t want to come out, but the longer I stayed behind the wall of clothes, the more embarrassed I became. With a defeated sigh, I walked out.

“H-hey.” I waved lamely.

“What were you doing behind the clothes rack?” Damian cocked a brow at me.

“I was looking at it, kinda the reason I came here.” I said, not really meaning to sound defensive but it came out that way anyway, and I already wanted to take it back.

“You’re that girl with the blue marbles.” The eldest said smiling broadly. “Y/n L/n, right?”

I nodded meekly.

Dick smirked and went back to his smoothie.

“The one Damian wouldn’t shut up about?” Jason teased wickedly. I felt my blood rise up to my face.

Damian kicked him behind his knees which only made the man laugh.

“You know better than to tease.” Tim rolled his eyes at his brothers antics. “You’re embarrassing him in front of his crush.”

I just wished the floor would swallow me whole right now.

Tim immediately hid behind Dick and the laughter was nearly uncontrollable from his brothers. Damian was currently fuming, and tomato red in the face.

“I’m going to kill you Drake.” He said through clenched teeth.

Dick groaned. “Cant you guys behave?” He strolled over to me and tapped my shoulder lightly. “You’re embarrassing y/n.”

“Sorry, it was just meant for lil-D over here.” Jason apologised.

“Alright boys, that’s enough.” The teacher called out. “We’ve got a schedule to follow. I’ll have to cut this meeting short.” She was right, and I was so thankful at the moment that we did.

Dick apologised again, and pushed his brothers to move along. As soon as they were out of earshot the girls bombarded me with questions, demanding they know the details. There wasn’t anything to tell, since I’ve only known them as long as the length of this trip, but they didn’t let the subject go. I thanked my lucky stars that the rumours I heard about the boys and their fanatic fangirls did not exist in the group I was in. They had gushed about how lucky I was to catch their eye – I really wish they didn’t – and how amazing it must be for them to hold an interest in me – I honestly could care less. But girls being girls, I had to let them be.

The evening  of the gala arrived faster than I anticipated, and true to their promise, the girls had all squeezed themselves into my room.

“You guys really don’t have to do this.” I said, slightly exasperated.

“Nonsense.” They quipped back. “We’re all going to look fabulous and make a great impression.”

They rolled out their brush pouches and stacked their make up on the vanity table. I eyed it all wearily.

Sometimes I had to hand it them, females can be terrifying when they need to be.

“Do you think this will be it?” One of them asked out of the blue. “Is this what is going to turn this city around.”

“I hope so. Thing’s are getting worse around Gotham, if this works, we can secure a safer future.”

“Look at us sounding diplomatic.” We laughed at that.

“I think it’ll work out.” I told them with an air of confidence. I saw the looks everyone had at the gatherings. It wasn’t just hope. There was a sense of motivation. An active decision in every one of them that wanted to strive for more. It was encouraging and empowering.

We all shared a unanimous agreement and continued on preparing.

I wasn’t joking when I said I would be practical. I pulled out one of my mothers old gowns from a battered box that was hidden deep under my suitcase. It was off white, with a few hints of lavender and creamy grey. The dress was long-sleeved, made with loose and flowy material. The collar tapered upwards and into a modest keyhole neckline. On my waist rested a silver strap embezzled with crystals. It’s length reached the floor and the slightest movement swayed in the wind. It made me look like I was floating.

As we made our way to the entrance of the gala, men in black suit tailcoats took our coats and opened the grand doors. I was in shock at the beauty of the room.

The entire ceiling look painted on by Michelangelo, in between hung massive sparkling chandeliers. The windows were from ceiling to floor and draped in expensive red velvet curtains. I gazed in awe at the marbled floor that were polished so well we could see our reflection from it.

Light music hummed tastefully in the air as my friends were whisked off by the boys for a dance.

“Y/n!” A savvy voice called out from across the crowd. Turning around I found the Wayne brothers around a table. I managed a wave.

They waved back and invited me over. How could I refuse? Steeling my nerves, I walked towards them.

“Good evening.” I said politely.

“You look stunning.” Dick complimented. Beside him was a woman with incredibly dazzling red hair, it almost looked like it was on fire. Her bright smile reached up to her green eyes. “This is Kory. Kory Anders. Kory, Y/n.”

She stood up tall and shook my outstretched hand.

“Pleasure.” I said as I introduced myself.

“It is glorious to finally meet you.” She said. “I have heard many things.”

I noted her slight accent and choice of words. She must’ve come from another country.

“All good I hope.” I chuckled nervously.

Her smile only widened. “You need not worry.”

“Would you like to sit with us?” Tim offered.

I looked across the dance hall and saw that my friends were already at their own table. I accepted it and sat down at the last seat which was available, and as fate would have it, it was next to Damian.

When I moved to take my place, his perfume infiltrated my senses, leaving me slightly light headed. I pushed my qualms away not wanting to look rude.

“Hello again.” I spoke to him.

Damian nodded, his expression unreadable.

We made small talk, and discussed about the what I should be expecting when I started working at their fathers’ company. They gave me the basic ropes and tried to ease the pressure away.

Then the topic moved to my invention. I told them how I actually got the idea from my dad, they found it honourable in a way. I felt a sense of pride blossom.

Jokes went around as the food was being served. I quickly learnt Dick had the worst case of pun-overdrive, yet it still had me giggling because of how bad it was. Jason was not any better at his come backs to his brothers play on words. They made quiet the duo. Kory laughed heartily between them. Tim and Damian were taking turns lightly jabbing one another, it was almost endearing. As I looked at them from where I sat I couldn’t help but miss the simpler times my family and I shared.

The melody from the band took a slow turn and I saw Dick stand up.

“May I have this dance?” He offered his hand to Kory and exaggerated a bow.

“I would be delighted.” She giggled and let herself be swept onto the dance floor.

I watched as they danced to a slow waltz. Her hands were on his neck as his was kept firmly on the small of her back. They looked lovely together.

“That’s my cue.” Jason spoke up, his eyes gazing the crowd for what I assume was a possible dance partner.

Tim followed shortly behind, but not without leaving us with a wink and tap on his nose.

Damian cleared his throat, breaking my reverie.

He stood and offered his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

I blinked at him, surprised that he actually asked. I gingerly put my hand on his and nodded.

He expertly sashayed us to the middle and twirled me around before moving us to the rhythm of the music.

“You’re good.” I should’ve known he was a skilled dancer.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” He replied.

His scent was overwhelming, especially being this close to him. I reminded myself that his boy could very well be Robin.

Robin, the vigilante. I sighed inwardly. How could I have forgotten? But if he was then… My hand that was on his shoulder tightened ever so slightly as I remembered the gun shot.

“Is everything okay?” Damian asked, squeezing my hand.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I lied. The urge to just ask him never felt so powerful until this moment.

It’s not your place to know. I scolded myself for being presumptuous. This could all have been a big misunderstanding on my part, and I could very well upset him if I asked, not to mention embarrass myself. It wasn’t that I wanted to pry, but the bond I shared with my soulmate only seemed to strengthen these past few days. It drew us closer but I couldn’t begin to explain how. You hugged him, you hugged a stranger – that is a mystery in itself, my inner muse stated.

But then the question of the day was; if he was aware of who I was. There was no way he could possibly tell, there was no proof except for the time I cried out in pain when he got shot. Then again, anyone would’ve screamed if they witnessed that.

I settled with the verdict that he most likely doesn’t know.

“I’d like to apologise about yesterday.” Damian said, sounding solemn. “My brothers have been a thorn to my side ever since I could remember.”

I laughed. “It was embarrassing, but I forgive you, and your brothers.” He visibly relaxed. “It felt like I was reliving some old memories.”

“Do you have siblings as well?”

I shook my head. “No, but it would be nice to. Unfortunately right now it’s just me and my mom. It gets a little lonely but we manage.”

Damian let out a quiet ‘oh’ before lapsing into silence again. I didn’t want to kill the mood so I quickly thought of what to say to keep the conversation going.

“So what about you?” I asked. “I mean, anything you’re comfortable sharing of course.”

The boy sighed and looked up to think before answering.

“I like to paint.” He said. My eyes grew wide at that.

“For real?”

He arched a brow in confusion. “Yes. Is something wrong with that?”

I quickly shook my head again. “No, no of course not. I just, well, it’s surprising. That’s all.”

“Tt, not something you expected?” He teased lightly which only made me surprised all the more.

Was he trying to – flirt?

I laughed. “Guilty as charged.”

Damian looked a little proud of himself.

“What do you like to paint?” I asked curiously.

“Mostly portraits.” He answered easily. “And my pets.”

I gave a fake gasp. “The Damian Wayne, painting his pets. I would never have guessed.”

He smirked.

“So, is it a dog?” I asked.

“Yes, there’s a dog.”

“There’s? Meaning there are more?”

He smirked again this time wider.

“A cat.” I guessed.

He nodded. “Yes there’s a cat too. Though I doubt you’d be able to guess the rest of them.”

Laughing again, I shook my head in disbelief. “You are one intriguing person, Damian Wayne.”

“I could say the same about you.” He told me squarely.

The heat on my cheeks creept up. I looked away a little embarrassed.

He opened his mouth to say something to me, but was cut off.

I heard screams.

Damian quickly pushed me to the ground and shielded me as the glass windows shattered. The shards fell ferociously all around us.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at me. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “What was that?��� I clutched my head, my ears were ringing from the sound of the blast that shattered the windows. I looked around panicked and scared.

“Don’t know.” He told me gruffly as he pulled us both back up.

Grappling hooks shot up from the broken windows and before I knew it I saw the pointed end of a sword aimed towards Damian’s.

“Damian!”

In that moment I cast aside all the doubts. I still wasn’t sure but if by a long shot; this was Robin, if Damian was Robin, then he could do something about this.

He knew how to fight. Unlike me. If I could give him a head start or a fighting chance, then he and the other superheroes could save everyone.

That’s what I told myself anyway as time stilled and I took the leap.

The blade sliced into my lower back and for a split second all I could feel was searing hot white pain. I cried out as it rippled through my torso. The sword was pulled out just as quick as it was pushed in. I could swear the world was tipping over. The blood had gushed out and I found it staining Damian’s pristine suit.

I could barely hear Damian’s scream as I phased in and out of consciousness. Somehow he had blocked another hit that was aimed at us before kicking the man as far away as possible. He pulled me towards him and muttered something incoherent before dashing across the hall.

The warmth of my own blood pooled over me. Mom would kill me when she saw the stain, if I wouldn’t bleed to death before she finds out that is.

“Shitshitshit, y/n!” He ducked behind a table and grabbed a bunch of  napkins, applying pressure as he held it against my stomach. “Stay with me, you’re going to be alright.”

I weakly nodded, feeling sick to my stomach at the smell of iron and sudden blood loss.

“Fuck.” Jason slid next to us as the gunshots started to fire. He noticed me and his features paled. “Oh, shit.”

“Jason, I need to bring her somewhere safe!” Damian said, his voice urgent.

“All citizen, please evacuate the building!” A strong voice bellowed from above us. It was a woman, dressed in purple. Her hair was on fire (literally) as it trailed behind her.

Starfire. But what was she doing in Metropolis…?

The people ran towards the entrance and a man in a tight body suit with a blue winged symbol on his chest directed the crowd flow.

Superboy zoomed in next, his features etched in worry as soon as he saw me. The wound must’ve been worse that I thought.

“What the hell is going on?!” Damian demanded from the superhero. “I thought this place was secured.”

“Kryptonite.” Superbly answered with an ominous tone. “I don’t know what happened but we should get the civilians – uh, you guys, to safety.”

The amendment wasn’t lost on me.

“Y/n, I’m going to find you after all this is over.” Damian promised. “Until then please, hang in there.”

I managed a weak smile and a sad excuse of a chuckle as the blood started to run down the corner of my mouth.

“I still need to guess the rest of your pets.” I joked, hoping to lighten the scene.

His response was a pained smile.

“Take her to Alfred.” He delicately passed me on to Superboy’s arms. “He’ll know what to do.”

Superboy nodded and flew away. The last thing I remembered was Nightwing and Starfire fighting off mechanical robots and ninja assassins. After that, my world went dark.

...

...

... to be continued ...

[my-wayward-son]

A Rant about Things

TW for mental health talk.

----------

So. I haven't updated this blog in a while. I'm sorry. I've been posting a few health/life updates to the other blog along with my creative content, so if you follow me over there, you know how things have generally been going, which is... spotty.

Here's the latest conundrum:

My roommate (the one who's kind of head of household) had surgery for severe kidney stones in mid-November. She was way out of commission, in a ton of pain, advised by her doctor not to bend over, the whole nine yards. The surgery... didn't exactly work out as planned. (I completely understand this; my colectomy last year had me in the hospital approx. a week longer than originally quoted, tons of complications, etc.). But when she was still spending all day in bed going on a month later... I couldn't help being a little... perturbed, I guess? Even after my colectomy, for which I had an epidural, for fuck's sake, the nurses had me up and walking the halls of my ward before I was conscious enough to remember doing it. I was on this really strict PT/physical recovery plan, and there's kind of something to be said for it. Everybody's different, and I probably shouldn't be making comparisons, but... IDK.

Then, around December 10-ish, I came down with this awful fever. Urgent Care was necessary, rapid COVID and flu tests negative, UTI diagnosed, antibiotics prescribed. I went to see my GP, and she thought I probably had a virus as well, like rhinovirus or similar, as I'm immunosuppressed (low IGG, H&H, etc.). I spent a good 4 or 5 days completely blitzed and unable to stay awake because my body was really confused and expending so much energy attacking the illness. Now it's going on 3 weeks later, and I'm still not 100%. My J tube feeding rate is at 33 (my usual is 60), so I'm getting about half my normal amount of nutrition, as well as missing out on a good deal of fluid intake. My head is perma throbbing, maybe due to dehydration, and maybe because I've outgrown/become immune to my migraine and headache preventatives. My neuro is trying to get me on something else, but insurance is still pondering (Happy Holidays, everybody). I'm still having flashes of fever/nausea/lightheadedness. I hate it.

To make matters worse, I had a serious issue with my J tube around Thanksgiving (the inner balloon failed, and it became non-functional for several days). Since it was replaced, the stoma has been weeping bile around the neck of the tube. Even though I've been coating the area in basically every barrier cream I can find, it's created a huge chemical burn that hurts like mad, especially when I bend over. It seeps through gauze, tube pads, and my shirts, requiring changes multiple times a day. The tube was kind of poorly placed using an old fashioned technique and a peg, so to some extent there's nothing we can do about it, but this is an unacceptable situation for long-term living. I see GI in late January. We're seeing about moving it up, but that's probably not possible.

With my current health situation, I've been really frustrated with, well, life. I don't do well with not doing well, and physical pain/discomfort tends to bring on issues with mental health (hopelessness, etc.). I have some past trauma that happened in conjunction with physical illness, so that kind of makes me feel, like, desperate? Like if I can't feel better right now, I never will, and I may as well give up? I know that attitude is incredibly unhelpful to me and everyone/everything in the household, and I feel really guilty for having it. It puts me in a bad mood and makes me teary and exhausted and reclusive.

Additionally, with the current health situation (and the holidays, people coming over, etc.) I've been falling way behind on my obligations and chores. DD has been picking up my slack, which has been super unfair, since she does basically everything else around the house as well. The roommates generally refuse to do anything anywhere anytime, including preparing their own food, doing their own laundry, feeding their own pets, throwing away their own trash... the list could go on. (One of them works full time and is in the beginning stages of college, and the other, well, is pretending to still be incapacitated post-surgery.). Sorry for my judgement. I think it would be reasonable (tell me if I'm totally off base, here) if the kidney stone roommate could pick up a few gentle tasks, like emptying the drainer basket beside the sink (this can be done completely from a standing position) and picking up recyclables from the living room sofa (um... yeah... that's a thing that actually has to be done). But, no. It's a pipe dream.

I'm working on a daily schedule/chore chart for myself so I can 'do better' whilst also writing in my weekly lab draws, ballet class (assuming I have enough energy), and the appointments with cardiology, neuro, GI, urology, derm, the GP, etc. I am really grateful to DD and the roommates for allowing me the time and providing support to manage my health. I'd honestly probably not be alive if I still lived alone-- I wouldn't have known what symptoms needed urgent medical attention or how to ensure I got everything I require to stay healthy. Not that I'm especially healthy rn...

Let me put the home situation another way, just to show how nuts it is. The kidney stone roommate never, ever says hello to me first. She claims she does, and that I ignore her, but I know I don't, because I literally had to learn how to socialize (autistic kid who formerly lived alone, remember?). I purposefully say 'hi' to her when she comes downstairs from bed in the morning (usually afternoon). She generally yawns in reply, with a few random speech sounds mixed in. I think it's rude. She usually plops somewhere, and I'm usually rushing around picking things up trying not to offend her that my stuff/the kids' stuff is in her way. She never asks how I am or how I'm feeling, even though my health has been shit. I quite literally walk into the living room each evening with a box and ask for her to put her empty bottles and cans (soda and flavored water, usually) in it so I can walk it outside to the recycling bin. Sometimes she can't find/reach them all and I find them in the morning hiding between the couch cushions.

All of this happens on the daily, and we're all still on 'good' terms. We're all taking our assorted pharmaceuticals to stay an even enough keel. I'm trying to lay off the sedatives and build up my energy level during the day. Focus more. Play with the kids. Cuddle the cats. But life is fucking hard. Sometimes I'm banging my head against the wall, and sometimes I'm quite content to take a breath and work on the laundry with the dog pinning me between the basket and the wall.

My kid is having a fit right now, and we're going to see Spider-Man at the theater this afternoon. That about sums it all up. I'm sorry. Thanks for listening.

[diavolodigitale]

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Andromeda Galaxy - pt.2 Kadara

I must admit, editing this 2 years after writing is a real pain in the you-know-what. It almost doesn’t seem worth saving anymore, but I am determined to finish this. The last 2 chapters are kind of fun after all.

Genres: comedy, romance (vaguely), friendship maybe, nothing serious, really.

Pairing: m!Ryder/Evfra 

Characters: Ryder, Evfra, Reyes

Rating: PG

Size: around 6 pages

Pt.1 - Pt.2 - Pt.3 - Pt.4 ----- All chapters in PDF

Kadara port had everything a weary traveller could ever wish for: water for when you were thirsty, food for when you were hungry, protection for when you were in fear for your life, and for when you were thoughtless - a knife to stab you in the back. From time to time even James needed some of its special offers, but not as radical as what most of the mercs coming here were looking for. The job of the Pathfinder was dangerous and, sadly, unrewarding, so he developed a habit of coming to the port to give some rest to his fagged body and worn-out mind. People there openly disliked him which gave him the perfect opportunity to behave however he wanted without thinking much about the role forced onto him.

Ryder enjoyed observing dozens of different people visiting the port every day. Sometimes he would even become the witness of some utterly disgusting and dishonest affairs which had, to put it mildly, not the best outcome for one of the sides of the conflict. Nevertheless, he learnt his lesson about not trying to help every single person on Kadara very well literally on the day of his first visit. As such, those situations turned into mere inconveniences he had to steer clear of while staying there. Helping his race survive was at the moment more important than dealing with exiles and the problems they caused. Priorities first.

What he liked even more than observing people, was talking to his crew members in a kind of informal atmosphere. No doubt, the air that prevailed on the Tempest was mostly friendly and peaceful, but work is work no matter what they say. Here, on Kadara, on the other hand, every one of them would find something more enjoyable to occupy themselves with in their free time so the general mood shifted from busy to more casual. Whatever they were doing – drinking in the bar, trying to persuade the merchant to give a discount, or checking the incoming supplies for the ship – it was still interesting for him to see them act in situ.

Having no plans in particular for the evening, Ryder was strolling in the direction of the local bar when he noticed a familiar silhouette. A renowned angaran commando stood near a bunch of crates piled up in a secluded alley. Quite far from any vendor or stall, as Ryder noticed. It was already enough to get him interested.

He cautiously approached Evfra from behind just to startle him with a loud “greeting” of his.

“Is it really you who I see here? Or is it just a black-market VI? I would really be astonished if technologies went so far,” he yelled cheerfully.

“Is it a rhetorical question?” Evfra turned his head and gave Ryder a tired spiritless look.

“I hope something happened,” responded Ryder and pouted, “‘cause if you’re so dull only because I’m here, I will be deeply offended.”

“Fascinating.”

Evfra watched a few strangers pass by the alley they were in and clicked his tongue disappointedly. Clear as day, he was looking for something or someone.

“So, what is the leader of the angaran Resistance doing here all alone? Such a famous figure should be an object of desire for local bounty hunters,” said Ryder. His curiosity always got the best of him.

“Same goes to you, Pathfinder.”

“I guess, more people want me to actually do something to improve the quality of life in the galaxy than just to die in the slums. And you haven’t answered my question,” noted Ryder, unsatisfied with the reply he got.

“It may be hard to believe but lots of people here have heard stories about me. Despite that, hardly anybody knows what I really look like. It is very useful when you hold such a position. Of course,”—Evfra sighed before continuing—“if you do not have a Pathfinder nearby, who will yell that it is indeed you and not somebody else.”  

“Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” Ryder propped up one of the nearby crates and pretended to zip up his mouth.

“I would really like to see that.” Evfra sighed yet again.

“That’s just an idiom that–”

“I know. Jaal told me about this strange phenomenon of yours. Seems like everything about humans is as confusing as it is annoying.”

“It won’t be so confusing when you get to know us better.”

“If I get to know you.”

“Believe me, I will do everything for this alliance to work out,” declared Ryder. He sounded completely confident in what he was saying. “I am always ready to help and even make some necessary sacrifices for the sake of our union.”

“Spare me the details, please.”

Evfra looked around one more time. His search wasn’t successful which was obvious from a disgruntled look on his face. Ryder noticed that, and his interest towards the goal of Evfra’s pursuit on Kadara grew even more.

“So, what could be so important that it managed to make you come here personally?”

“Resistance’s matters.”

“That I have already figured out,”—Ryder raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms—“I mean, why you? As far as I know, you have countless field agents that could take up this business on your behalf.”

Understanding the Pathfinder wouldn’t be shaken off so easily, Evfra decided to give up without even starting an argument. He wanted this conversation to end as soon as possible.

“I am looking for my informant. He hasn’t contacted me for a few days, although I’ve been waiting. And I loathe waiting,” he responded.

“And for that you spared the time to come personally? I’m impressed.”

“Do you trust everybody on your team, Ryder? Do you trust everybody on the Nexus?” asked Evfra, staring at Ryder intently. There was no point in continuing this conversation, but he just couldn’t hold himself back.

“That’s the question not to be answered in front of the people I work with,” chuckled Ryder.

“Then you know why I’m here. If you want to do something, do it yourself. In this case, you will have no one to blame if something goes wrong or the desired result is not achieved.”

“I can understand that.” The Pathfinder nodded slightly and went on, "I think, you’re a real professional, you know?”

Evfra gave Ryder a gloomy glance and left the question unanswered. He was not entertained by this talk the way Ryder was. He probably never had been.

“Is it Reyes you’re looking for?” asked Ryder bluntly.

“Are you going to expose identities of all people working for the Resistance?”

Evfra did not even sound mad anymore. Just tired.

“If nobody here knows who you are, then there’s no harm in mentioning that you’re looking for him. Lots of people on Kadara work with him as well, so saying his name out loud isn’t really that much of a deal.”

“Your thoughtlessness is going to get you killed some day.”

“Not while you’re around to take care of my safety.”

No reaction followed, so all Ryder could do after such a remark was stand silently and awkwardly scratch his neck. There was still nothing special he wanted to do in the port besides just sticking around for some time, so he figured he’d stay here and see where the situation would get him, but the atmosphere was killing him.

“Reyes seems to like you,” said Evfra after a few minutes of silence.

“He does?”

“Yes, even though I cannot see why.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Ryder and forced a little smile that looked sincere enough. He knew that arguing with Evfra would never lead him anywhere. “So, do you mean he likes me as a person or…?”

“I do not possess such knowledge. We don’t discuss personal matters.”

“Oh, I see. Then how do you know he likes me?”

Evfra exhaled loudly and sat down on one of the crates, perhaps, tired of standing on the same place for what could be hours.

“He speaks highly of you. It seems that he admires your methods and purposes, although it is hard to tell, since you, humans, are so bad at expressing your true feelings.”

“Guess we have something to learn from your kind.”

“You have a lot to learn from us,” corrected him Evfra. “First of all, how to read the attitude and recognize when it is better to stop the communication.”

“I’ll take that into consideration, but don’t promise anything.”

Ryder considered something for a few moments before deciding to be bold till the end and taking a seat near Evfra. There was high chance the angara would stand up, not wanting to be near him after the last incident, but Ryder really hoped he would just leave it be.

Evfra looked at the Pathfinder with dissatisfaction, but said nothing.

“How’s your arm?” asked Ryder, relieved by his reaction.

“Healed.”

“Good to hear that.”

“Do you want to ask me how my head is?”

“As good as mine, I’m sure,” answered James, but still threw a quick glance at Evfra’s forehead to make sure he was fine.

“It was foolish of you to perform such an act. My bones could have been much stronger than yours, and then your people would have lost another Pathfinder,” muttered Evfra between his teeth.

Evfra’s words made something about Ryder change. For a few moments, he wasn’t so upbeat anymore – just an ordinary exhausted and disappointed in life individual on Kadara.

Evfra mused over the idea of saying he was sorry, but the situation seemed so weird to him, that he decided not to.

A familiar voice of someone speaking with a charming accent rang out not far from Evfra and Ryder’s location.

“Well, isn’t that the great Evfra himself?”

“Reyes!”—Evfra stood up abruptly and took a few steps towards the tan-skinned man—“I’ve been waiting to hear from you for days and you didn’t send me a word. Don’t make me come here once again or else I may find someone more responsible to take your place.”

Ryder tried to recall when he last saw him this angry but failed.

“Did you come all the way just to see me?”—Reyes made an ironic bow—“I am pleased and honored. If I may ask, did Pathfinder Ryder also come here looking for me?”

“Not this time, Reyes, but it is good to see you alive and well,” said Ryder and nodded with a hint of a polite smile on his face.

“What a shame. I was already intrigued by the possibilities of our prospective cooperation.”

“Pathfinder Ryder will be the only one available to you for cooperation if you do not explain yourself right now,” said Evfra almost growling.

He was visibly unhappy with how the conversations developed. Ryder got the feeling he’d better return back to the Tempest and leave those two to discuss their business in privacy. He stood up, displaying his intention to withdraw from this soon-to-be battlefield.

“I see you need some time to catch up. I also have some business to take care of while I’m in the port, so I’ll probably get going.”

“Leaving already?” A slight disappointment could be heard in Reyes’ voice as he spoke. “I thought maybe we could grab a drink or two after Evfra and I… resolve our issue.”

“Enough!” shouted Evfra, raising his voice like he rarely did. His chest was heaving with suppressed rage. Ryder thought he was most likely really angry with Reyes’ careless and provoking manner. Or anything else. From James’ experience, it really didn’t take Evfra long to find a reason to be angry about.

“Maybe next time. It was nice seeing you, Evfra. And you, Reyes, as well,” he declined, not wanting to provoke the angaran commando any further.

“Likewise, Pathfinder. I sincerely hope to see you here again in the nearest future,” responded Reyes and gave him a wink.

Ryder lightly nodded and gave another polite smile. Evfra only sniffed and abruptly turned away, facing the other direction when Ryder was leaving. Once more, not bidding farewell properly.

[nctzendreamz]

Little Things (3) :: Mark Lee

Mark love so many things about you, but he’ll never let the words slip out of his mouth.

Pt.1 / Pt.2 / Pt.3

Breathe Mark...breathe. His stomach is currently turning in a never ending hell of knots, and his breathing was so staggered. This was his constant party trick when he was embarrassed, and words could not describe how embarrassed he was right now.

He knew you would tell him to observe his surroundings.

Look at the floor, Mark. Focus on the color. Is it brown? White? Gray? Wooden? Think about how it feels on your feet. You can feel the cool breeze, can’t you? It’s giving you a chill, but with the heat outside, it feels really good.

Even though he was talking to himself, he was able to convince himself that you didn’t hate him. That it was you whispering into his ear and getting him out of his shake.

You were always so good at that. You were good at practically anything you put your mind to, but especially that. You could talk anybody out of doing any bad deed, or calm them down when they needed to be held.

Just as Mark goes to lean against the counter, almost ready to return back to the reality that was you and his members probably having the time of your lives, he hears the door swing open. He can’t even look.

“You okay, bro?” Johnny questions, and his tone is very light. “You kinda ran away back there.”

“Fine.” Mark mutters, a clear indication that he didn’t want to be bothered. He knows this isn’t Johnny’s fault. He knows that this is all him, but even so, he needs someone to blame. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy in any of your stories. He wants to be the one you run to.

“You know, whatever you’re thinking right now would probably calm down if you just said it.” Johnny’s beside him now, a hand on his lower back.

“It’s—

“Don’t even say that to me, Mark. Don’t say that it’s not that simple, because it is. The love of your life confessed their love for you, and you let them walk away thinking that you didn’t feel the same. Do you know how many guys would kill for that? Huh?”

There’s a stern tone in his older brother’s words, and Mark can tell how done he is with this whole ordeal. He was right, of course. He knows how lucky he is. He knows that men would kill to be in this position with the one they loved. Hell, men would kill him to be with you. Still, he’s silent. His eyes are darted straight forward and he’s just breathing.

“You don’t have to listen to me.” Johnny removes his hand. “We both know that actions speak louder than words anyway.”

What was that supposed to mean? Immediately, Mark shoots up feeling unsettled from those words. From the way Johnny walks out so quick, he knows he’s promoting him to follow.

“Doyoung!” You screech, your mouth agape and in desperate need of food. On the leather couch Doyoung is dangling a sole piece of skin from the chicken—your favorite taste, and making you chase his fingers. “Please.” You plead.

“I think I wanna hear you beg some more.” He chuckles, placing it in his mouth.

Mark wanted to hope this was an innocent induendo, but regardless, he was sick. It had only been a clean thirty minutes of him trying to calm down and Doyoung already had your attention. And that smile that was on your face—it was unreal. He hadn’t seen it in so long.

“Listen to me.” Is all Johnny speaks before he walks away, going to get more food.

Mark doesn’t want to move, but he also realizes that this isn’t the best decision. He needs to distract himself and try to move on, just like you were obviously trying to do. He forces his reindeer sock covered feet to move forward—of course a gift from you during the Christmas season, and he’s making way to go to the couch. They had managed to sit the only two couches he had in here across from eachother while the coffee table gave space for food and drinks. He sits on the couch you and Doyoung aren’t cannodling on. Jaehyun and Jungwoo are sitting on this couch.

“Did you fall asleep in there?” It’s Doyoung, and Mark doesn’t even crack a smile. They’re making eye contact, but you don’t notice it’s intensity as you’re scrolling through your phone now. Or maybe you’re texting Johnny again. He doesn’t know.

“Nope.” Is all Mark can manage, feeling his heart rate increase from the jealousy he felt. It was such a stupid, small detail—but he can’t help but notice how subtly your shoulder is touching Doyoung’s. He has to sit and watch as your head is slowly leaning on his broadened left, and before Doyoung puts another piece of chicken in his mouth, you take it out of his hand without even thinking. You two looked like a complete couple and he can’t believe this.

He knows exactly what his hyung is doing. He wants him to react. He wants to show him that this is exactly what he’ll have to go through if he doesn’t confess tonight. Even so, the balls still aren’t growing.

“Are you going to eat?” Jungwoo questions. “I’m positive you haven’t eaten all day.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Mark responds.

“You’re pale, you have shaky hands, I know you bro. Here.” Jungwoo has some kimchi in some chopsticks, and Mark just eats it to make him feel more at ease.

“I think I’m going to get a head start on painting, actually.” The younger boy rises, and he might’ve been crazy, but he sees the way your eyes peep him for a minute. He’s walking back into his room that seemed even more bland now that you weren’t in it.

The white walls were completely mocking him now, calling him all kinds of mean and harmful names. Every ugly blotch reminded him of kids back in middle school who never had anything nice to say. It’s shell skin tone should’ve been making him feel better even through its plain nature, but he wanted to punch a hole in it.

Mark wants to just lay down and sleep for the duration of this visit. Maybe even make the members paint the walls by themselves. He worked hard enough on music, right? He could be lazy today.

“Since Mark just can’t wait to start painting, let’s all wash our hands, eh?” He hears Jaehyun yell. Mark knows he’s doing this on purpose.

“It’ll probably only take an hour. I mean it’s not like we’re professionals.” It’s your voice, and it’s making his blood boil. The way you spoke so casually now. He was used to you behaving like this, always cool and collected infront of people who didn’t know you as well as they wished, but he was going to ignore his knowledge. He wanted the shy and soft spoken Y/N back.

“Then why did you call them?” The words are sharp off his tounge and he doesn’t even turn around to look at you. He knows you’re haulting now questioning your life choices. Or maybe not that far, but he knows you’re taken aback. Just like he was when he saw you and Doyoung flirting with eachother.

He really was being a jealous asshole wasn’t he? I mean, Mark had his moments, but his surface was always sweet and willing to bow down to anyone who he respected and loved. As he fumbles with the paint bucket—ironically the only you chose for the occasion, he realizes that wasn’t necessary. His words to you. Even so he can’t apologize.

“I figured you didn’t want to be around me.” You say to his surprise. You could’ve made up so many different lies. You could’ve said you didn’t think the two of you were capable of doing such a job on your own. You could’ve mentioned how you hate the smell of fresh paint and would rather the members be doing the nitty gritty. You also could’ve mentioned that you didn’t want to mess up your outfit for that fact as well. But no. You’re projecting instead.

“I didn’t want to be around you?” He chuckles, and the air is becoming very tense very fast. He hates this so much. This animosity that’s been growing between you two for the past couple of hours. “I think it’s the opposite.”

And he has you red handed because you don’t say another word. You huff out in some form of displeasure before you take the paint can out of his hand. You practically throw it on the ground—of course just light enough from bursting before you have Mark’s hand wrapped around your own and you’re storming the both of you out of his bedroom. The other members are looking on and they’re scared for their friend. You weren’t one to mess with and your eyes are raging as you walk past them. Mark doesn’t even have anything in his home to distract him as it was blank as hell.

The night air is semi-chilly, and Mark wants to grab a jacket for you, or at least warn you to bring one, but he knows there’s no point. The two of you are now in the abandoned hallway of his line and he’s standing infront of you.

“You’re an asshole.” Are the first words that come out of your pretty lips. They’re still glossy like earlier. His eyes are looking at his neighbor’s door in attempt to not have to deal with all of this ruckus, but your hands are quicker as they take his chin and direct his attention to where it needs to be. You, and your hurt heart. “All you do is blame me for everything.”

“What?” He mumbles.

“You’re going to talk to me whether you like it or not, Mark. This whole mumbling thing you’re doing is not going to make me shut up so start talking.”

He had never seen you so fiesty. You were like a firecracker burning into his flesh, but he was enjoying it. Maybe a little too much. He didn’t know how he was thinking positive and somewhat hilarious thoughts. You were very angry with him and that should’ve been driving him nuts. It was driving him nuts.

“How do I blame you for everything, Y/N?”

“With your eyes, and your stupid subtle responses to everything. I know you’ve been off since my whole drunken confession mistake.”

“I—

“And I know you probably found it extremely hilarious that I poured out my heart to you and all you did was pretend it didn’t happen, and yet I was still checking on you and loving you like you had the same feelings.”

“Y/—

“And that’s not to say you have to share my feelings, but at least say something, Mark. And then you sit here and kiss my hand and tell me that I’m beautiful like I’m some toy. Am I a toy to you?”

“No.” Is all he responds. His face is so dull, but his heart is about to burst into a thousand crystals. He’s sweating profoundly and he’s trying to find more words.

“Tell me how you feel, Mark. Say it to me right now. I’m a big girl and I can handle it. We both know that.”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t know which one of his ancestors possessed his spirit to spit it out so simply. It slipped off the tounge like saliva to the floor when you were thirsty but also couldn’t stop talking because there was nothing that he was more sure of. You could ask him was his name his actual name and he wouldn’t sound that confident.

“But?” you say, and you’re not quivering. Had he really broken your heart that many times? To where you became immune to his true feelings? That you believed there was a catch to this?

“There’s no but.”

He can see the way your body breaks down. He knows you’re blaming yourself. You’re probably thinking about how maybe you talking to much was the reason he couldn’t get it out. You’re probably imagining false scenarios in your head where you wouldn’t let him get a secret off his chest not knowing it was exactly what you had been dreaming about, and that’s why you never noticed.

“Don’t do that.” He whispers. His balls had finally dropped because he’s approaching you now. Chest to chest—rashing heartbeats just begging to wallow in eachother and finally get to touch through your gentle skin that looked so good beside eachother even through its clothed nature. “Don’t blame your perfection on me being unable to open my fucking mouth, Y/N.” His lips quickly kiss yours, and it feels so good. It was less than a second, but it felt like home. He had imagined so many different scenarios where your lips would touch for the first time and he would then proceed to drag you to the nearest wall and make love to you for the first time. Intense, right?

“I have loved you for so long that I can’t even remember what not loving you feels like. I can’t.” He trembles. “That night when you confessed to me, I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I also didn’t know if it was real. But then the next morning you turned into your beautiful and shy self and I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t ruin us because I’d rather die everyday and still get to be your friend than lose you completely.”

“You were scared.” You finish for him. “But so was I, Mark. I was petrified. I had no idea whether you’d accept my feelings or be completely disgusted. Why do you think I waited until I was piss drunk to say anything?”

“I’m sorry.” He says, nuzzling his forehead into yours. “And I’m sorry for not being a man, because I am one. We’re not kids anymore that get to get away with this. I know I was so wrong. And I suck so bad. I—

But you’re kissing him again. And it’s his first kiss in such a manner. The way your lips are molding into his own with such perfection and the way he feels himself getting hot in unfamiliar places. The way you pull him over you on the door and he lifts your legs around his slim waist so he can get even closer to you. The way your delighted fingers are pulling at his current black strands of hair and he lets out a tiny sigh of agreement and pleasure.

“I love you.” You say, pulling away from him for just a quick second.

“I love you more.” He breathes out before he’s attacking your lips again and is making it known all over your body that he means everything. “You don’t love Doyoung more do you?”

Your laugh echoes into his thick neck as he’s still propping you on the door. “So you were jealous?”

“Of course I was.” He smiles in embarrassment. “We can kick them out, can’t we?”

“We’re about to.”

And now you’re both laughing and hugging eachother tightly as you attempt to catch your breath.

You finally figured it out. You finally both knew what was going on, and you were happy. So so happy.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

i think you’ve realised some lists, but could you link your friends to lovers lists? 💞 thank u so much !

ABSOLUTELY NONNY!

God It’s euphoric being in a great mood!! It’s felt like 80 years since I’ve felt this happy. It’s gonna go away the second it rains again, but ANYWAY.

YOU KNOW WHAT? I’m feeling generous so I’ll post this today and I’ve had the list “ready to post” for a few months. Here’s a part 2 list to my other list since I’ve enough to do it :D

FRIENDS-TO-LOVERS Pt. 2

See also:

T-RATED Pt. 1: Friends To Lovers Fics || [MOBILE LINK]

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Friends to Lovers Pt. 1 [FULL POST] || [MOBILE POST]

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Nothing So Sweet by alexxphoenix42 (E, 5,275 w., 1 Ch. || Shopkeeper AU || Beekeeping, Sussex, Alternate First Meeting, Awkward First Time Sex, Self-Consciousness / Body Insecurity, Fluff, Hand Jobs) – In an alternate universe, Sherlock is busy keeping to himself, tending his bees, and selling lovely jars of honey when a soldier limps into his life quite unexpectedly. Part 1 of The Sweetest Things

Caffeine and Adaptive Programming by DemonicSymphony (E, 5,540 w., 1 Ch. || Androids AU / Bond Fusion || Android Sherlock, Coffee Shop AU, Pining John Hinted Bond / Q, Toplock) – Sherlock is a coffee shop android slowly falling for a regular customer. But he's not supposed to be able to feel emotions.

My First, My Only, and My Forever by vintagelilacs (E, 6,220 w., 1 Ch. || Post-ASiB, Virgin Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Bum, John’s Scar, Sherlock POV, Body Worship, Fingering, Bottomlock, Promise of Forever / Proposals, Misunderstanding, First Kiss/Time, Loss of Virginity, Virginity Kink, Seduction) – Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was missing a vital piece of data, he was sure. John had been looking at him oddly ever since they left Buckingham Palace, and the ensuing incident with Irene Adler had only exacerbated his erratic behaviour. What was it? Why would he care that Sherlock was a virgin? There was nothing reminiscent of mockery or pity in his gaze. And then it hit him. John Watson was aroused.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn't even noticed. Right...?

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (M, 10,388 w., 2 Ch. || Post TRF, Halloween / Ghosts, Pining Sherlock, Ghost Sherlock, Stroppy Sherlock, Sherlock POV, First Kiss/Time, Angry Sex, Ghost Sex, Love Confessions, Open / Ambiguous Ending) – In which Sherlock Holmes is a ghost.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Out of the Woods by SilentAuror (E, 20,471 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Romance, Slow Burn, Flirting, Drunk Sex, Practical Jokes, POV Sherlock, Bottomlock, Possessive John, Pining Sherlock, Frustrated Wanking, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, First Kiss/Time, Virgin Sherlock, Love Confessions, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Bum Appreciation, Hanging out with the Yard) – Sherlock is fairly certain that John has taken to flirting with him of late, but can't be entirely certain of it. At least, not until a case takes them into a forest, along with Lestrade's team and something happens that will change everything about their lives...

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

The Whore of Babylon Was a Perfectly Nice Girl by out_there (E, 32,897 w., 1 Ch. || Past Drug Use, Blowjobs, Toplock, Mentions of Switching, Rough Sex, Background Cases, Sherlock’s Past, Sherlock’s Sexual History, Experienced Sherlock, Past One Night Stands, Fingering, Cuddling, Possessive Sherlock, Paris Holiday, Bed Sharing, Naked Lie-Ins, Bathing Together, Confessions, Worried Sherlock, Laying in Bed All Day, Meddling Mycroft, Naked Lazy Day) – Sherlock walks into a room and takes all the space right out of it. He does the same inside John's head.

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock, Wings) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Anchor Point by trickybonmot (E, 49,856 w., 80 Ch. || Truman Show AU || Psychological Drama, Suspense, Slow Burn, Dark Characters / Fic, Alternating First/Third Person, Protective John, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Tender Moments, Love Confessions, Hand/Blow Jobs, Cuddling, Jealous John, First Kiss/Time) – The world tunes in nightly for Sherlock, the ultimate in reality TV: Sherlock Holmes, a real person with a legendary name, unknowingly lives out his life in a staged setting contrived by his brother. Things get complicated when a retired army doctor joins the show to play the part of Sherlock's closest friend. This fic borrows its concept from the 1998 film, the Truman Show. However, you don't need to have any knowledge of the movie to enjoy this story.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Points by lifeonmars (E, 53,791 w., 42 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || HLV Rewrite / Canon Divergence, Married Life, Pregnancy / Baby Watson, Drinking to Cope, Boxing / Fisticuffs, Clueless John, Angst, Minor Medical Drama, Tattoos, Christmas, First Kiss/Time, Eventual Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Doctor John, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Burn, Case Fic, Drugging, Blow/Hand Job, Emotional Love Making, Parenthood, Passage of Time) – What if His Last Vow never happened? This fic picks up a few months after John and Mary's wedding, in an alternate universe where Magnussen doesn't exist, but Mary is still pregnant. Life continues -- just in a different direction. And slowly, Sherlock and John find their way to each other.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

The Summer Boy by khorazir (T, 94,706 w., 6 Ch. || Post S3/Post TAB/Alternate S4, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Sussex, Bullying, 1980′s Kid Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inexperienced Sherlock, Grief/Mourning, Pining Sherlock, Background Case Fic) – About half a year after the fateful events at Appledore, Sherlock and John embark on a private case in Sussex. For Sherlock, it’s a journey into his past, bringing up memories both happy and sad that he has locked away for almost thirty years. For John, it means coming to terms with the present – and a potential future with Sherlock. Part 1 of the The Summer Boy series

Given In Evidence by verityburns (M, 97,884 w., 19 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Angst, Drama, Case Fic, Romance, BAMF!John, Submissive Sherlock, First Kiss, Humour) – Coming back from the dead can be a complicated business. With a new case on the horizon, rebuilding a life is one thing... rebuilding a friendship quite another. For Sherlock and John, things may never be just the same...

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori (E, 156,714 w., 24 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Hollywood / Actor AU, Secret Relationship, Falling in Love, Slow Burn, Romance, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Pining) – Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world? Part 1 of Performance in a Leading Role

Gimme Shelter by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (E, 159,368 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || 70′s Surfer AU || Period Typical Homophobia, Hawaii, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Professional Surfers, Gay John / Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John was a Sailor, Misunderstandings) – All John Watson wants is the feeling of a freshly waxed surfboard under his feet and the hot California sun baking down onto his back. To finally go pro in the newly formed world of professional surfing and leave the dark memories of his past behind him as he rips across the face of a towering blue barrel. To lounge beside the beach bonfire every evening with an ice cold beer tucked into the cool sand beside him and listen to Pink Floyd and the Doors while the saltwater dries in his sun bleached hair. That's all he wants, that is, until the hot young phenom taking Oahu and the Hawaiian shores by storm steps up next to him in the sand in the second round of the 1976 International Surf Competition. (PUBLISHED AS ‘The Sea Ain’t Mine Alone’)

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[darisu-chan]

Kaien vs Ichigo: A Memories in the Rain Analysis, Part 1

Hello

It’s me again, back with my bs lmao

I finally finished the mini arc of Memories in the Rain pt. 2 and, as I’ve been sort of discussing certain stuff that’s happened in Bleach as I re-read the chapters, I decided I needed to talk about MITR as a whole. If you’ve been following my posts, I didn’t really analyze the first part. I saved it to compare it with the second part. I also thought that instead of just saying my thoughts as I have been doing thus far, I’d go the extra mile and truly analyze both parts, specifically comparing Kaien and Ichigo.

So, sometime ago, I wrote this post about how it bothers me how people compare Kaien and Ichigo as being the same, and using that to establish IchiRuki. When, honestly, you don’t need to. Ichigo and Rukia’s relationship stands on its own. In fact, it is so strong that, years after the ending, people keep being fascinated by IR. The LA was centered on their relationship as well. And it’s still the Ichigo and Rukia show, thank you very much.

And though I made some good points in that post, I decided to further explore Kaien and Ichigo, as well as the events of both MITR and how that relates to Ichigo and Rukia.

It’s probably been done many times before, but I’ve never analyzed them in much depth, so here we go.

The first part will soley be about Ichigo and Kaien as individuals. On the second part, I’ll finally explore MITR

1. The Shiba Gene

So, as we all know, Ichigo and Kaien look like each other physically, and in Everything But the Rain we finally found out the reason why: they are cousins. This put a stop to all the “Ichigo is Kaien reborn” theories people liked to come up with back in the day.

Now, in the story, this resemblance was pointed out by Byakuya and even Ukitake, to an extent. Which means Kaien was designed to look like Ichigo on purpose to further draw parallels between them. What I mean to say is that this is a seed that was planted in the readers’ minds, and as such, comparing both guys was done on purpose.

Interestingly enough, neither Kukaku nor Ganju are ever seen to believe Ichigo looks like their older brother.

In EBTR we see Isshin as a young man, and we can see how Isshin, Ichigo and Kaien resemble each other, meaning the Shiba gene is a strong one, and, if Ichigo had actually stayed in SS, that same resemblance could have been used as a way for him to claim that part of his heritage, but I digress.

We are all aware they look like each other because they are family, so we don’t need to go deep into detail in that aspect. Now the true question is, just how similar are they to each other?

Physically speaking, there are a few noticable differences, like hair and eye color. Kaien’s hair is longer and there’s the fact Kaien has very long eyelashes, as Kukaku and Ganju have. He’s also taller.

Although key differences, they are not enough to negate their similarities. Hell, Ichigo does look more similar to Kaien than Ganju, his actual brother.

But there’s something very important that sets them apart: Kaien always carries himself as if he didn’t have a care in the world. When we’ve seen Kaien, he’s always able to smile freely. Sure, he also scowls, gets upset, and the like, but he goes back to smiling. This is something Ichigo hasn’t been able to do since his mother died. Hell, there’s a whole chapter about that (Can’t Smile Don’t Blame). There are very few times in which Ichigo actually smiles, and all of them are short-lived. In fact, whenever he’s tried to give big smiles, they seem off, as seen when he smiled to Orihime back at the beginning of MITR and later on, in the Lost Agent Arc, when he smiled at Yuzu. 

Even when Rukia has a flashback of Kaien while looking at Ichigo, their smiles look very different:

Ichigo more often than not smiles through his eyes, while Kaien tends to smile with his eyes closed:

Although brash and arrogant as well, Kaien is also more mature. He can go from joking around to having deep conversations with Rukia. Ichigo, as a teenager, has yet to mature and will become more and more like a grown up as time passes by. At this point in the manga, he really isn’t there yet. Now, this will be important later on.

In short, even though they look very similar, they carry themselves with different auras. Kaien is more of a free-spirit, while Ichigo is a person who seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

2. Prodigies

Ichigo, as the MC of a shounen manga, is obviously special. From the very first moment, we know he’s not like everyone else. He’s able to see spirits, which is not the norm. And then Rukia informs us his reiatsu is too powerful for a normal human.

And as time goes by, as he keeps fighting hollows, he grows exponentially. 

When Urahara trains him, he realizes that, which is why he tells Yoruichi that if there is someone who can achieve bankai in 3 days, is him.

As the story goes on, we learn that Ichigo is even more special, as he is also part Quincy and Hollow. But he also has very impressive skills when it comes to swordmanship, shunpo, and the like. 

What is more relevant is Ichigo’s ability to grow at a fast rate, always learning from his mistakes. 

And although he was never taught how to be a Shinigami in the traditional way, we can see how he surpassed his peers.

Now, although Kaien is not as special as Ichigo, we learn from Ganju that, for Shinigami standards, Kaien’s very impressive:

Hisagi, for example, failed the final exam numerous times. Rukia says she barely passed the entrace exam. Finishing the curriculum in two years is a great achievement. And the fact that he made VC in 5 years means a lot. It took Renji, let’s say, around 35 years to be promoted to VC. And Renji was in the special class at the Academy.

People like Ichigo and Kaien are not the norm. They are very skilled and special individuals. Might be because of their genes (it’s never explicitly said, but they might come from a long line of Shinigami), or just because they were gifted with those powers, but the point is these characteristics set them apart as more powerful than the rest.

3. Brash, Rule-breaking, Arrogant

The words above can be used to describe both Ichigo and Kaien, and that’s certainly Byakuya’s opinion of them.

Kaien and his siblings are not like the nobles we know. They’re certainly very different to Byakuya and the Kuchiki Clan, but they also live very differently than Soi Fon, Omaeda, the Shihouin Clan, and so on. They seem to live more like the common folk than like dignified people. Hence, Byakuya seems very against this sort of attitude, at least early on in Bleach. 

Because of being loud, less refined, brash, and with a penchant of rule-breaking, Kaien seems totally different to other nobles. However, I dare say these characteristics extrapolate what Ukitake meant in this scene:

Not anyone would be able to go against the whole Soul Society, specially if you are a Shinigami.

Byakuya was certainly not going to do any rule-breaking. As we later find out, he had even promised not to break anymore rules and was going to stick to that promise.

Renji, until confronted by Ichigo, had decided not to go against the SS.

Even Ukitake wasn’t about to start a revolution to save Rukia. It took him seeing Ichigo to decide on what to do.

Basically, only Kaien would have been upfront about his own intentions.

And what we know of Kaien is that he was the sort of guy who would break the rules when necessary. That means, that he would do the right thing. Specially when it comes to saving his peers. He even tells Rukia as much:

He might not have been the most elegant of individuals, but Kaien’s brashness and even arrogance came from the fact he had a good heart.

Now, who does exactly what Kaien would have done?

That’s right.

Ichigo.

Here the comparison of Ukitake trying to imagine what Kaien would have done is directly compared and contrasted to Ichigo, as before that scene Ichigo confronted Byakuya.

Now, Ichigo wasn’t raised as a noble. He had no idea he was one until almost the end of Bleach. But he was raised with the idea of protecting other people and of doing what is right.

We have seen him protect other people, even before he became a Shinigami (his friendship with Chad, Keigo and Mizuiru respectively reflects this, as he saved the three of them). 

Ichigo is not the kind of guy who can just do nothing while an injustice is taking place.

Ichigo has been, from the first moment we saw him, brash, rule-breaking and even arrogant, but note that from his introduction, we saw him protecting a little ghost girl. It goes to show that Ichigo would go to extremes to protect others and do what’s right. So, it’s no surprise he jumps at the chance to go to SS to save Rukia, and that he grows stronger and stronger each time to save her, as he cannot let her die. 

However, there’s a key difference.

If Kaien had been alive, he would have saved Rukia as 1) he would’ve probably figured out an execution was too hard a punishment for Rukia’s crime, 2) he told her he would always stand by her as long as they were from the same division, and 3) he wouldn’t let her just die.

But Ichigo’s reasons to save Rukia are much more complicated than that. As I’ve said in other posts, Ichigo is filled with guilt, as Rukia’s in this position because of him, firstly because she saved him by giving him her own powers to protect his family, and secondly, because Rukia got taken away to protect him as he feels he failed to protect her.

But, even then, it’s not only guilt that fuels him or the fact that he owes Rukia.

There’s the fact that Rukia is an important person to Ichigo regardless. Particularly, she is kind and good. Certainly not the type of person who deserves to die, much less because of a stupid rule.

Then, there is something else at a deeper level Ichigo doesn’t say out loud

My point with this is that Kaien and Ichigo are certainly the same type of rule-breaking people and that’s the sort of person needed to pull a stunt like saving Rukia from execution, in such a way that this person would even inspire others to help. Both guys are special in that way. However, in practice their actions come from different places. Certainly there’s a closeness Ichigo shares with Rukia due to circumstances that adds more complexity to his intent to save her and that, may I add, also fuels him to such a degree he refuses to lose. 

Which brings us to...

4. Rukia

The last main common denominator between them is no one else but Rukia, a person they both have inspired in different ways. However, the type of relationship they have with her is different.

Let’s start with Kaien:

So, their meeting takes place shortly after Rukia was adopted into the Kuchiki Clan and graduated early from the Academy. Ever since, it seems she was judged for both not really being from a noble family and from having been adopted by one. We can say that no one is looking at who Rukia truly is, but they are making assumptions about her at this point. This is isolating to Rukia, who now has to deal with a new identity and a new way of living. She’s now apart from the one person she had known most of her life to that point (Renji) and is feeling out of place.

Then, Kaien swoops in and he treats her like he would treat any other subordinate. He doesn’t treat her like a street rat, a pampered noble or even a pet. And she says it herself that having that normality is exactly what she needed. Rukia didn’t feel comfortable at home with Byakuya, but she could at least feel more at ease in her division, working under Kaien.

Their relationship was that of mentor and mentee. Later on we find out Kaien trained her in swordsmanship and probably other skills. 

But he also taught her important lessons about life:

And these are lessons Rukia will carry in her heart the whole series. Protecting others, making others feel welcomed, forming hearts with others. Rukia made hers everything that Kaien taught her. 

He’s very special in her life because Kaien was the first person to make her feel as if she belonged in her division, and even as a Shinigami.

In short, he’s acting like a parental influential, or even being the brother Byakuya failed to be at this point in time. Teaching Rukia and accepting her, so that she could feel she had a place she belonged to.

And we know that Kaien was the one to make her feel good

But here we have a power imbalance. Because Kaien is doing the teaching, he’s changing her life, but we don’t know if it’s mutual. We don’t know if Kaien was affected by Rukia’s actions and words. It’s a very unilateral situation.

Furthermore, if we go with the route of Rukia had a crush on Kaien, there’s more power imbalance and impossibilities, as we know that:

She already couldn’t be the person closest to Kaien, as Miyako existed. 

Rukia recognized Miyako as having great qualities, probably what Kaien even liked about her, and aspired to be like her:

So, Kaien and Rukia were never in a position of equality for several reasons, starting from the fact Kaien was her vice captain.

This is even exemplified when the find the hollow that killed Miyako:

Rukia acts like a subordinate, trying to be helpful, and is denied:

Finally, there’s a key aspect that I will be analyzing with more detail in another post, but Kaien is for Rukia what Masaki is for Ichigo:

The root of her trauma is that she failed to protect Kaien, who was the person who taught her so much and helped her when nobody else did. Rukia feels as if she didn’t do anything to save him from his fate:

And when Kaien became a hollow, instead of running or trying to help him, Rukia let instinct take in and we know what happens next:

And the fact she couldn’t save him is worse becase Kaien doesn’t blame her:

So Rukia ends up in a state of guilt, because she couldn’t save the one person she probably wanted to save the most.

This trauma will continue on for some time until HM, where Rukia comes to terms with what happened. However, that doesn’t change the fact that her relationship remains a one-way street.

Now, as for with Ichigo, they have a different relationship altogether. 

It is true that Rukia was Ichigo’s first teacher when it comes to Shinigami stuff, but it is not as if he never taught Rukia anything.

Their relationship is so special because they’re two sides of the same coin. The fact that one is a Shinigami and the other is a human being makes it so that they end in a relationship of equals. As Ichigo needs to learn how to be a Shinigami, Rukia has to learn how to be a human.

Even when they just tell each other their names, the panel demonstrates this equality

Even the way they’re both holding the sword symbolizes this equality:

They’re both holding it and directing it towards Ichigo due to a common goal.

The fact they also call each other by their first names is important. Rukia always used “-dono” to refer to Kaien, a term of respect, while he called her by her last name. Meanwhile, Ichigo and Rukia call each other by their first names, symbolizing they’re close, something that is even pointed out within the story.

They also grow together.

Not only does Rukia teach Ichigo about his powers and her philosophy of saving others, Ichigo keeps surprising her at every turn:

Ichigo teaches Rukia how to be human, and not in the way of how to appear human or do human things, but how to feel, how to make connections with others

We always say Rukia changed Ichigo’s world, but he had that same effect in her:

It was always a mutual thing.

A relationship so different to any other in this manga.

But the best example of how different Kaien and Ichigo’s relationships with Rukia are is the fact that Rukia doesn’t think Ichigo is like Kaien from the get go.

She’s reminded of Kaien twice:

1. When Ichigo’s fighting Grandfisher, and I’ll analyze that part in the next post.

2. When Ichigo finally appears in front of her in SS and reassures her he’s not going to die. He smiles at her and Rukia remembers Kaien’s smile. She closes her eyes due to all the emotions she’s feeling.

My best explanation as to why Rukia thinks of Kaien in that moment is, as I said before, because Kaien was also reassuring in the fact he was not gonna die, yet he did and by her hand. Rukia doesn’t want to cause Ichigo’s death and she already feels guilty about turning him into a Shinigami, Byakuya hurting him, and everything else he’s gone through to try to save her. Rukia doesn’t want Ichigo to be like Kaien and die for her sake, as she believes she’s not worthy of being saved:

This is yet another thing Ichigo and Rukia have in common, they both feel guilty for having in some way cause harm to the other. 

Because, above all else, they both want to protect the other.

The thing is, the two actually achieve it: Rukia saves Ichigo’s life in the first chapter and when Byakuya is about to kill him. While Ichigo ends up saving her from execution, making it so their relationship stays equal.

That is the beauty of IchiRuki.

It’s never unilateral, but their feelings parallel each other’s constantly.

They want to save each other and they do.

They learn from one another, and they have faith in one another.

One doesn’t take while the other receive, they both give and receive something in return.

Because, in their eyes, they are equals.

Anyway,

This is the end of this very long post.

The rest of MITR will be analyzed in a later post.

Thanks for reading!

[to-star-lake]

ether [ pt. 3 ]

pairing | pjm/jjk x reader genre | angst, love triangle word count | 6.6k rating | M, 18+

You placed the large garment box gently on the floor of your apartment beside the couch and looked at it, wondering what to do.

You thought back to how pleasantly Jimin reacted to your telling him about Jungkook. The way he simply smiled and candidly admitted to you how he thought it was sweet that Jungkook finally confessed his feelings for you. How there was not a single ounce of judgement or anger to be found in his eyes, smiling sweetly.

But you thought of Jungkook, about how terribly he reacted to the possibility of you being with Jimin, at how he wanted to take things slow with you, to get it right. You bent down, carefully sliding the box under the couch, putting it out of your thoughts, deciding that you wouldn’t attend the event with Jimin. You wanted things to work out too, you wanted to do this right. And it would not be a good idea to antagonize Jungkook with something like this.

You walked into your bedroom, sliding your clothes off before deciding to take a bath. And when you were done, you slipped into your pajamas, and sat down at the edge of your bed, and saw the screen of your phone light up with an incoming text.

Taehyung: Yo, wanna get lunch tomorrow?

You thought about it for a moment, and returned to your text history and opened your messages with Jungkook.

Hey, Tae just invited me for lunch tomorrow. Would you wanna go?

You stared down at the words you wrote and wondered why you were nervous to ask this. You hit the back button a few times and made some edits.

Hey! Tae invited me for lunch tomorrow, you should come with!

Ugh, too peppy. You deleted everything and rewrote it again.

Hey, Tae just invited me for lunch tomorrow, do you wanna come with?

You held your breath and hit the little blue button to send, berating yourself in your head for obsessing over how to word a simple text. To your surprise, you saw three little dots pop up on the left hand side almost immediately.

Your phone buzzed in your hand and with a little whooshing sound, a reply came.

Jungkook: What time?

You smiled, quickly typing a response. Probably around 12-12:30?

Jungkook: I have a lot of stuff to do tomorrow, but I’ll let you know ok?

You felt your heart sink at this response and your hands dropped in your lap, but quickly felt silly for reacting this way. It’s not as though he’s saying no, he just has stuff he needs to do, probably errands or laundry, you rationalized in your head. You decided to try to not let it get to you and flipped over to Taehyung’s message, typing a response. Yep, sounds good. JK might come too.

Taehyung: Sweet. Yoongi’s coming too.

-

The restaurant Taehyung picked for lunch was absolutely packed when you arrived. You looked around at the bustling tables, waiters carrying large plates of food through the aisles, playing human dodgeball with the guests getting up and or sitting down.

“Y/N! Over here!”

You followed the sound of the voice, and saw Taehyung seated with Yoongi at a table in the back corner and you made your way over.

“Hey guys,” you greeted them as you took a seat in the booth beside Taehyung. “Yoongi, I haven’t seen you in so long, how have you been? I heard just got back from Spain, how was it?”

“It was lovely,” he responded simply. You smiled at this, Yoongi was always so straightforward. Not curt, but he always only said exactly what was necessary and not a word more. He was always a nice contrast to Taehyung, who’s constantly talking about some kind of nonsense or another.

“Where’s JK? I thought you said he was coming,” Taehyung asked as the waitress walked away with your menus after taking your orders.

“Oh, uh” you glanced down at your phone which you’d been clutching in your hand the whole morning, expecting a text from him. “He said he might, but he’s pretty busy today.”

“Sooo what’s going on there?”

You looked up and saw Taehyung staring at you, face resting against his hand, elbow propped up on the table, eyebrow raised.

“What?”

“What do you mean what?” he rolled his eyes. “You and JK? You and that guy you left with at the bar on Friday? Spill.”

You took a sip of one of the bloody marys the waitress brought over for the table and told Taehyung and Yoongi everything from the past two days.

“So then he gives me this giant Chanel box, I haven’t opened it yet, but I guess since Jungkook and I talked, I don’t think I’m gonna go with Jimin to that event. But I thought things would be great since JK and I talked about us, you know? So I asked him to come out to lunch today, but he’s doing that thing again, where he’s being distant. He hasn’t said anything to me at all today...what?” you looked up to see Taehyung’s brows wrinkled in a frown at you.

“Y/N, babe,” he reached out and patted your hand condescendingly. “What’s wrong with playing the field?” he lifted his hands up, shrugging his shoulders. “On the one hand, you’ve got JK, who you finally found out that after years of you liking him, he likes you too. On the other hand, you have this guy who is rich as fuck, who’s driving you around in a McLaren P1, buying you expensive things, and asking you out to fancy dates? What the hell’s wrong with you, what’s that depressed look on your face for? Just enjoy it! Yoongi, back me up here!” he gestured at a quiet Yoongi, who sat across from the two of you, listening while taking sips of black coffee, saying nothing.

“Tae, that doesn’t help. Look, I want to commit to something with JK since we talked, but it’s just- I don’t know, I still feel like something’s off, like he’s saying all the right things, but he’s still being distant-”

“Why do you like JK?” you heard Yoongi say.

You looked at him, astonished that he’s actually participating in this conversation, the type of conversation he would normally prefer to stay out of because it was ‘shenanigans.’

“Well, I mean, I’ve liked him since college..”

“That’s not why you like him.”

“I know,” you pursed your lips, thinking. “He’s gets me. He’s a perfect complement to me. I’m a bit messy, and he’s super neat. I work off my gut, and he’s deliberate and methodical. And he always seems to know exactly what I need - a chill night in, just sitting on the couch eating junk food, or watching a sad movie just to cry it out.”

“Mhmm, and do you like this Jimin?” Yoongi asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“I mean..I do..I did,” you quickly corrected, staring down at your plate of food, pushing a french fry around.

“And why do you like him?”

You thought about this for a moment. Yoongi’s question brought to mind images of Jimin’s eyes, smiling sweetly at you from behind strands of his silver hair being blown by the breeze, shimmering in the afternoon sun, holding onto your hand, laughing his infectious laugh.

“He’s so...light..” you began. “I feel..everything’s just so easy with him, he’s so light, he’s always smiling, always laughing. Even when something is serious, he has such a childlike and bright-eyed disposition towards it…he makes me want to run around in the grass with him and just laugh all day..” You looked up to see Yoongi looking down at the cup of coffee in front of him, his hand lingering on the handle.

“Y/N, I’m gonna say something, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way,” he prefaced before continuing. “I mean, listen to the way you just described the two of them. Are you sure you really like JK? Or do you just like that after years of wanting him, you’ve finally got your prize, and the fact that he makes you feel like you’re always on the verge of losing him is just keeping you tethered to him for no good reason?”

You frowned at this. “No, that’s not true, I love JK.” You said the words and you heard the way you said it, placing that emphasis on the word love, as though you were trying to convince them of it. You sighed, looking down at your hands in your lap. “I’ve loved him for years..”

You turned and looked up at Taehyung, who exchanged a nervous glance with Yoongi.

He leaned over to look at you. “Yoongi’s right, Y/N, like, your eyes literally lit up when you started talking about Jimin.”

You scooted back in your seat, shaking your head. “No, he’s just a distraction, the only reason I even left with him on Friday night was because I was jealous of the way Yuri was all over JK,” you muttered, tightening your grip around the fork in your hand. “You guys just don’t understand.”

-

You threw your purse onto the table when you walked into the apartment, plopping down onto the couch, huffing at the whole conversation you just had with Yoongi and Taehyung.

They just don’t get it, you thought. They weren’t there when Jungkook comforted you over your breakup with your ex. They weren’t there every time he would show up at your door, the way he would take care of you, making you food, knowing exactly how you like your coffee made, letting you hog the blanket whenever the two of you were snuggled together on the couch watching a movie because he knew you were always cold. He got you.

Then you heard Taehyung’s voice in your head - Your eyes literally lit up when you started talking about Jimin.

Looking down, you saw the corner of the garment box sticking out from under your couch. You reached down and picked it up, setting it down on the coffee table. You stared at the top for a few moments before reaching down, tugging the giant satin bow loose. You brushed the excess ribbon away and lifted the top open.

You gently flipped through the layers of tissue paper and heard yourself gasp when you saw the dress. As gently as possible, you lifted the delicate silk material up by two thin gossamer strings that held up a bodice of lace, silk, and tiny crystals, sewn into the lining. You set the dress down into its little tissue paper bed and stood up, pacing through your living room.

Are you sure you really like JK? You heard Yoongi’s voice in your head say.

You stopped in front of the coffee table, looking down at the dress, and decided you would go to Jimin’s event tonight. It’ll prove once and for all that you don’t actually have any feelings for him, you only loved Jungkook. And maybe as a fringe benefit, you’d still be able to have Jimin as a friend going forward.

-

It was 7:55 and you were standing in the courtyard of your apartment complex, pacing, moving about stiffly because you had no idea how to move in such a delicate dress, afraid you might step on the hem or accidentally tear one of the straps if your range of motion was too big.

“Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of a familiar voice, and saw Jimin standing in the stone entryway, hands in his pockets, eyes wide, staring at you as you turned around, his lips parting slightly.

He was wearing a black sweater, tucked neatly into a pair of black pants, under a long gray coat, a silver chain hanging around his neck, matching the silver of his hair blowing easily in the wind.

“H-Hey..” you brushed at the gown nervously. “Um..I didn’t hear your car come up.”

He took a few steps toward you. “I took the limo,” he reached his hands out and took you by the hands, spinning you around. “It comes with a driver,” he looked at you, eyes soft and slightly tired. “This is unbelievable..”

You felt your cheeks become hot. “Oh no, am I wearing this dress wrong? It’s just, I’ve never seen a dress so fancy it doesn’t even come with a tag, I couldn’t tell which was the front and which was the back,” you looked down at the dress, embarrassed. “Or is it the hair, is it too much?” you reached a hand up, tugging at your wavy strands.

He reached out and took your hands in his, waiting til you settled enough to look him in his eyes. “You’re stunning,” he said, his voice soft.

He led you out to the limousine where the driver stood, holding the door open for you. You got in, and Jimin slid into the seat adjacent from you, beside the window.

He sat quietly in his seat the entire drive to the venue.

You watched him nervously, looking up occasionally at his profile as he rested his elbow on the edge of the window, his fingers brushing at his lips as he looked out the window. You’d never seen him like this, you thought. He didn’t look upset or anything, but he wasn’t his usual cheery, smiling self. You wondered if something was wrong.

When the limousine came to a stop and the driver came around the open the door, Jimin stepped out first, holding a hand out to help you step out onto the sidewalk to an imposing glass and marble entrance, lined with lights, a row of black town cars and limousines along the sidewalk, backed up into the street, full of people who must’ve also been attending this event.  

He led you into the venue, to an elevator that rose 60 stories above the city, opening up to a rooftop terrace.

“Wow..” you gasped when the elevator doors opened, and you stepped out onto the stone terrace. There were men and women dressed in evening gowns and suits, some standing in clusters, engaged in conversation, others seated in sofas and chairs that looked like they were made of vintage upholstery, sipping drinks from crystal glasses, as an amber sun rose below a purple horizon in the distance.

“What..kind of work event is this?” you asked, eyes wide.

Jimin finally laughed, taking your hand and leading you to the bar.

“Y/N?” you heard someone call your name as Jimin picked up two glasses of champagne and handed one to you.

You turned and saw Namjoon walk up, eyes squinted in disbelief at the sight of you in that gown.

“Hey, Namjoon, what are you doing here?” you reached an arm up around his neck, giving him a hug, surprised to see him at such an event.

“One of my investors invited me here tonight. The better question is what are you doing here, looking like that?” his jaw dropped, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, staring at you.

You laughed, “Um, I’m here with a friend, this is Jimin..”

Jimin held out his hand to Namjoon, “Hi man, how do you do?”

“Holy shit, Park Jimin? Oh shit, I mean, oh crap, sorry please excuse me, I just,” Namjoon stuttered, shaking his hand, utter shock on his face. “I didn’t know you were Park Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you turned and saw an older gentleman walk up to the bar, arm in arm with a woman in a black evening gown who you assumed must’ve been his wife based on the giant art deco ring on her left hand. “Happy birthday, my boy,” he said, reaching a hand out.

Jimin stood back, shaking his hand. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“What a lovely event as always, dear, we look forward to this all year,” his wife smiled, picking up a glass of champagne from the bar.

“Is your father around?” the older gentleman asked.

You saw Jimin’s jaw clench at the question.

“No, I haven’t seen him yet. I’ll be sure to tell him to find you when I see him,” he said, and you felt goosebumps rise on your skin, shuddering slightly upon seeing his eyes suddenly go dark at the question, his tone coming out with a cold and stern edge, a severe departure from the sunny and cheery disposition you were used to seeing him with.

“Be sure to have him give us the name of his event planner too, will you dear? This is absolutely marvelous, I must have them plan my next party,” his wife asked as they both turned to walk away.

“Certainly,” Jimin answered, and as soon as they turned their backs, you watched as he raised the champagne chute to his lips, downing the entire drink in one gulp. “Whiskey neat,” he said to one of the bartenders, setting the empty glass down.

“Yo, Jimin!”

You opened your mouth to say something but the voice of someone calling Jimin’s name stopped you before you could. Across a few clusters of people gathered in conversation, you saw a young man about Jimin’s height, with black hair slicked back, in a sharp suit and tie, bearing a remarkable resemblance to Jimin, motioning for him to go over.

The bartender set the whiskey glass on the counter in front of him and he lifted it to his lips, downing it before turning to you, and obviously forcing a smile, said, “Please wait here a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Dude, so that guy from the bar on Friday was Park Jimin? Holy shit, you are here with Park Jimin?” Namjoon gushed, punching you in the arm jokingly. “Duuude, nice pull, Y/N!”

“He didn’t tell me it was his birthday..” you said softly to yourself, staring after him as he approached the young man with the black hair, who held his arms out for a hug while Jimin hesitated for a moment, before returning his hug.

“Huh? What was that?” Namjoon asked, taking a sip of champagne.

“Namjoon, who’s that guy Jimin’s talking to?” you asked, gesturing over toward the two of them.

“Oh, that’s Park Jihyun. Oooh he must be Jimin’s younger brother. Oh man, I guess I should’ve known that when I saw Jimin, it all makes sense now, they look so much alike, he’s basically an older version of Jihyun.”

He has a little brother? You thought to yourself, looking at the two of them, Jihyun smiling, holding onto Jimin’s shoulder and walking him around to various guests to greet them, and Jimin obliged, forcing a smile.

The evening dragged on and you sat on a sofa with Namjoon, chatting with a few of his colleagues that were also at the party and losing count of how many glasses of champagne you’ve had.  You couldn’t tear your gaze from Jimin, who was pulled from group to group. He would occasionally look around for you, and when his eyes met yours, he would mouth the words “I’m sorry” and you’d muster a smile, shaking your head, mouthing “it’s okay” back to him.

“Hey, Namjoon, I’m gonna go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” you stood, heading back into the building, tipsy and struggling to find your balance in your heels.  

At the end of the hall, you saw a sign for the ladies room and pushed the door open to a dimly lit powder room, with a large vintage mirror above bronze sinks, a velvet sofa in the corner, and a group of girls who turned and stared at you as you entered, halting all conversation.

You smiled nervously, and walked over to one of the sinks, running cold water over your hands and patting your warm cheeks. You looked at your reflection, wondering what the heck you were doing here.

“Excuse me,” you said softly, ducking behind one of the girls and picked up a cloth towel from a marble vanity plate and dried your hands before turning and walking out.

“Oh my god, is that her?” you heard one of them say as the bathroom door closed behind you.

“I’ve never seen her around before,” another chimed in.

“She’s obviously not a society girl, I mean, did you see her hair? She probably did it herself. What’s Jimin thinking?” the third one said and the three of them burst into laughter.

You scoffed, turning and walking back down the hallway, saw Jimin and Jihyun walk across the open space down the other corridor. You turned the corner and saw them enter a room at the end of the hall, and you followed behind them, stopping beside the slightly ajar double mahogany doors.

“Happy birthday, son,” you heard a voice say.

Through the crack in the door you saw Jimin seated in a leather armchair, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. Across from him sat an older man in a dark navy suit, his grey hair expertly groomed, wisps of white at his temples, and Jihyun stood beside his chair.

You quickly turned, leaning back against the wall, knowing that this was a private conversation, but still wanting to know what’s happening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back from your trip for this,” you heard Jimin say.

“Don’t be absurd, of course I’m going to attend my son’s birthday celebration,” you heard the man say.

Jimin sighed, “You’re not actually here for my birthday, so why don’t we just cut to the chase and you tell me what’s going on?”

Peeking through the crack in the door, you saw Jihyun hand a stack of papers to Jimin.

“What’s this?” he asked, flipping through the pages.

“I’m taking over Park Industries,” Jihyun announced, standing up tall, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Jimin looked up at him for a moment, and then looked at his father. He scoffed, nodding and tossing the stack of papers aside onto a table, standing up. “That’s great, Jihyun, I’m really proud of you. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m going to go back outside-”

“Sit down, son,” his father said. “There’s no reason for you to take this tone, you’ve known for a while now that this would be happening.”

“And it’s not like we’re cutting you out. You’re still on the board, you still own 16% of the enterprise,” Jihyun added.

You saw Jimin nod again, and turn to walk towards the door, and you quickly backed away.

“Jimin, Jimin, wait,” you heard Jihyun call out as Jimin threw the door open, walking out, and you had already turned the corner down the hall. “Jimin, he asked me to take over the company officially two weeks ago, what was I supposed to do, say no? I’ve already been helping him with everything for a couple of years, and you haven’t even been around-”

“Jihyun, what are you doing?” you heard Jimin say. “I mean, all your life, you’ve done exactly what he said. Boarding school, Stanford, Wharton, and now this? Don’t you wanna live your life? You wanna be his slave your whole life?”

“That’s not fair..”

You heard Jimin’s steps moving closer and Jihyun’s voice stopped him. “Jimin, dad also wants to know when he can officially announce your engagement with Miya.”

You felt all air escape your lungs.

“Who’s that girl you brought here tonight? All the other girls were talking about it. You shouldn’t be so unscrupulous, you’re lucky Miya is in France with her family this month.”

“Jihyun, I’m not getting engaged to Miya.”

You heard Jihyun let out an exasperated sigh. “Brother, can you please for once in your life just do the right thing?”

A few moments of silence passed before you heard Jimin respond. “Can you for once in your life just do something for yourself?”

You turned quickly, running towards the elevators in the opposite corridor. You’d heard enough. You hit the button to call the elevator and the door opened and you stepped inside, hitting the lobby button repeatedly, hoping the door would close before Jimin emerged from the hallway and saw you.

When the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened, you flew threw them, across the marble reception, and outside onto the sidewalk. You could feel your heart thumping in your chest, and you clutched onto your stomach, wondering why there was such a painful knot in your gut. You thought you had to get out of there.

Reaching into your purse, you took out your phone, scrolling to Jungkook’s name and hitting the ‘call’ button. It rang and rang and rang, and finally it went to voicemail. You held the phone in your hand, anxiously opening a text message to him.

“Y/N?”

You looked up and saw Jimin walking down the steps from the entrance toward you.

“Are you alright?” he reached a hand out to take your hand but you turned away. “Y/N, what’s happened,” he asked sternly, putting his hands in his pockets.

You took a deep breath before turning to face him. “I heard your conversation just now,” you began, as steadily as you could manage in this moment with your adrenaline pumping and your heart racing a mile a minute. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I was just coming out of the bathroom and saw you and your brother..”

He listened to you calmly, an unreadable expression on his face.

“All of this, Jimin?” you looked around at the black limousines lined up along the sidewalk, the groups of men and women in designer clothes, at the tall glass and steel building where his birthday party was being held. “It’s not me, like I couldn’t be further removed from this whole other world you live in.”

You looked back at him and froze, seeing him looking back at you, the corners of his mouth dropped, his jaw tight, and his eyes glassy under the light of the street lamps.

He looked away, laughing softly, sniffing. “It’s not me either,” he turned back to face you, a dejected smile on his face.

“Jimin..” you regretted how harshly your words came out.

“Are you leaving?” he asked, looking at the phone in your hand and you looked down at the half composed message you were writing to Jungkook. You looked up and saw Jimin still smiling back at you and you felt a heavy weight on your chest. “Don’t leave,” he said quietly. “Please.”

-

“When my mother passed away six years ago,” he continued, refilling the empty glasses in front of you with a cold bottle of tequila. “I took it really hard.”

You sat on the soft cushions of the bench in a large bay window of Jimin’s penthouse apartment, wrapped in a chenille blanket. He had changed into a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and sat across from you, one leg propped up, the other hanging over the edge of the bench, taking a shot from the glass. The large open space of his apartment was completely quiet except for his soft voice and yours, and the light pitter patter of rain hitting the window.

“That’s completely understandable, it was your mom..” you said quietly, also drinking the shot he poured you.

He let out a wry laugh. “Not for my father,” he poured another shot. “I quit Penn for a few years and kinda went on a bender. In retrospect, it’s my fault that my brother’s getting locked into my dad’s plans. If I hadn’t left, maybe my dad would’ve gone easier on him, I could’ve taken some of the hit.” He tossed another shot back and you did the same.

“But you know, sometimes I look at Jihyun and..I mean sometimes I think he actually really wants this. He actually wants to take over the company. It’s not some kind of obligation for him, he really wants it. And not for the prestige, he just...he just really wants to do the right thing for our father.” He sighed, shaking his head. “How’d he get this kind of discipline? I certainly didn’t set the example for him. All I did was run around doing whatever I wanted, I had no sense of responsibility.” He sighed, catching your gaze. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

You looked back at him, confused. “Look at you like what?”

“Like you empathize with me,” he said, looking down. “Like you understand.”

You were taken aback by this, frowning, “You don’t want me to understand you? You want me to look at you coldly and say some generic shit like don’t worry, it’s all gonna work out? I’m trying to be supportive-”

He leaned forward, cupping your face in his hand, and pressed his lips to yours.

“Mm, Jimin, stop..” you mumbled against him, pushing him away gently.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he pulled away, his hand lingering at your jaw. “I’ve been so good all night, keeping my distance, but you looking at me like that, like I know that you understand and hear me, it makes me crazy..”

“Jimin-”

You felt his hand slide to the base of your neck, his thumb gliding across your skin, taking ahold of you. He leaned forward, molding his lips against yours once again, and you felt your eyelids fall shut, like an involuntary response to the feeling of his lips on yours, like you couldn’t help it.

He scooted closer to you, reaching his arms down around your waist, pulling you into him and felt your muscles relax against him, but quickly caught yourself.

“Mm, no, Jimin, wait,” you stood up, backing away clumsily, shaking your head. “I can’t, I can’t do this,” you turned and moved towards the front door, putting all the energy you could control in your drunken haze into defying the magnetic pull you felt towards him that was keeping you from walking away.

“Y/N…” you looked up, hearing Jimin call out your name and saw him walk towards you, his shoulders slumped down, a shadow over his eyes.

You sat down onto the floor, wrangling with the straps on your heels in agitation, your mind foggy and clouded with frustration and confusion, unsure what to do. You heard him take in a deep breath, before kneeling down in front of you, touching your hands gently. He reached for the straps of your heels, tying them with ease. He took your hands and helped you stand, and refused to let go.

“Jimin-”

He stepped forward, making you take a step back, and you felt the cold of the concrete door hitting your back. You felt him grab ahold of your wrists, pinning them behind you and holding them there with one hand. With his free hand he grabbed your jaw, lifting your face up to his, and pushed his lips into yours.

You looked at him, wide-eyed, fighting every urge to close your eyes, the sensation of his lips against yours, his hand sliding down to the base of your neck, pushing you against the door behind you, his body pressing against yours firmly, making it difficult to turn away.

He let your hands go, but you felt the palm of his hand against your hip, his fingers digging into your skin, holding you against him, not allowing you the space to move.

“Jimin-” you managed to get out through the movements of his lips against yours. His lips are so warm, you thought, and so soft against yours. The warmth of his body against you, the smell of his cologne thinning the air around you made you dizzy and you felt your eyes fluttering closed as your ability to fight waned, you felt as though you were melting against his body.

You were barely able to lift your arms up, your hands forming tiny, ineffectual fists against his chest as his lips slid to the corner of your mouth, tracing your jaw, finding your neck. The feeling of his lips, the heat of his breath on the skin of your neck sent a shiver down your spine.

“Jimin..” you panted through his movements, feeling his hand slide down the side of your thigh. He pulled your leg up and wrapped it around his hips, and you felt a moan escape your throat as he pushed his pelvis against you and you could feel how hard he was through the thin material of your dress now bunched up at your waist.

You made a feeble attempt to push his chest away, “Jimin, we can’t do this-”

At your words, you felt his lips open against the base of your neck, and you felt his tongue sliding over your skin. “So tell me to stop,” he whispered against your skin, the low and resonating sound of his voice sending waves through your body. But you were unable to say anything, the words refused to come out.

He slid his hands over your shoulders, brushing the straps of your dress loose and he tugged at the material forcefully and you heard the sound of the fabric tearing. He pulled the dress from your body, letting it drop to the floor. Reaching around you, he unhooked your lace bralette with ease, tossing it aside before reaching down and looping his fingers around the satin ties of your panties, untying them and letting them fall to the floor.

He stood, looking at your naked body before him for a moment, his chest rising and falling, out of breath and in an instant, his lips found yours again, this time with more force, pushing your mouth open and his tongue fell on yours, completely overpowering you. Your head fell back languidly, as though your limbs had succumbed entirely to him, turning to jello. You felt his hands reaching around you, tracing the dimples in your back before sliding down, taking your ass in his hands, squeezing roughly.

“Fuck..Jimin-” You moaned against his lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he hissed, as though he was challenging you not to give into him, his low voice gravelly as he reached down and pulled his shirt over his head. He pushed forwards, and the feeling of the warmth and softness of the skin of his chest against you made you shake.

His tongue continued to roll over yours, pressing his face against yours hard, making it difficult to breathe. He moved his lips to your collarbone, biting and sucking, creating a little trail of blood clots in your skin as he moved down your chest, your stomach until he was kneeling in front of you. He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with need. Jimin slid a hand to your inner thigh, the warmth of his palm burned against your sensitive skin. He pushed your leg up, draping it over his shoulder.

You were about to open your mouth to say something when you saw him lean down, and felt his tongue press into you, making you gasp. You could feel every bump and ridge of his tongue moving against you, his lips closing onto you, sucking at you, and you reached your arm over your head, your nails scratched against the door, grasping at anything you could hold onto to brace yourself.

Jimin looped his arm around your leg over his shoulder, reaching his fingers down to massage your clit, making your body squirm against him. You felt your breathing become ragged, your heart pounding against your chest and he pulled away suddenly. He stood, reaching down, sliding the edge of his sweatpants below his hips. You moaned in anticipation as he leaned forward, his mouth finding yours and you could taste yourself on his lips, his tongue, and you could feel your wetness gliding down your thigh. Jimin slid his sweatpants and briefs from his legs, and reached out, pulling your leg over his waist and pressed against you.

A small gasp escaped your lips when you felt his tip press against you, gliding against your clit, coated in your wetness.

“Fuck..Y/N..”

He continued pressing his tip lazily against you, teasing you, making you whine into his lips, yearning for him. “Jimin..please..”

A grin formed on his lips as he positioned himself at your entrance, “Yes?” he teased, tormenting you.

You pushed your hips against him, wanting him, begging to have him inside you, feeling yourself dripping around him.

“What do you want?” he whispered into your mouth, sucking on your lower lip, and you groaned in frustration against him.

“Jimin..please...I want you inside me..” you begged.

“Yeah?” you felt him reach his hand down, rubbing the tip of his cock against you before pushing into you just slightly, making you gasp at the sensation of him opening you up. “Like this?” his hot breath against your skin felt like electric pulses rushing through your body. He looked down at you, a fiery need in his eyes as you tried to push your hips against him. “More?” he asked, his lips finding your neck, latching on and sucking at your skin, making you throw your head back at the sensation of him taking complete control of your body. He pushed in deeper with an agonizing slowness and all you could think about was wanting to feel him pushing in and out of you.

He pulled out slightly, slowly, before pushing his full length back inside you, the sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you made you shake, completely overwhelming you. Jimin moved his hips against you slowly, his pelvic bone pushing against your clit each time he pushed back into you, and you completely melted around him, the pleasure building in your core, your breathing growing more and more ragged as he bit into the skin of your neck.

Jimin could tell he had you at the very edge. He pulled his head back, giving you soft kisses as he slowed his pace, not allowing you to have all of him. You moaned into his lips, wanting him back, wanting more.

“Do you want me to make you cum?” he grinned, his lips forcing your mouth open, his tongue rolling over yours. You nodded, kissing him back in desperation, your head dizzy and vision blurry, unable to think of anything except the aching need within you.

“Yes..Jimin...please..” you choked out between panting breaths. He pushed himself deep inside you, quickening his pace, feeling your climax build.

“Do I feel that good Y/N?” his grin grew, the feeling of his warm breath against your skin, his cock pushing deeper and deeper into you drove you to the edge. “Do you like having me so deep inside you?” he pressed on, his voice a low growl. You felt your eyes roll back as you tightened around him. “Fuck..Y/N….fuck..I’m coming..”

He drove his mouth into yours, covering the scream that would’ve escaped your lungs as your whole body shook underneath his, his fingers digging into your skin, holding your body flush against his as you both rode out your orgasm.

You suddenly felt for the first time how cold the air was in his apartment as the sensitivity slowly wore off and you felt him pull himself from you. You leaned your head back against the door, eyes still closed, world still spinning and felt his soft lips planting gentle kisses on your cheek, his arms sliding lazily around your waist.

You opened your eyes and found him looking back at you, his eyes sleepy, his skin glowing in the dim light.

Shit.

“Are you alright?” he whispered, planting feather-soft kisses on your lips, smiling.

“Um..I’m fine,” you pulled away, leaning down to pull the dress back up to your shoulders, finding that he ripped the strap and bodice when he tore the dress from your body earlier.

“Here, let me get you something to wear,” he took you by the hand, leading you past the kitchen to the closet and you held your arm across your chest in an attempt to hold the dress up.

He pulled a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt down from the shelf, and told you to drop the dress as he slid the shirt over your head. You stepped out of the silk and lace puddle and slid your legs into the sweatpants before leaning over and picking up the dress, bundling it in your arms. He slid on a new pair of briefs and put on a long sleeve shirt and a pair of sweatpants as well.

“Um, I’ll get this to a seamstress and return it to you once it’s fixed,” You said frigidly, brushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

He reached a hand out for your waist but you turned, backing out of the closet.

“Y/N..” he followed behind you.

You grabbed your purse from the counter and moved towards the front door. “Jimin..look I...I have to go,” you turned the knob and he stopped you, grabbing ahold of your arm.

“Y/N, it’s 2 in the morning and there’s a thunderstorm outside,” he sighed, looking at you with a concerned expression. “Stay the night, I’ll take you home in the morning.”

You shook your head. “No Jimin, I can’t stay I-” you turned to look at him. “This was a mistake. I have to go, ok?”

His brows knit together and he reached his arms out, sliding them around your waist and pulling you in. “How can you say that, Y/N..look at me,” he reached a hand up and took ahold of your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Are you still thinking about Jungkook? After everything? Look me in the eye and tell me you still want him.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot as a rush of liquid came to your tear ducts.

“Jimin, let me go,” you breathed, grabbing onto his forearms and tearing his hands from you.

“Y/N..” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let me at least drive you, it’s pouring outside.”

-

You sat in the passenger side of his car as close to the door as possible, wanting as much distance between your body and his as you could manage. You stared out the window, heart pounding, fingers nervously picking at your cuticles, and Jimin noticed.

He drove swiftly through the thunderstorm, pulling up to the outside of your complex. You had your hand already on the door handle, sliding it up before the car even came to a full stop, running out into the rain.

“Y/N!” he called after you, running up behind you, throwing open an umbrella.

“Y/N-”

You looked up, brushing the hair that’s been stuck to your forehead from the rain and froze, seeing Jungkook stand up from the bench under the awning by the security desk. He looked at you, eyes widening as they saw the little marks on your neck, that you were wearing Jimin’s clothes, the dress in your arms.

You saw his teeth clench as he lunged forwards toward Jimin, winding his arm back and you stepped in front of him. “JK! JK, don’t!” You raised your hands up, pushing his chest, but fell backward a little yourself. You ran your hands along his arms, “Hey, hey, don’t do this ok? Hey, JK-”

He threw his arms up, flinging your hands aside, “What the fuck did you do Y/N?” he yelled, turning and raising his hands to his ears. “What the fuck did you do?!” He took a step toward you, making you jump, and Jimin stepped in front of you, pushing him back.

“Y/N, get back in the car.”

“What did you do,” over Jimin’s shoulder you could see Jungkook slam his back against the stone wall, sliding down to the ground, his head in his hands.

“No, Jimin, you should leave,” you pushed past him, kneeling in front of Jungkook, trying to pry his hands from his face.

“Y/N..” Jimin moved toward you.

“Just go!”

You turned to face Jungkook, still huddled against the wall and in your periphery you saw Jimin lean down to pick up his umbrella, his hair and clothes drenched, and you could tell he stood looking at you for a moment before turning and walking out. You heard the engine of his car turnover, and its echo as it roared down the street, leaving nothing but the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement and water splashing from the rain gutter above.