#and you think he is about to flip into a jealous fit and get violent

[yanderes-galore]

Craig from South Park romantic concept, please?????

Sure! Aged up as usual, this may take place after a break up with Tweek but it's left vague. Up to you! Hope you like it anyway.

Yandere! Craig Tucker Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Stalking, Violence, Manipulation, Threats, Murder, Slight jealousy, Forced relationship.

Craig is someone who's hard to read.

He's stoic and apathetic, he rarely shows emotion unless it's something like anger.

He's also rarely smiling and often looks bored.

In fact he prefers to be left alone.

If he had an obsession it would be under the radar for a long time.

Craig wouldn't show it to anyone including his obsession.

Craig would be observing and slightly jealous at times.

It's really hard to get a yandere behavior for him as he isn't very emotional.

He's unpredictable which makes him a bit of a wild card to his darling.

Not even close friends really know what he's thinking in terms of you.

Craig would stalk but not really obsessively.

Some days he just wants to follow you.

If you ask about it he'll say it's a coincidence or tell you not to worry about it.

You'd think he hates you as he has such a blank and bored stare.

He also flips you off sometimes.

Craig does care for you, it's just in his own way.

Unpredictable yanderes can be dangerous.

They're either so insane they're unpredictable...

Or they are nearly unreadable in personality.

Craig happens to be the second one.

Although the obsession is there.

He keeps note on who's around you from a distance.

Craig is a skilled fighter and is sometimes violent when pushed.

If he didn't like someone around you then he'd plan a way to beat them up.

Only then do they know how obsessive he is of you.

Craig has a crush on you but not many know it.

Mostly because if they did then they run the risk of Craig finding out-

Craig feels he'll tell you when he wants to.

For now he's happy just watching you from a distance.

Although at some point he is going to show more hints.

Craig is around you a lot more when he feels ready to ease into his crush.

You even become part of Craig's gang (Clyde, Jimmy, Tolkien, and Tweek I think).

It's strange to join the group but Craig says you'll fit in.

It's really just a way to get you closer.

When he is eventually affectionate, it's minimal.

Quick hugs, a kiss, arm over the shoulder, he isn't really one for it.

Craig just likes your company when he eventually gets you to date.

It takes awhile for him to show you he loves you.

Although he continues to beat people up around you in private.

His gang actually begins to fear the rumors about him.

Even Tweek starts to fidget more than normal.

You have no idea how dangerous Craig can be and he's next to you all the time.

Even when you're dating he's still violent.

You can only hope someone doesn't set him off.

He doesn't have anger issues, in fact it's hard to tell.

You just have no idea when he decides he's jealous enough to bother.

Craig is the type of yandere that's dangerous when he wants to be.

He'd pick fights or even murder in private and there's enough rumors that people stay away.

Which is fine for him, it keeps people away from you.

He likes that.

Craig probably would not kidnap unless he needs to and he's only affectionate in small amounts.

If you tried to leave him, he'd threaten you.

Not like a threat full of anger or sadness...

But a threat so void of emotion it frightens you.

In the most deadpan voice ever, Craig could threaten to lock you in his house or hurt your family if you left.

Which leaves you silent, almost peeing yourself, while Craig goes off to do something else.

While Craig is unpredictable he'll watch his behavior if you keep your attention on him.

You don't really have a choice anyways with his threats... which he will definitely see through to the end.

[hithelleth]

I saw.

[banqdanfnfic]

which, as they kiss, consume | jjk

you just wanted to get a tattoo from your boyfriend

pairing: tattoo artist!jk x reader

genre: established relationships au, tattoo artist au, smut

word count: 4k

warnings: unprotected sex, biting, making out, grinding, licking, nipple play, jk has a lip ring, oral (f receiving), fingering, shy jk and oc, sexual tension, slight choking, slight aftercare

♫ : Streets by Doja Cat, Candy by Doja Cat

♡ Aesthetics: Playlist | Moodboard

He visibly chokes on his glass of beer as he almost snaps his neck to meet your gaze. He could say that you were awfully drunk and hence the sudden confession out of the blue, but behind your heavy lidded eyes, Jungkook could sense that you were serious.

“You what?”, he gulps abruptly, moving closer to your face, doe eyes pleading to repeat yourself.

“Yes Kook. I want that tattoo on my breasts. I’ve decided”.

It’s not that Jungkook didn’t have experience in his career with inking on different parts of a human body. He just had never given a tattoo to someone who is romantically associated with him and the thought of seeing you half naked made him chuck down the rest of his drink in one go.

The most physical he had ever gotten with you was a kiss shared occasionally since it’s only been over two weeks you had started dating. Okay maybe you made out once in his car but that’s it. It never got to the point of shedding clothes or anything intense.

“Are you sure?”

You giggle at the sudden hoarseness in his voice and nod positive. Ironic how his aura never matched his personality. His inked skin, athletic body proportions covered in black monochrome bad boy outfits gave out default energy that he is a local heartthrob with multiple chicks wrapped around his finger each night and a heavy demeanor to carry in his smirk.

You were one of those believers until Jungkook asked you out in the most hopeless romantic way possible after constantly visiting the café you work in, a few shops besides his parlor. He was a gentleman with respectful boundaries, warm hands to hold yours and sweet sensual kisses though you are pretty sure he probably has a good game.

For any outsider it looked like those cliché bad boy and shy girl love stories, but for real both of you were a good percentage of introverts.

Jungkook runs his tongue around his lip ring while he is stressfully ruffling his dark locks into a mess. He is trying to explain his reasons to postpone your decision considering how shy he got at this point. But then that’s exactly why you were requesting him with soft eyes, it would be so uncomfortable to be shirtless in front of anybody else. Or maybe it’s your way of saying the relationship is open for higher levels of physical affection.

After debating around in vain, he finally hums and clears one of his slots for his beloved client.

Friday approaches way quicker than you assumed and now your heart is beating in your throat. Right after you are done cleaning the tables, you have to make it to Jungkook’s parlor for your appointment.

Running on three hours of sleep, black under eyes even after a decent amount of makeup, you groan as you check yourself out in the mirror. You opted for a simple shirt and skirt (also known as the outfit you bought for occasions with Jungkook), light beach waves resting on your shoulders. Hoping that a few cups of coffee will save you, you stride across the street to stop before the infamous parlor he worked in. Hopefully the full body shave and chocolate body butter has kept its excellence on your skin below the clothing.

The door chimes as it opens with a dragged creak on the musky wooden flooring. It felt like an otherworld where air smelled like men’s perfume and faint tint of cigarettes. In other words, intoxicating.

You ask the first person you meet at the reception, one of Jungkook’s companions at the shop and he assists you to his cabin located at a comfortably remote location.

His space is hidden with a simple black curtain. You are met with Jungkook’s back facing you, working determinately on a client’s arm and cares to spare a glance only when the guy with you is informing him about your presence.

“This will be over in a few”, he grins to your face and goes back to focusing his coil on the skin of a woman in her late twenties laying down his chair. The vibration from his inking machine fills in the silence and you excuse yourself to sit on a small black couch beside them.

This was the first time watching him at work and now you can understand why people rumored so much about his attitude because damn it is intimidating.

Brows knit together and inked muscles flex as he drags the needles around for finishing touches. Meanwhile you can pretty much smell the drool from the woman who is shamelessly checking out your boyfriend. Though you are pretty sure Jungkook gets such glances more than he can count every day, you can’t help but feel jealous. Partly because of the childish possessiveness and partly because you want to be the reason behind his dark eyes and intricate concentration, in profession or not.

To stop from mentally throwing daggers on the client’s way, you grab a random fashion magazine from the side table and flip through pages, though other four senses are inclined on your man. With a close attention to his low sigh you conclude that he is done.

The customer with now a fresh tattoo on her arm is discussing random useless topics to get him to talk, a very vain job realizing how Jungkook doesn’t bat a friendly lash at anybody, especially to those who hit on him. To be honest a large part of the ink business was linked with the obsession to attractive people who worked here, even if it meant trading an area of your skin. You grip the edges of the magazine a bit hard, not able to contain the sanity particularly at the high pitch voice she mumbles in before finally leaving his cabin.

A little excited and a lot nervous, you stand up as Jungkook bids goodbye to the third person.

He is quick to notice your discomfort, though not sure if it was the woman or the thought of finally getting the tattoo, he knew you were nervous and surviving in several cups of espresso by the dark circles slowly showing through the faded layers of your concealer. But nothing pulls down the opinion he has about you, beautiful and simple, no dramatics attached.

“Hey are you okay?”

You nod as soon as you sit down on the black tattoo chair, shifting a little to find a comfortable position. He is taking out a box full of equipment and fine needles, already making you break a sweat at the side of your forehead.

But more than that, it’s the way he is sharp and professional that catches your attention more.

You have never seen Jungkook this serious before. The choice of his vetiver perfume digging through your nostrils was driving you insane. If he doesn’t smile soon, you are going to melt into a puddle at his gaze.

“Are you nervous?”, he smirks this time, a newfound reason for your worsening gut health.

It’s mostly going in cycles at this point. Every bit of his skilled motion causes a vigorous hormonal reaction which initiates his next set of effortless teasing.

“I’m a little nervous”, you say, fiddling with your freshly painted nude nails.

“Me too”

It’s something you least expect to come out of his mouth observing how confident he looks right now. He basically has you cornered with his gaze. But whenever he had been truthful about his emotions it felt like a hug.

“I can take off my shirt too, so that we are even. Is that okay?”

He said it so softly like he is handling a child and the duality of the situation had your mind fogged and limbs frozen for a few minutes.

“Yeah it’s okay” It’s far beyond than okay. It’s great actually.

Jeon Jungkook is ripped, a Greek God sculptured masterpiece covered in self designed artwork you are more than happy to wake up to every morning. He hears you gulp at the feast before your eyes while he discards his black t-shirt to a nearby chair.

Now you don’t know if this whole thing is supposed to warm your heart or make you play several erotic fantasies like a movie before your eyes.

Both of you share a small smile while his long fingers are tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling it up over your head.

He almost wishes you don’t opt to wear a bra but he is met with lacy black, a-bit-over your-usual-budget fabric hugging the roundness of your breasts.

It seemed like you were way too competitive about today. Anything less than complete awe from Jungkook for you was straight disappointment, you don't want anything less.

Well it seems like it did from how blown his pupils were at this point. He peels his gaze off your chest with a sharp gulp to look at your eyes suddenly devoid of any fear and staring back at him with all ease. He is filled with an exapnse of warmth and he isn't sure why does spending just a little amount of time with you had such a grip on him. He can’t wait to propose the idea of getting a couple tattoo together soon and as far as you know how Jungkook is, he is very serious with his body art so apparently he does trust you a lot already.

“Where exactly are you trying to get it?”, his voice is a lot deeper suddenly as he waits for your fingers to guide to his canvas.

You softly trace the spot at the upper circumference of your right boob, “Here”.

You suck a breath through your nose as his own fingers are mimicking your gesture, lightly pulling down the lace to inspect the fitting of the design at hand.

These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder

Jungkook traces each word on your burning skin, now leaning dangerously close which was questioning your control to put your palms flat on his pecs. He doesn’t notice that though, his mind is busy creating his own fantasies about the women under him.

After two minutes and twenty four second long of inspection and mutual thirst, Jungkook is selecting a bunch of needles to set into the rotary machine. Five fine sharp like a painter's brush moves in and out at a set regularity as Jungkook tests it out.

The next of his actions had you flushed into a pool of crimson. He gently lifts up your resting torso with one hand while the other is unclasping the hook of your bra, making you half naked for the sake of the tattoo.

"I'm going to start", he says shyly.

You still have time to save yourself from the growing phobia for the object, but another unlogical part of your brain says it's a piece of cake considering you have a whole distracting full course meal in front of you.

It stings at first. Well, okay it hurts like hell but your face is devoid of any indication, except your right hand is gripping on the rim of the chair for dear life.

Jungkook on the other hand had never felt this much diversion of mind during his work. He knows that you are probably hurting very badly, especially for a first timer. He is biting into his lip ring, trying to get this over with for the well-being of your pain and his hormones.

After he had scribed one word into your dermis, you are no longer able to contain the ache so you give out a small squeak out of your glossed lips and the vibration of the machine at his hands stops as he looks at you.

"You want me to stop? ", he is relaxing his face as he cups yours with one hand. You don't want to answer that question, but the drumroll of the current situation is making your heart flutter and everything about the little burn on your chest is forgotten.

"No. It does hurt but I'll be fine I guess", you whisper. His breath is mixing with yours slowly as he is leaning more towards your face. If it isn't for a kiss then you are likely to be disappointed.

"It'll be over before you know it. I'll make it quick", and then he kisses you, a small act to get off the pressure of sexual tension between your bare upper bodies.

Before you think of any tongue in the act, he is breaking off the contact and returns to his position on your chest. He misses the pout that forms on your mouth but right now both of your heads are in cloud nine.

The pain starts again, only this time you are busy reliving how his lips felt in yours; soft, firm and controlled.

You gasp when you feel one of his hands cupping your right breast to further his design but it's lowkey an act empowered by lust which is straining behind the so called professional eyes.

You just sit there flustered out of your mind and then Jungkook is suddenly squeezing, full palm hiding your breasts like it's a protected treasure, but he isn't showing the slightest facial expression other than determined eyes and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

Fuck you can't take it anymore. Jungkook can feel your nipples harden against his hand and his brain isn't helping much to concentrate on the design. But by the grace of some positive karma left on his side, he makes it through the long text and when he is letting go of your chest and standing tall, your skin is popping out with redness on the places the text lays embedded.

He fishes out a mirror for you to look.

"It looks beautiful thank you Jungkook", you smile.

"Can I give you one more tattoo on your left one?", he asks while you are contemplating whether going through the pain is worth it, not to mention you really want to get back at a private space with Jungkook as soon as possible.

"It won't hurt I promise", and then he is kissing you a lot filthier than before; all tongue and teeth, while his hands are grazing on the skin of your waist, pressing a little firmer than before.

The coldness of his lip ring rivaled around your mouth, and you try sucking on it to which Jungkook responds with a growl and pushes his body adamantly against yours.

Skin to skin, you are lost in euphoria of everything happening and finally, you roam your eager hands around his body, to his pecs and the definition of abs.

As your fingers scraped against his scalp, Jungkook is biting eagerly down your jawline to your collarbone and continues his ministrations at a particular spot which is bringing out melodic moan variation from you.

He is going down your skin, licking on your left boob before he starts planting violet tattoos as he had promised. As if it couldn't get better, he is massaging the right breast, in a way to soothe pain.

He loses it when you stutter his name, but he is just a fucking tease when it comes to making love and doing anything in a public space is the last thing he wants to do. There isn't much room for all that he wants right now.

"Why did you choose this particular tattoo Y/n?", he rasps while he is planting small pecks on his artwork, and you reply when he is finally eye level with you

"I just felt like it's a good one", your breaths are uneven and mostly caught in your neck. He pecks your lips before speaking, "Those are lines from Romeo and Juliet".

He takes your hands to trace over a line of text among the many designs on his chest.

which, as they kiss, consume

"We pretty much have a couple tattoo now Y/n", his breath is matched with your pace and you are not very sure how to respond to this new knowledge.

"That's… hot"

You break into giggles along with him, he just can't stop dragging his lips around your skin, but he isn't able to word his feelings right now either.

"I have some aftercare healing ointment for the tattoo at my place, wanna come over?" Now that may be a little lame of an excuse to get his little friend out of his pants but you are too unfazed to analyse any of that.

His hands find place on your ass under the skirt as soon as the door to his apartment closes, and before you know it, you are in his bedroom, sitting on the soft mattress and tongue lost devouring each other.

While eagerly getting rid of every article of clothing, Jungkook notices that you don't have your bra on beneath the shirt, so it's probably back at the parlour, but none of you have the slightest care for it, might as well make an excuse with it later to fuck you in his cabin.

He is pushing you farther towards the headboard, him on top, grinding sensenslesy while your lips mould with his. Though he has his whole body pressed against you, you can't seem to feel his weight at the slightest, every one of his actions were just balanced and perfect.

As Jungkook goes down on you, his smile is evident against your skin, finally able to find out how every one of those scenarios in his head will come to look like. He lets out a satisfied hum being finally able to suck on your tits, your fingers finding place on his hair, twisting it out of stimulation.

His pelvis is flushed harshly against yours, grinding and rubbing against your pussy for as long as he is rejoicing the feeling of moving his tongue around both the nipples.

He stops rubbing after some point and you whimper at the loss but his fingers are soon to meet your core as a quick apology. All your later moans are muffled on his mouth once again.

Feeling the controlled movements of his fingers on your clit, you dig your nails down on his toned shoulders. It's becoming impossible to reciprocate his lewd movements of tongue on your lips at this point as the excitement between your thighs is growing every passing second.

Your mouth remains slightly parted as he removes his face to watch you squirm underneath, lips swollen, deep red and glossy from all the saliva.

He pecks at the shell of your ear before going down past your navel.

You haven't had much heads in the twenty years of your life, most of the guys being completely against the idea which made you feel insecure to bring up the topic in bed, but Jungkook does it like his life depends on it.

He growls at the sight of you dripping into his sheets and he seems to enjoy the idea of being the influence behind it. But none is going through your head at the moment, not the metal on his lips grazing against your folds, or the fact that Jungkook is grinning each time you cry his name, it feels unreal to feel something like this.

His mouth is wrapping against your entrance and he is balancing your lower body on his palms to help him reach the right depths inside you. While all you can muster up is the strength to grope the bedsheets in your fist and close your eyes at the pleasure.

Jungkook brings his head higher to give some attention to the throbbing clit, catching it between his teeth and triggering the bundle of nerves just the perfect dose to have your hips jolting up to his face.

He can't take it himself when you are now whining and chasing for your release, so he is slightly humping against the bed to get some friction.

He licks a slow stripe up till your abdomen and slowly raises to your face, already fucked out and dishevelled to keep up with his dominant orbs.

He swears he had never felt so much warmth and care for sex with any of his previous partners, in relationship or not, all he could think is how good can he treat the pleading eyes underneath him.

"Is there something you like that you want me to do?", he says, fingers grazing once again to your crotch to not deny you from his contact. Only this time he is exploring the tightness of your pretty cunt with two skillful fingers.

Is there? You are not sure. Or in other words you are too caught up at the sense of him fingering you. It's not like you had enough experience or people who cared enough to ask that question. It astounds you that never in this entire foreplay he asked for any favor for himself.

"I'm not sure…", you whisper and then maybe you have something on your mind " um I guess I would like to be choked" Okay this felt embarrassing.

He smiles before sliding his free hand from your lips to your neck, and applies slight force, careful to not hurt you in the slightest bit.

"Is that fine?"

"Yeah", you muffle through the decreasing course of air.

He pulls up your face by the throat to attach lips once more. He just can't seem to get enough of kissing you senseless. Then, the tip of his long ignored cock is teasing the length of your pussy twice before it's stretching you out to the brim.

Bodies flushed and hot, his pace is deep and slow, making sure to kiss the cervix every time he is inside.

He watches as your eyes close shut and flutters around whenever he is grazing against your sweet spot. Both of your ears lost and eager for the moans looming out of each other, his more like what he sounds at the gym. Nice observation Y/n.

In this span of sexual energy you shared, you can make some obvious conclusions. Sex with him was surreal, both in terms of domination and the care he had. Rocking against him and keeping up with his hips was attainable— Compared to the intense eye contact he tries to hold, or the way he cups the side of your face and rubs the pad of his thumb on your cheeks while he kisses you during sinking back in, or the way his eyes glow at the beauty of your body open for him. It makes you feel special and it's difficult to respond to these gestures when you never felt this way before.

Jungkook could tell that from your face, but he hopes he lasts with you enough to help you know the worth you hold. You couldn't think too much about anything when you are busy squeezing around his length and coming twice in the first ten minutes.

By the third orgasm Jungkook is nearing his own and he pulls out to pump a few times before coming on your stomach.

"Was it okay?", his voice is all over the place, still balancing his body on his arms while you are amazed by his strength.

"It was amazing Jungkook", you smile. You have known a lot about Jungkook over the few dates you spent with him. That he likes literature, classics and philosophy, designs tattoos as a subconscious thing, that his game is A-1, and he likes working out almost three hours a day. Good for you. But it wasn't until now you know him to be gentle, like he is afraid to crush you under a feather touch. You don't know him as someone who is staring deep into your face after a good fuck, speaks nothing, smiles widely, and plants a peck on your forehead before getting off the bed.

He does the honors of cleaning both of your bodies with a towel, it's not like you have any strength left in you anyway. And then pulls out an ointment from the bedside table and plops next to your body.

"There. You need this to protect the tattoo", he takes off the nozzle and applies a required amount against the words on your chest and massages against them.

"Now go to sleep Juliet", he mocks, pulling up the sheets over you both "good night".

You snuggle against his hard chest, kissing his pecs before resting on it, "Good night Romeo".

thank you so much for reading!! please leave a feedback!!

★ taglist: @pjmochii (dm, ask or comment to enter the tl!)

★ credits: @/rainbeary on spotify : songs that'll make you feel everything's in slow motion playlist

★ banner & boards: by me :)

a/n: this is my first time writing smut and i basically died of second hand embarrassment during the process. pardon for my untalented ass, i tried this wip continuously for a week and i seriously don't think it could get anything better though it's probably not much.

© banqdanfnfic 2021, all rights reserved. do not modify, translate, or repost my works. modification, translations, and/or redistribution of my works on any platform is strictly prohibited.

[titanicsimp]

Rising star

Pairing: Enji Todoroki x Female!Reader

Genres: Smut

Warnings: Sexual content including; vaginal and anal sex, creampies, degrading talk, general rough sex, manhandling, name calling, slight voyeurism, thigh riding.

Summary: You have been rising through the pro hero ranks like a rocket, and you can’t help but tease the new number one about it.

A/N: I’m a Enji fucker and I’m proud! 🗣

“And now, the pro hero ranked as number four this year is...”

“Ironheart!”

You could barely believe it as you jumped up from your seat. You made it into the top five!

You waved at the crowd, a big smile on your face as you joined the others on stage. The bright lights and camera flashes were a little overwhelming, but you could get used to it.

God did you feel good. You could take on the world in that moment, basking in the cheers of your fans. Last year you had been ranked twentieth, so this leap was huge.

As the announcer went back to announcing the list, you peaked over at the current number one hero. Endeavor was standing stone faced as always, but you caught him glancing at you from the side.

You smirked. You could practically smell the resentment from here. How thrilling, you would have to pay the flame hero a visit later.

-

Getting into Endeavor’s VIP room at the event had been a doozy. The guard had been too starstruck, only asking you to give him an autograph. You had cringed at the picture he had made you sign. It was one from the shoot the hero agency made you do, which had been done to market on your sex appeal. But you had pushed aside your agitation and walked right into Endeavor’s room.

The space they gave him is excessive really. The room is extremely spacious even though it’s equipted with two full sized couches, a long coffee table, and a bar with barstools and all.

Endeavor is sitting on the couch that faces the door, busy signing pictures of himself which he’ll be giving out later.

It takes only a second for him to notice you, and when he does he immediately puts on his flames. You chuckle under you breath. Really, who is he keeping the appearance up for?

“Long time no see, Endeavor.” You purr as you stride over to him.

He looks annoyed, so nothing new. “Get out.”

You scoff. “Not even a congratulations? I think I’m rising through the ranks faster than you ever have.”

You notice his eyebrow twitch at your comment. He’s so predictable.

“Number four is still a long way from number one.”

You touch his knee, stroking your hand up his leg gingerly. “Yet I’m standing so close to it.”

He regards you calculatingly with those blue eyes of his. “What do you want?”

You pull back your hand with a bright smile. “Well, I thought we could get to know each other better. Us being colleagues... or perhaps rivals, as some may call it.”

Endeavor crosses his arms. “I doubt anyone would regard us as rivals. You’re too far behind me.”

“Hhmm, you say that but I saw that little glance when we were up on the stage. Seems I’ve been on your mind, Endeavor.” You tell him.

You walk around the couch and go to stand behind him. Most people would back up from his flames, but you had nothing to worry about. The metal wristbands you wear start shifting under the influence of your quirk, quickly ungulfing your arms and hands so the metal fits around them like a glove.

You put your arms over Endeavor’s shoulders without care. He grunts disapprovingly, but does nothing to stop it.

“Your flames feel slightly hotter than last time, good job!” You giggle.

He sighs your name, not your hero name, but your real name. “Stop wasting my time.”

His flames die down and it seems like he really is done playing with you. You retract the metal around you back to look like simple wristbands.

You jump over the couch and sit down next to him, giving him sad eyes. “Who thought a flame hero could be so cold?”

“Especially after our little bathroom adventure last year...”

You feel Enji stiffen beside you. “Or do you do that with all upcoming heroes?”

You throw your legs over his lap, grinning at him. Yeah, that’s what you thought, he hasn’t forgotten.

Though he tries to keep his face straight, you can see it starting to crack. “You still don’t know what’s good for you.”

“I felt pretty good last time.” You quip back, and he finally snaps.

Enji throws your legs off of his lap and grabs your face, his big hand engulfing your chin and cheeks. “You need to be put in your place.”

You bat your eyelashes at him. “Why don’t you help me with that, number one?”

His free hand forces your legs open and cups your core through your herosuit. You both groan when his thick fingers rub over your slit, pushing the tight fabric and your panties against it.

“How do you even fight in this thing.” Enji says disapprovingly.

You roll your eyes. It’s not like you are the only hero in this room with a skin tight suit, and he seems to be enjoying it well enough.

A loud ripping sounds throughout the room and you gasp in shock at the hole he has created in your suit, exposing your panties.

You try to move to stop him before he can ruin that fabric as well, but within the seconds it takes you to react it’s too late. “Bastard!”

Enji chuckles. “Can’t afford to replace them?”

He knows damn well you can. You might not be ultra rich like him, but your hero career sure has payed off.

Sliding his fingers through your wetness testingly, he gives you a mocking grin. You buck up into his touch without embarrassment, he’s doing exactly what you want after all.

Enji’s grabs you and drags you onto his lap without a word. When you go to grind against his bulge, he stops you. He corrects you to sit on one of his thighs, giving you a pointed look.

You smirk at him. “How dirty of you, Enji.”

“Shut up and grind.” He growls in response.

Happily obliging, you sway your hips, dragging your wetness across his thigh. The fabric of his suit is a bit rough, but it only adds to the friction.

Enji brings his hand to your throat, squeezing it lightly as you ride his thigh. You smile at him, softly moaning under your breath.

“Look at you, getting off on rubbing yourself against me like a bitch in heat.” He says with a condescending tone, but his body tells a different story.

You can see the large tent in his pants, making his excitement quite obvious.

A whimper leaves your mouth when his fingers squeeze tighter and a rush of wetness slicks your thighs.

Enji’s gaze turns darker with lust the longer he watches you slide yourself up and down his thigh. Getting an idea, you lean forward and lick across the length of his neck, causing him to shiver under you.

Maintaining a tight grip on your neck, he moves you off of him and then throws you onto the coffee table in front of the couch.

A oof leaves your mouth as you hit the wood, the slam having slightly taken your breath. When Enji looms over you, you shoot him a grin. Would’ve been a real smacker if your skin wasn’t infused with minuscule metal pieces.

The corners of his mouth turn upwards at seeing your reaction. Being able to throw you around without consequence turns him on to no end.

Enji flips you over, propping your ass up. You grab onto the end of the table. If it will be anything like last time, you’ll need something to hold onto.

You bite your lip when he drags his cock through your wetness. God, it’s your favorite part of him without a doubt.

“Are you ready?” Enji asks from behind you, but as you open your mouth to answer, he slams his cock all the way inside of you in a swift thrust.

You scream loudly at the feeling of his thick length stretching you out. It stings a bit, but in all the ways you like.

His big hands grab onto your ass as he starts fucking into you, groaning loudly.

His thrusts are so hard and his pace changes constantly, making you grab onto the table so hard your fingers turn white.

“A slut like you will never outrank me.” Enji growls, his grip on you tightening.

You mewl at his statement. Him talking down to you only makes your walls clench around his cock.

He lifts one hand off of your ass, only to bring it down in a hard slap. Noises and cries escape your lips without stopping as he spanks your ass and continues to ram him himself into you.

“That useless guard is still outside, I wonder if he’s hearing you cry out for my cock.” He pants out.

“I bet he’s enjoying it.” You get interrupted multiple times by Enji’s thrusts, but you get your sentence out eventually.

“Ah Endeavor!” You scream out extra loudly on purpose.

You feel his cock twitch inside you. “Giving him a show?”

You giggle breathlessly. “Come now, don’t be jealous.”

With a rip, Enji tears your suit up further, exposing your asshole as well. You hear him spit on his hand before he presses one finger into your ass. Your back arches at the new sensation and your cunt twitches in pleasure.

“Scream then.” He commands, slowing his pace just slightly so he can finger your ass.

As soon as he feels you relax, he adds a second, and your eyes tear up at the fullness. You start feeling so hot, and you have no doubt that it’s radiating from Enji.

When he rubs his fingers against your wall where he feels his cock, you cum suddenly. Your vision goes blank for a second as your orgasm washes over you, your legs shaking violently.

With a loud groan, Enji follows suit and empties himself inside of your cunt. His pace doesn’t slow down for quite a bit, fucking his cum into you.

When he’s finished, he pulls out of you suddenly, letting his cum drip out onto his cock. He fists his length, lubing it up with your mixed juices.

You can sense what’s coming next, Enji’s fingers still in your ass.

“Tell him what I’m about to do.” He tells you.

It takes you a moment to even remember the guard, but when you do you smirk. Seems like it gets Enji’s fire going, so why not.

“Please Endeavor, fuck my ass!” You yell out.

He removes his fingers and presses the head of his cock against your tight hole. “I’m going to have you walking around with cum dripping from your holes like the dirty slut you are.”

With that promise, he presses forward into you. He goes slower when entering your ass, but you still struggle to keep up.

When fully seated inside you, he gives your ass a loud slap, causing you to yelp out. As soon as he starts thrusting, you both know that neither of you is going to last long.

Enji’s fingers find your clit, rubbing and pinching at it as he fucks into you.

By this point you’re a sweating, drooling mess, and when you approach another orgasm, you whine desperately. “Fuck Endeavor, ruin me!”

His low chuckle makes a shiver run over your spine. “As you wish.”

He starts slamming himself into you, not holding back in the slightest. Your chest pushes against the table aggressively as he fucks you into it.

You cry out his name as with a last rub at your clit, you cum again. The table is a blessing as your legs give out, keeping your body up.

Enji uses your body till he’s cumming again as well. Your body already feels so hot, and his cum filling you ass too doesn’t help. You whimper and flex your sore fingers from grabbing on when he pulls out.

Your ass, cunt and thighs are absolutely drenched in his cum, his thick loads still leaking out of you.

Too tired to move for now, you watch as Enji grabs a marker from the table. He scribbles something onto your asscheek, giving it a final slap afterwards.

He comes into vision after he has adjusted his suit, his figure showing no trace of what the two of you just did.

“Let’s do this again, hero.” He tells you as he throws the marker at you, the last word clearly mocking.

Later, when you go to clean up, you spot what he wrote in the mirror. You smirk as you look at the phone number that he wrote onto your asscheek. Snapping a quick picture of your cum covered ass, you send it to his number with the message ‘I knew you’d warm up to me ♥️’.

[theperfectlovestory]

Hellboy

Information: When I first heard Greyson Chance’s Hellboy, I felt like I was transported to a bar, seeing people dancing, how the set looked, how it felt, how it smelled. It was a damn powerful song and I kept listening to it. So I decided to write a fic about it

This is also the first time I'm writing anything so please be kind to me lol

Summary: A shy R that kept getting invites for Tony Stark's party but one time she got so drunk and pushed the random man dancing with her crush, Wanda Maximoff, and showed her some move that made her head spin

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

TW: Sexual movements, Alcohol, Slight violent tendencies

Word Count: 695

[ Velvet on the floor, writing's on the wall

Let me come a little closer, get you elevated ]

You are at another one of Tony Stark’s parties. You hate it, you hate socializing, you hate how the smoke smells, you don’t even like alcohol and especially the drunk guests that keep bothering you, trying to hit on you.

[ Don't want a little more, no I want it all

If you don't know how to touch it, let me educate you ]

You are not interested in any of them. You only have eyes on one person, and that person is currently dancing with another man. You don’t have the right to get jealous, she’s not yours. You were too afraid to tell her your feelings. You know,

It’s fucking pathetic of you.

You continued to sip on your chocolate shake. It felt like you’ve had three glasses of those already. You think you feel a little dizzy to be honest. Probably too much sugar. But you continued drinking it in hopes of cooling down. You feel so angry at the man she was dancing with, but especially angry today

[ Move, sweat, kiss, breath

Don't stop ]

You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Normally, it’s fine with you. Seeing Wanda Maximoff grinding with another man. Sweat trickled down her forehead, to her reddened cheeks, to her deliciously, sexy neck and then down, down to her exposed chest, and disappearing on her sexy, far too short, tight fit red dress that accentuates all her curves.

[ Ooh, there's a fire burning, baby do you feel it? ]

You felt hot. So hot, suddenly too hot for you. The man’s hand moved down her arm, the one that’s holding his hair tightly, putting his head so close to her neck. The man’s hand went down to her ribs, and you felt yourself move. You don’t know why but you just did.

[ Don't you let it go, let it go out ]

You slammed the glass on the counter so hard it almost shattered. The man kept his hands going, feeling Wanda’s waist as it travels lower…and lower

[ Ooh, burning icicle blue, it's like a forbidden fruit ]

And then something in you clicked. Fire burning in your eyes. You walked towards them and you stopped. Wanda looked at you, her eyes hooded, drunk. Her lips slowly frowned, worried, but you didn’t speak. You didn’t have to

[ And I want it so, want it so

Your body will say it all. ]

You held her wrist that’s still holding the man, pulling her close to you, her body on you and then you pushed him. Hard. He fell on his ass. Anger danced in his eyes but one looked at yours and he stood and excused himself, muttering curses.

[ Hands tied, bite your lip ]

You looked at the shocked face of Wanda before you grinned. You licked your lips and held her waist tightly

[ Green light, flip and twist ]

You turned her around, her body so close to yours. Closer than ever. The heat of her back radiates on your body, making you shiver

[ Dark magic, red boot kick ]

You started dancing, swaying your hips. You pressed your hand on Wanda’s waist, making sure she followed the same rhythm.

[ I'm a hellboy, I'm a hellboy ]

You have your hand on Wanda’s neck, thumb rubbing her jaw, forcing her head to lean on your shoulder. Her position is so hot, so sexy. In between her legs is yours, feeling everything of hers. You felt dizzy, high. The walls kept closing in and closing out, your breathing heavy, your eyes lazily eyeing her

Music pounding in your head, lights flashing in your bodies. Sweat trickled down on both your bodies. Her scent of autumn and vanilla mixed with the whiskey

You are drunk on her. And she is of you

[ Your eyes, on my hips

Damn right, you want this ]

Her hands traveled up your body. Feeling your hair grasped, she pulled on it, earning a sweet sweet moan from you. She moved, facing you. Her eyes light up red, and you know, it’s her turn now.

[ All night, yeah I'm a give you

Hellboy, I'm a hellboy ]

[limitlessgojo]

Blood Bound: Red Strings of Fate (Ch 2)

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

Previous Chapter: The First Meeting

Next Chapter: What's Your Ideal Type?

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

Taglist: @lessie-oxj, @rizzo-nero, @whoreuc

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

CHAPTER 2: The Rebirth

You had a hard time falling asleep that night. Your mind is trying to remember the vision, but the images remain blurry. There was a faint heat lingering from the man's body pressed against yours.

‘Could we possibly be…. It’s not impossible but….’, your mind was working 10,000 miles an hour trying to think of the possibilities. There was only one thought that came to mind and it made you blush. You pulled up the covers and snuggled against your stuffed plushies and pillows. You had to pass by the library and get permission tomorrow.

At least the weaponry was amazing. Noritoshi senpai even showed you inside and pointed you to the crossbows he often practices with. ‘He must be a capable sorcerer. The way he holds himself up with such dignity was already a dead giveaway. A natural born leader huh.’ you wondered.

You fell asleep that night dreaming about a lovely Phoenix, being reborn from ashes.

◇◇◇

Noritoshi was pacing around in his room. He had passed by the library on the way back from dinner, and grabbed several books. “The Secrets of Foreseeing the Future, Vol. 1”, “Alternate and Parallel Worlds”, “Past Lives: A Study”, and “The Life and Works of Abe no Seimei".

He paced around his dorm room, looking over the book that was bothering him the most. “The Tales and True Records of Soulmates”.

He scanned through the main parts of the book. It spoke about bonding. There apparently were 2 types of bonding, emotional and physical.

When 2 halves of a whole reach a certain degree of understanding of each other, they establish what's called a half-bond or a phantom bond.

This begins to link their emotions. Intense anger, fear, joy, disgust, sorrow, and love can be felt from the very first stage. As their bond strengthens, they begin to share more emotions, as well as short strong intentions.

Intentions are used to depict a state of being. If they have a goal or a state of feeling over a particular matter, their partner can pick up on it.

The near final stage of a full bond is when they start to share physical sensations. When one gets injured, it will resound with the other.

The strongest bond is known to share special abilities and thoughts via telepathy between a fated pair.

Noritoshi's mind was definitely in overdrive. There was SO MUCH information on soulmates. But the one thing that wasn't explicitly stated was how a soulmate pair found each other.

How do soulmates confirm that they are indeed soulmates? Most of the information was based on soulmates who simply claimed to be. Then what about how they came to be?

So now he knows that soulmates are supposedly able to share emotions and feelings to a certain degree. But there was a lack of information in the book. What about visions? The vision he shared with y/n was one of a kind.

It kept discussing how the known most popular existence were the parents of Sugawara no Michizane. One of the three great vengeful spirits that is the ancestor of the Gojo clan.

He made up his mind. Taking out his phone, he dialed up his father.

Beep. “Noritoshi? It’s so late, why are you calling at this time? It best be an urgent matter.” his father gruffly answered.

“I am sorry to disturb you father. It’s just, there is a new student here in school. A First year called Tsuchimikado y/n from the Tsuchimikado clan.”

“Ahhh, them huh? Powerful group even though there are only a few of them. They don’t really talk about their techniques that much. They are descendants of Abe no Seimei and yet they kept to themselves as a minor clan of jujutsushi… So what about her?”

“She might possibly be my soulmate, but I am still confirming. Do you have any books or records on soulmates at all?”

At this, his father sat up straight in his study. “Are you serious? And what can you say to prove such claims? Do you know how rare a soulmate bond is?”

"I am aware. And I know we may not be soulmates. But I have some suspicions. If you have any info about soulmates, The Abe clan, or the Tsuchimikado clans, I would appreciate it." Noritoshi replied.

"Okay. I'll have a look and get back to you. Feel free to come by the main house this weekend. Look over the main study. There are also some records on Soulmates there."

"Thank you father. Have a good evening."

Beep.

Noritoshi sighed. He undid his hair bindings and combed out his hair. And opened the book again. He read through the table of contents in case he missed out on any major pointers.

He couldn't read the book in one sitting, because he is still reviewing for the TOEIC and improving his English.

He yawned and was about to retire to bed, remembering his promise to bring you around tomorrow, when one particular word jumped at him.

The binding process of soulmates. He quickly flipped through to the page and found out with horror that some of the pages had been torn out.

It wasn't him who did it. (Obviously). But now he has to go and tell Utahime sensei about it.

He took a closer look at the remaining few pages.

"The Binding of Soulmates. It is known to vary per pair. Some pairs found themselves to be born with a matching symbol in the inside of their arms or on their necks from birth. While others form it upon passing the first stage of -" and the page ends with a violent diagonal tear from the upper right corner to the lower left.

That's pretty much all that he can take away from the book so far. Frustrated, he decided to go to sleep. Nothing about sharing visions was mentioned so far. Maybe they weren't a fated pair after all.

But deep in his gut, Noritoshi knew that you were an important person to him. That was for sure. As he fell asleep, he shared the same dream with you. A lone Phoenix, being reborn from its ashes.

◇◇◇

The following morning, you didn't know where to meet up with Noritoshi senpai so you simply went to the same place he left you last night. On your way there, you passed by a tall robot kind of thing which spooked you. You stared at it, wondering if it was a kind of automation that serves the technical school.

To your surprise, it turned towards you and bowed while greeting, "Hello. I'm a 1st year student here at Kyoto Jujutsu Technical College. You can call me Mechamaru. Kokichi Muta is my real name, but I use robots to fight."

Your eyes widened in surprise and curiosity. "My name is Tsuchimikado Y/n, also starting here as a first year student. Pleased to meet you!" You bowed back.

“So… is your body inside that robot?” you asked him.

“No, as a result of heavenly restriction, which if you haven’t heard of yet is a means of exchange/ a binding contract, my body is elsewhere. I am controlling this robot from afar.”

Your eyes bugged, “That’s incredible! To have that much cursed energy, plus it is over such a long distance.” You were jealous as long-ranged techniques are something you try to work hard and specialise on.

“It’s not that fun being physically stuck in a basement.” Mechamaru didn’t sound too amused.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that… “ you floundered as you mentally hit yourself for being so inconsiderate.

“No need to apologize. I am used to it.” He waved it off coolly.

"You're the first other 1st year I've met Mechamaru. I wonder when the others will come. I've heard of 2 others." You wondered.

"I've already met one of them. Miwa is her name. You won't miss her with her bright blue hair." He replied. His voice was so stiff and robotic, a strange feature.

"Ohhhh I see. I'll keep that in mind!" You smiled. "I'm afraid I have somewhere to be right now, but I'll catch you around for sure! Please take care of me."

"Don't let me keep you waiting. Please also take care of me and see you around." Mechamaru waved as you ran off.

More students to meet huh. Your heart pounded in nervousness and excitement. So it was Miwa and Mechamaru so far. ‘Ugh, I’m so bad with names. I’ll surely get used to it.’ you thought to yourself.

You rounded the corner and nearly plowed through Noritoshi senpai in your haste. “Whoa there, careful,” he held his hands out in case you slipped, but you were fine. You caught yourself just before you hit his personal space.

You were surprised to see him already there, in the same clothes he was in yesterday (was that his uniform? You had yet to get yours, which had custom arrangements).

"Good morning Noritoshi-senpai!" you beamed up at him. He looked down at you amusedly, liking your bright energy. “Good morning y/n.”

Your smile grew wider upon hearing your name fall from his lips for the very first time. For a moment the both of you just stood there smiling. Then Noritoshi beckoned you to his side as you walked around the campus.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asked.

"Ah yes, though it might take some time getting used to the dorm rooms here. But everything is pretty much convenient. Especially the kitchenettes in our rooms." You were still excited about starting classes.

“Did you have your uniform tailored to your liking?” You asked him.

“Ah yes, I requested a looser fit. I am used to wearing a kimono and wooden sandals at home. I simply requested for them to be made in a similar fashion for comfort. And it gives me enough space to hide all of my weapons.” He smiled gently down at you.

“Ahhh I see. I have also put in a request for my uniform, but I don’t have it yet.” you said.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too long now, classes start in 2 days after all.”

He brought you around the main gardens. “It’s so big,” you gaped, excited to train here. There was so much open space, it would be good for flying practice. “The other buildings are offices for the staff, and warehouses for special tools and materials.” He explained.

Then Noritoshi led you to a corridor with tons of doors. “These are the 3rd year classrooms. First and second year classrooms are upstairs. We can have a look if you’d like?” He asked.

You agreed. And on your way to the staircase, you came face to face with a man going down the stairs. He was incredibly tall and ripped. With his hair tied up, a scar racing down on his left eye, he grunted at Noritoshi in greeting.

He came down and faced you both, before addressing Noritoshi. “You ready for class? Is this a new student?”

“Of course I am. And she is a first year. Tsuchimikado Y/n.” Noritoshi introduced you and you quickly bowed in greeting. “You can call me Tsuchi san or just Tsuchi as I know my last name is long. It is very nice to meet you!”

Noritoshi noted that you didn’t offer to be addressed by your first name this time and felt weirdly happy.

“Todo Aoi, 2nd year. So… what man or woman is your ideal type?” He asked as he loomed over you menacingly. You barely came up to this man's chest.

….. What in the world are you getting into?

Fun fact: The Tsuchimikado Clan are indeed a real clan descended from the Abe Clan and Abe no Seimei the Onmyouji himself. I chose Abe no Seimei as a parallel to the three great vengeful spirits from whom the big 3 Jujutsu families are descendants of. As Abe no Seimei was also a major figure during the Heian period. But of course my story is a work of fiction so other than the onmyouji himself, everyone else is not real^^.

Blood Bound: Table of Contents

[yayteaberry]

*SFW* Dumbass! (Bakugou)

When you were about two years old, your family made a huge move from America to Japan. Your father found suitable hero work there so that’s where you stayed. His quirk worked much like a wolfs, giving him heightened senses and much more mobility. Naturally you inherited the physical aspects such as a tail and ears, though much of you remained human like your mother.

Growing up, you quickly bonded with your neighbor's son, Katsuki Bakugou.

Your fiery and determined attitude worked really well with him and he made for an excellent playmate. He could handle your tendency to roughhouse and wrestle, if anything he seemed to enjoy it. You two were inseparable, spending a near unhealthy amount of time with each other, this carried well into your schooling years.

Despite claiming you had your own intentions behind it, you did follow him like a lost puppy. It was quite obvious to everyone around you that you’d do anything for him, except for him of course.

You were almost dangerously defensive over him, snapping at people who questioned or pushed at him while you were around.

It made you seriously upset when other people touched him or got to speak with him more than you, heavily sulking and pouting until you got your opportunity for his attention.  As guilty as you could feel about it in retrospect, you really can’t help it.

When you had his attention all to yourself, you loved to spar with him more than anything else. It wasn’t like it was a special activity but still it felt like something between you and him. As you grew up ‘wrestling’ became something skin to sparring and then just became a routine part of training once he got into UA.  Though there was a nostalgic undertone, in the past it used to be something he’d only do with you, and you were having a hard time letting go.

Currently you were waiting for him to come back to his room so you could ask him to do just that. He enters his room right on time, totally unperturbed you were already inside since you’d made a habit of coming in anytime you wanted.

“Hey! Lets go practice!”, you chirp as you hop off his bed, excitedly skipping up to him.

“Nah, I just finished up doing that with Kirishima for the past hour and I wanna take a break.” He speaks as he nonchalantly drops his bag to the floor. 

It’s somehow more insulting that you can smell how sweaty he is. 

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no’?”, with a disgusted huff you size him up, angry enough to just tackle him already.

“Fucks your problem? I didn’t promise you anything today.”

You pout as you often do, crossing your arms over your chest, ears pinched back. “Yeah but why would you run off with him like that! I’m right here! You in love with him or something?”

He rolls his eyes and matches your stance with his standard snarl, staring you down. The height difference does nothing to make you intimidated, and it never has. “I can do what I want. He asked me first and either way I need to branch out and win against different people who actually provide a challenge.”

You scoff and throw your hands at your sides after balling them into fists, stomping your foot down to accent your disapproval. “I do provide a challenge, you don’t win every time you asshole! I bet he was really terrible at it, not nearly as good as me!”

The way his face scrunches up a moment makes you narrow your eyes, not sure what he’s thinking about. When a big grin breaks out you feel your rage double.

“You’re jealous of him.”

That makes you nearly explode, snorting out a scoff and shaking your head. “Not in your wildest fucking dreams! I am not jealous!”

“Yes, yes you are.”, he says after a laugh that makes your face feel hot.

“Stop talking so calmly! I just said I’m not so I’m not! Shut the fuck up! Shut up, you’re so dumb sometimes!”, you shout back at him, turning your head to the side as you instantly loathe your inability to shut your mouth.

He only smiles wider, leaning close into your personal space, gently flicking your nose. “You totally are, I can see it.”

You swat at his hand and growl, tail bristling as you go fully defensive. “I said shut the fuck up! There’s nothing jealous about me! I just don’t think you should be spending your time with such a loser!”

Easily he grabs your hand, tilting his head and speaking with such a mocking tone you have to keep down the urge to bite him. “Oh? And, just who do you recommend replacing him? If not him, then who? If you’re not jealous then I assume you’ve got another person in mind. C’mon, I’m all ears.”

With a harsh yank you get your hand back, pushing on his chest and getting even more frustrated when he doesn’t budge. “Shut up! I said shut up! Stop being such a bastard about this!”

“Why should I? You’re the one freaking out.”

“I AM NOT FREAKING OUT!”, you shout, freaking out.

“It’s adorable that you get so upset just because I spent an hour with someone else, you’re all pink in the face over it. That’s jealousy if I’ve ever seen it.” He can’t wipe the smirk off his face when you act like it, he did always find it cute when you get so heated over him giving you attention. 

“I’m not upset and I’m not jealous! I just don’t like you accusing me of things that I’m not! You’re a fucking idiot!”, you continually spout, upper lip curled up as your breathing turns into gruff pants, barely avoiding the urge to start barking. 

Despite how you look fit to maul him, he finds himself perfectly comfortable grabbing one of your ears, delicately massaging it between his fingers. The action almost instantly starts working to calm you down, feeling so good you lean into it without realizing it. Though you’re still pouting, the raging fire has simmered down greatly.

“I can’t only spar with you, I do need to improve my technique.” He speaks as he continues, now using both hands for both ears.

You puff out a large breath, “Well why can’t you do that with me? I can change my fighting style, do different things. If you need something different then why can’t you tell me what?”

“Why is this so important to you? We hang out a fuck ton outside of doing that so whats the difference.” His voice is laced with annoyance, making you wince internally.

“Because he’s got his stupid hands all over you.”, you reply, mildly hypnotized enough by his massaging that you let some of the truth slip out.

“So you should be the only person allowed to touch me?” He raises an eyebrow at that, nearly letting out another laugh.

Your stomach sinks at the implication of what you’ve said, attempting to fishtail your way out of it. “No! Just, that, well! Why’s it even matter, you’re not listening to me anyways! God is it too much to ask that you pay some attention to your best friend sometimes!” You grab at his wrists and pull his hands away, tossing them away.

“What the hell would you even call this right now? You even sleep in here most nights, how the fuck can I possibly give you more attention! Do you wanna be attached at the fuckin hip!”, he says with an exasperated grunt, pinching at the bridge of his nose. 

“Shut up! It’s just comfortable here is all, not a crime to have preference! S-So what if I like it in here? So what if I don’t think you should let just anybody get their hands all over you!” You anxiously fidget with your hands, shrugging passively despite your raised volume.

“So you admit that you’re upset about me sparring with Kirishima because you don’t want him to touch me!”, he says while he points an accusatory finger towards you.

“Yea, whatever! So what!”, you shout as you throw your arms up, sitting back on his bed forcefully enough to bounce a few times, “Not a fucking crime is it! It’s contact, I’m part wolf you know, it’s kinda in my blood!”

“I have to do other shit besides enable your needy ass, you should be grateful I allow you to do all the shit you do!” He puts his hands on his hips, leaning down to get in your personal space.

“I’m not fucking needy!”, you shoot back instantly, nails digging into your palms.

“That’s right, you’re needy AND jealous!”

You can’t handle anymore slander being thrown at you, lunging off the bed and tackling him to the floor with a loud growl.

He goes down but flips you underneath him the moment he makes full connection with the ground, holding your wrists together in one hand above your head. Squirming around somewhat violently gets you free, pushing him by his chest to get him away. Once he’s off balance you shove him back onto the floor, sitting on his back.

As you grab one of his arms to twist, he shoves you backwards hard enough that you tumble off. That disorients you long enough for him to pin you down, his chest against your back and your face partially mashed into the floor. You can’t reach him like this, so you get up on your knees before he’s able to hold your hips flat down, wiggling like before to see if you can escape.

But, it doesn’t work, all it does is make him grunt strangely as your tail awkwardly presses into his stomach. To submit so he’ll get off, you relax, your ass settling against his lap.

“Giving up? Say it, say you’re giving up!” He says with the usual grit, tugging one of your arms backwards.

You yelp in pain, no longer willing to go gently into defeat. “I’m not giving up, I just want your boner out of my ass!”

“Don’t distract and fuckin’ lie, say you’re done!”, he punctuates his sentence by yanking your arm.

Just to prove a point you made up on the spot, you wiggle your hips against him, definitely winning by the way he lets go of your arm and sits upright to grab at your hips instead, letting a soft ‘fuck’ slip past his lips.

You’ve already started crawling away when he shoves you forward, falling onto your face with zero grace.

“Hey! Asshole, don’t push me!”, you whine as you rub at your nose, nearly sneezing.

“Serves you right!”

“Oh, for fucking what!”, you get back to your feet, seeing that he’s sat down on his bed.

“I don’t have to explain it to you!” He plops down onto his bed, once again crossing his arms over his chest.

“So that means you’re so cowardly you won’t admit that was a dirty play!”, you spit out at him as you stomp over to him, standing in front of him.

He nearly jumps up, getting right in your face to try and make you back down. “Don’t think I forgot what you’re trying to distract me from. This is all because you can’t accept that I can’t be up your ass all day like you are up mine!”

You don’t fold in the least, if anything leaning in close enough that your nose bumps into his. “Fuck. You.”

“Jealous bitch!”

“Stuck up bastard!”

The staring contest you’re having is intense, full of tension that threatens to explode if you so much as blink.

Suddenly, there’s a shift in the energy, gaze softening for just a split second before he presses his mouth onto yours. It’s not until he pulls away that you realize that was supposed to be a kiss, turning red as a tomato as your eyes widen.

Bakugou was actually blushing, looking at you as if he’s having a hard time with something. Which did scare you a bit since he was always so sure of himself. “You’re fucking stupid sometimes but you know you’re mine. So, just say it.”

“... What..?”, you say after a full ten seconds of star struck silence.

He grimaces and collects himself for a moment before speaking through gritted teeth. “I’m asking your dumbass to go out with me.”

“That’s not really asking, you didn’t even phrase it as a question...” Your eyebrows knit together as you shoot him a confused look.

“Well what’s your fucking answer!” He rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue against his teeth, something he always does when he’s nervous.

“Of course it’s yes, I’m not completely braindead,” you smile and kiss him on the cheek, very pleased over the outcome of the argument, “only stipulation is that you tell me before you rub yourself all over another person. In return I’ll stop threatening to bite everyone.”

[bytheangell]

We Take Care of Each Other

Whumptober 2020 prompt: “Please... get it out!”  (Read on AO3)

Alec’s shots haven’t missed their mark all night. He isn’t the type to get overconfident, he knows that’s the exact moment you set yourself up to lose, but he knows when he’s on enough of a roll to push his normal limits, shooting a little faster, aiming a little further out than he usually would in order to cover more of the small team he’s on mission with.

They follow a small number of Shax demons, killing a few as they go but leaving at least one alive in front of them at all times to hopefully lead them back to its nest. They’re getting close, Alec can tell, but something feels off. It’s just a gut instinct, but he’s learned to trust those more often than not so he’s on higher alert than usual as they round the next bend of the abandoned subway tunnel.

He sees the nest first, and so do the other Shadowhunters who set to work swiftly dispatching as many of the demons as they can, as quickly as they can. It’s a delicate process - sometimes Shax demons use their victims to breed, which means there may be people alive down here. There are more of them in the tunnels than they anticipated, given the number they already killed along the way. Alec spots a victim near the back and makes a beeline for her, catching several swipes of the demons’ pincers along his legs in an attempt to stop him. He reaches her and checks for a pulse, heart sinking when he doesn’t find one.

Fuck.

He can hear the cries of the demons behind him, the telltale sounds of the other Shadowhunters taking them down one by one with thin blades chosen specifically to pierce through their hard upper shells. He’s so focused on the nest and his search for other victims that he almost misses the orange glow to his left, along a smaller side tunnel.

The color may be different, the light foreign and threatening, but he recognizes the glow of magic when he sees it.

Of course, he has just enough time to think. If the Shax demons are being controlled by a warlock, he should’ve considered the possibility that the warlock would be with the nest, not necessarily somewhere safe and above ground.

“WARLOCK, WEST SIDE TUNNEL,” he shouts to his team. There’s no time for a subtle warning as he moves to duck out of the way of a narrowed beam of orange magic that just barely misses his shoulder. A moment later, Alec has three arrows knocked in his bow. He pulls the string back and releases them one after the other with practiced precision.

Alec might be fast, but the warlock is faster. With a flick of the warlock’s wrist, Alec’s arrows are suddenly consumed with a faint orange glow, and he watches in horror as they stop moving, flip direction, and shoot back at him under the warlock's control. He dodges the first one and recovers just fast enough to hit the second away, leaving a thin cut down his arm from the action. Between the speed of the first two arrows and his wounds from the Shax demons, however, Alec doesn’t recover in time to stop the third arrow from hitting him.

It pierces straight into his stomach, lodging itself in deep. Alec staggers back, fighting the shock that threatens to take over both his mind and his body. The pain is immediately excruciating - he can see blood coming from the wound much faster than a normal injury, and dimly registers through the pain that it must’ve nicked an artery.

“Sir-” one of the Shadowhunters rushes over to him, catching him under the arm and easing him down to the ground.

“Targets first,” Alec chokes out. “Clear the nest. Warlock--” but a glance to his side shows the warlock disappearing through a portal just as three Shadowhunters descend on them. “Fuck,” Alec breathes. He wants to curl in on himself but the arrow is in the way.

“What should we do?” One of the Shadowhunters asks, voice high and panicked. Alec isn’t in the state of mind to sagely suggest they calm down and think back to the basic medical training they get at the Academy, and instead groans, both at the pain and at the fact that he’s bleeding out in a dirty underground tunnel surrounded by a team of rookies.

“Get it out,” the Shadowhunter still kneeling at his side says. Her hands are shaking but she looks like she’s bracing herself to help despite being terrified for Alec, which is how he knows he must look pretty bad.

“No!” Alec shouts, or at least he tries to shout. The single syllable comes out desperate and rasping. “Arrows… more damage… coming out.” He’s losing blood too fast. It’s all he has the strength left to do to pull the cellphone from his pocket and drop it to the ground with a single word: “Catarina,” before everything goes black.

---

“Are you with me, Alec?”

Alec slowly comes back to consciousness to the sound of Catarina’s voice somewhere above him. He groans.

“Good. I was hoping you didn’t call me here just to die on me,” Cat says, forcing a smile. Alec blinks several times to focus and can see the strain on her face.

“Please, get it out,” Alec begs, the words weak.

Cat shakes her head. “I don’t want to take the arrow out here, but I closed the wound around it to buy us some time. Think you can stay conscious long enough to portal to the Institute?”

Alec nods slowly. “Mag-” he starts, but his words dissolve into a violent coughing fit.

“Already on his way to meet us at the infirmary,” Cat supplies, not needing him to finish the question. “C’mon, let’s make sure you’re still breathing when he gets there.”

A portal opens and Alec is aware of several hands helping to lift him in addition to Catarina’s magic. Alec does remain conscious for the short duration of portal travel, as well as just long enough to be carefully sat down on one of the empty beds before he passes out again.

---

Before Alec opens his eyes again, he feels the weight of Magnus’ hand in his own, the cold press of rings a familiar comfort. Eyes still closed he manages a weak squeeze, one that’s returned immediately with three times the force.

“Alexander?” Magnus’ voice comes in a soft whisper from his left.

Despite his body’s desire to fall back asleep, Alec forces his eyes to blink open, fighting how heavy his eyelids feel. Magnus sits on a chair beside his bed in the infirmary, a half-empty coffee cup on the table next to him.

“Magnus,” Alec manages, then swallows thickly, his throat dry from disuse causing him to cough instead. Magnus snaps his fingers and conjures a glass of water which he wastes no time holding up to Alec’s mouth for him to drink from.

Alec’s pretty sure he can handle holding a glass, but doesn’t fight it, taking several small, slow sips until the dryness goes away. Looking down he sees that he’s shirtless, his abdomen heavily bandaged.

“Should I be jealous that you called Catarina before me?” Magnus asks jokingly, following Alec’s gaze to the wrappings. “She says you’ll make a full recovery after a few days of bed rest.”

Alec sighs, then winces when the up-and-down motion tugs at his injury. “Great. We both know how much I love that.”

Magnus hums. “About as much as I love calls from my best friend in the middle of the night that my husband is bleeding out in an old subway tunnel?”

“Sorry I worried you,” Alec says, giving Magnus’ hand another squeeze.

“Don’t be sorry,” Magnus says, standing now so he can lean over Alec. Magnus places a soft, gentle kiss on Alec’s cheek first, then his temple, and then his forehead. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Me too,” Alec says, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t been so certain he would be alright in the moment. That thought tightens something in his chest entirely unrelated to his injuries, and he shifts himself over enough to make it obvious he wants Magnus to lay next to him.

Magnus doesn’t need to be told, though he’s extra careful about sliding in next to Alec without bumping against his side. “No matter how many times you get hurt, it never gets easier to see,” Magnus admits, threading his fingers through Alec’s hair as Alec rests his head on Magnus’ shoulder.

“I know,” Alec agrees. “If it makes you feel better, having you here makes being hurt a lot easier to deal with.”

“It does,” Magnus says. “Though I believe I’m supposed to be the one comforting you right now, and not the other way around.”

Alec smiles despite the constant, gentle throbs of pain. “We take care of each other.”

He doesn’t have to look up at Magnus’ face to tell he’s smiling when he replies, “Always, darling. Always.”

[youngerdrgrey]

better me than him (you know, sisters) // a Black Widow fic

About: SPOILERS FOR BLACK WIDOW (2021) // Yelena says, “Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high.

or, an alternate scene for Black Widow, where Natasha talks to Yelena after the kitchen table breakdown instead of Alexei. + read on ao3

Yelena shirks out of Milena’s touch. She snatches up the vodka from the table and turns for the bedroom. Natasha struggles to find the words to respond to her. Some kind of explanation for disappearing, or some way to take back what she said about the reality of their mission together. But it was a mission. It had to be.

“Yelena.”

Yelena doesn’t break her stride. “No.” The door clicks shut behind her. Tense air makes breathing harder. Natasha parts her lips for a bit of extra oxygen. Zones out and misses the moments where Alexei and Milena exchange words. When Alexei goes to move though, Natasha lifts a hand to stop him.

“I’ll go.” At least then Yelena can’t say Natasha never did anything for her. Yelena probably doesn’t remember that Natasha had held a gun to the soldiers who tried to take Yelena away. What does that matter when Natasha failed, right? Without another word, Natasha goes after Yelena into the guest bedroom.

Yelena’s already on the floor with the bottle of vodka in her hands. Her knees bent up to her chest, her elbows just barely on top of them — she looks so small. Defiant. Natasha closes the door behind her.

Yelena looks too tired to glare. “I came in here because I didn’t want to talk.”

Natasha calls, “Bullshit. All you’ve done since we met up is talk. Talk about feelings and futures and our pasts.” She can’t quite tell if her voice sounds disparaging or wistful. Lonely or yearning for whatever part of Yelena still thinks they could be a family.

“We have a lot of time to make up for,” Yelena snaps back. “Or we would, if any of it were real.”

Natasha takes a sharp breath in. “Come on. I do not want to sit here, holding your hand when there are other Widows out there who need us. Drekhov is still alive and ruining their world.”

Yelena gestures to the door with her vodka bottle. “Go then. It’s what you do best.” She won’t look right at Natasha’s eyes. She glares at her forehead, or her chin. At the walls that Milena has looked at for who knows how long instead of looking for either of them. “You left me. You left the Widows. You even left the Avengers to hide out in the middle of nowhere in a camper with a barely functioning generator. You called Mom Milena a coward. But all you do is run and kill and hide from anybody who tries to care about you.”

“And you care about me?” Natasha doubts that. Why would Yelena still care? Yelena was six the last time they really saw each other. Sure, they crossed paths a few times on missions, but the Red Room took great care to make sure they wouldn’t fall back into old patterns. “Because of some assignment?”

Yelena screams, “Because you were my sister! You-you were someone to look up to! Even as a Widow, all the girls looked up to what you could do. I would tell them, ‘Natasha is my sister. Natasha is coming back for me. Natasha—’” Yelena spits at the ground. Her despair and her rage overtake her face, and her nose could scrape the clouds, she turns it up so high. “They told me again and again that Widows are not a family. But I beat your records, and I thought, ‘One day, she will call me on beating her. She will want a rematch. She will want….’”

“You.” Natasha finishes in a whisper. Yelena grinds her teeth and sends her gaze back down to the vodka bottle. “Even if I did want to know you, that’s not how things are done.”

Yelena takes a swig. “You broke your Accords like a week after signing them. Rules are nothing to you. If you want to lie to yourself to make yourself feel better, then go ahead. But do not lie to me like I am a child. I stopped being one the moment you let them take me.”

“I was a child too, Yelena. Dad—” Natasha cringes at the slip. “Alexei knocked us both out. You can’t keep holding onto this.”

“Tell me what I should hold onto then. Hmm?” Her lips curl into a sad snarl. “I have a vest and some memories of-of handstands in the dirt and chasing after your bike because I was too little to have my own.”

“You crashed your own,” Natasha corrects. “We found it before we were supposed to. I tried to teach you how to ride, and you slammed into the garage door. Woke them both up.”

“Great, another wrong memory.” Yelena shakes her head. “It could have been you.” Yelena snorts like the pigs. A sad, strangled sob follows.

Natasha gives Yelena her privacy and averts her eyes. Maybe that’s the cowardly choice here too. Shield herself from Yelena’s emotions. Pretend that… pretend that none of this hurts her too.

Natasha’s not the one who gives the big speeches. That’s Steve’s department. He stands there with his broad shoulders and his bright eyes, and he talks like he’s still that scrawny kid who couldn’t back down from a fight. But he understands what it feels like to be out of place. He made her feel less alone. He made her feel like she was actually helping people. She was an Avenger. Or, like Yelena said, ‘the trained killer little girls call their hero.’

“Do you remember when I first dyed my hair? Probably not. You were, like, four.” Natasha chuckles, and she wonders for the first time if Milena and Alexei are listening in. She walks over to sit beside Yelena. “Milena did it as a science experiment. We used kool-aid to temporarily dye my hair blue, and you got so scared that the blue on your tongue from drinking it would never go away. So I drank a bunch to turn my tongue, and so did Milena. By the time Alexei got home, my whole head was bright blue, and so were our lips and a little bit of your nose.”

The memory makes Natasha laugh, and when she chances a glance across her shoulder at Yelena, she can see the deep knit of the younger spy’s eyebrows. Yelena doesn’t remember, does she? Doesn’t know about some of the little days that made all the other ones that much more bearable.

Natasha clears her throat. “After Budapest, I had my own life again. And I wish I could say that I felt free. But I felt exactly like I did in Ohio. Like someone was waiting to rip me back out of what little peace I could find. So, I did the only thing that I could think to do. I went to the store and bought a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and a shit ton of blue kool-aid. And I dyed my hair in the S.H.I.E.L.D safe house into the grossest shade of purple that I have ever seen in my life. Clint has pictures somewhere, I’m sure. They’re….” Embarrassing is a word, but they’re the first look at her trying to take her life back.

She’d thought about getting a tattoo back then. She’d gone to a parlor and had flipped through the books of available designs for an hour. Clint had waited with her, making smart ass comments about placement and goading her into making a decision. His personal favorite had been an arrow that he swore would look amazing on the side of her neck. But those permanent changes didn’t feel like her. Not like recreating the memory did.

“I have no idea what they made you do, or what they took from you. We’re going to get the others out, and then you can do whatever you want, Yelena. You never have to talk to me, or Milena, or Alexei again. You can make your own family. Make some new memories. Those days in Ohio, they don’t have to be your best ones.”

Yelena’s lip trembles. She pouts around the emotion. “What if….” She exhales slow, and even that shakes. “What if I wanted that? The… ‘Don’t slouch,’ and the embarrassing parents.”

Natasha lets her voice drop into its raspiest. “They are pretty embarrassing.”

“She raises pigs. Who does that?” Yelena laughs.

Natasha blinks her red-rimmed eyes and nudges her shoulder into Yelena’s. “You and your vest, you fit right in.”

“Don’t be jealous. I could show you where I got it. Make a day of it maybe.” Yelena’s watery eyes find Natasha’s, and they’re so damn hopeful. They ask what Yelena won’t. What if Yelena wants Natasha too? What if they could be sisters again?

Natasha reaches for the vodka bottle, and Yelena hands it to her without question. “Maybe. Once we stop Drekhov.”

“And you get the others,” Yelena adds. “The witch needs new clothes. She looks like a tourist.”

Natasha snorts. “I’ll be sure to give Wanda your fashion advice once she’s off the raft.” They might get along actually. Both younger women, lost a lot as kids, used as violent weapons, but now they’ve got a second chance. It wouldn’t be the worst thing if Yelena tagged along. She’d make a few bad jokes. Get Steve to laugh whenever he comes out of hiding. God, if they ever make up with Tony, he would have a field day at finding out Natasha has a sister. “Do a good job on this mission, and maybe I’ll let you meet them. No autographs though.”

Yelena shoves Natasha’s leg. “I don’t want autographs from your friends.” She pauses to reconsider. “Hm, maybe Captain America. Alexei would shit himself.”

“Did you hear him in the bathroom earlier? He probably already did.”

Yelena groans, and the only thing sweeter than the laughter to follow is the small smile she gives to Natasha. Like maybe there’s still something in Natasha worth looking up to.

“Hey,” Natasha’s voice comes out more serious than she intends it to. Yelena lifts an eyebrow as she waits. “You were always the best of us, you know that?”

The words make Yelena’s lip tremble again. Her nose pitches up, and she sniffles before putting on her best Widow smirk. “That’s why I beat all your records.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Сука.”

Yelena pushes herself up from the floor. “I’m not a bitch.” She reaches her hand out to pull Natasha up. Natasha accepts the assist.

“You’re a brat; that’s what you are.” Natasha leads the way back out of the bedroom.

“What are little sisters for?”

Hope. Not that Natasha would admit that part. Way too sentimental, way too honest. She sticks her tongue out instead. Yelena understands though. It’s what they do. Or at least, what they could do, if they keep showing up instead of running away.

"Tell me when you figure it out, okay?"

.

.

notes: Natasha is her (foster, mission) mother's daughter, in more ways than one, and Yelena should say it.

I also want to thank you all for the very warm reception to my other Black Widow fic. I have at least one more in the chamber. You are welcome to send in requests, and if any speak to me, I will do my best to write them. Mostly, I just care about this family a lot. Go figure. Let's talk about them. Or anything else in replies/reblogs/asks.

[prose-for-hire]

The hotter twin

Pairing: Xander Harris x reader

Request: "I didn't kiss you! I swear it wasn't me!"  (maybe when he gets split in two)

Requested by: @sunflower-stan​

A/N: Reader is usually kind of mean to Xander, until he (or someone with his face) kisses them. They never said anything until everything boils over at a Scooby Halloween party. 

You and Cordy were best friends. You had both unfortunately stumbled upon the Scooby gang in high school and became roped into the whole saving the world thing. You had survived graduation and continued to help the others while you balanced college and your social life.

Today was Halloween. You had dressed up, hoping that you could let yourself relax. You were going to a party at Buffy’s house but you knew pretty much any party that happened there ended in some kind of disaster. You were fond of the rest of the Scoobies, although you didn’t often admit or show it.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, making sure your costume was okay. A secret part of you, one you didn’t want to admit to yourself knew you had picked your costume with him in mind. You hoped he would think it was cool. No, you didn’t. Who cares what he thinks? Don’t kid yourself, you definitely do.

You remembered that kiss you had shared as you stared at yourself in the mirror. You closed your eyes, wishing you could feel his lips on yours again.

You had been sat in the Magic box, Giles had given you a job after you had persisted in asking him every week after you graduated. He wasn’t particularly fond of you, your bluntness and sometimes confrontational manner meant he had suspected you weren’t going to give pleasant customer service. 

But, you could be nice to people. You just tried to put up a front especially when you felt vulnerable. That’s why you and Cordy had been such close friends, you understood each other. You missed her, but you had stayed on for college in Sunnydale while she went away to LA.

So, there you were two weeks ago. Sat behind the register on a particularly slow day. Nobody else was in, you had been looking after the store alone. Which showed how far you had come in Giles’ eyes. You were his favourite employee.

“What you need a spell to create a girlfriend? Know a man that did that - well, I say man...” You tailed off, thinking about it. It had given you the creeps. You shrugged, “All you need is a robot and some brains” You offered with a pause for effect, “Oh crap, I forgot, you don’t have any” You said, your usual back and forth with Xander that you had expected. But he didn’t retort. Didn’t make an equal joke at your expense. 

He just moved and lifted the counter so that he could duck under it and join you behind the register. Smiling at you slightly while he observed you closely. He moved with purpose, had a new confidence that you couldn’t deny you were attracted to.

“What do you want, Xander?” You had said, more softly this time. You looked away from his eye contact, feeling vulnerable under his gaze. He was looking at you in a way that made your heart flutter. Your stomach flip.

“You” He whispered, before moving his hand to cup your face. He pulled you towards him, closing the gap as his lip met yours. It was slow, passionate. A revelation. You wrapped an arm around him, trying to become closer to him. Your lips fit together perfectly, your heart was hammering against your chest so violently as if it wanted to break free and merge with his.

He smiled after you both pulled away. He looked proud, satisfied. You had kissed him back. You were speechless, for the first time. He had just turned and left without saying another word.  

When you arrived at the party, it was already in full swing. If there was one thing you had learnt from Cordy, it was to always turn up fashionably late. That way, you weren’t hanging around waiting for the fun to start. The house was decorated really nicely, you knew Willow and Tara probably had something to do with it. The music was really good and everyone seemed to be in a good mood. 

The costumes were really good and you winked at the person that had a sheet over their head with two holes cut out, knowing that it was Dawn. She had been told she could have a sleepover as long as she stayed upstairs during the party. But she had wanted to be grown up and had sneaked downstairs. You had some approving looks on your own costume and you smiled at some of the more attractive people in the crowd. Perhaps you could find a way to take your mind off Xander. Or maybe even make him a little jealous. 

As the night went on, you had been enjoying yourself, becoming more social that you usually would. People might even mistake you for friendly which you didn’t usually allow to happen. You were just trying to enjoy yourself. Take your mind off your feelings for Xander, but somehow you managed to check what he was doing out of the periphery of your eye no matter where he was in the room.

What you didn’t realise was that Xander had been watching you and commenting on the way you had been flirting your way around the party to anyone that would listen. Willow, Tara and Buffy had all made their excuses and found a way to escape his running commentary which is when you had taken your chance to finally walk up to him. You had to say something.

“Xander we need to talk” You hissed. He looked at you, confused. You barely spoke to him without an insult flying his way and he was confused that you had cut out the usual biting comment and wanted to talk to him alone. You just rolled your eyes and getsured for him to follow you into a quiet corner.

“W-what’s goin’ on, Y/n?” Xander had become more and more nervous around you. It had started before the kiss and it was because he really did have a crush on you. What you didn’t realise, was around the time of the kiss that you hadn’t stopped thinking about, there had been a spell that had created a second, more successful Xander. This Xander had kissed you and you hadn’t found out the truth. But it made you more frustrated as Xander acted like he didn’t want to know you (which, in fairness, didn’t help that your attitude could be so biting).

“So, we kissed-” You started, but quickly got cut off.

“W-wha-?! Kissed? I wouldn’t kiss you, I mean, eurgh!” he mock-shuddered for good measure, “I’d get some sort of disease or-” He continued incredulously. He usually said things like this, but it hurt more today. 

“Cut the crap, Harris. I’m talking your tongue, my mouth. Any recollections?” You continued bluntly. It hurt, this constant harshness now. You just wanted his affection. You wanted to be able to trust him with yours.

“I didn’t kiss you! I swear it wasn’t me!” he insisted, waving his hands out in front of him as if to erase the scene before him.

“Oh yeah? Who was it then? Your evil twin?!” You asked sternly. You scowled, getting more upset. At the same time, Xander remembered. There really had been a second him. A second him that did everything that regular him wished he could. Oh crap, he must have kissed you and he didn’t even get to remember it.

“Actually-” He started to explain.

“You big liar, Xander Harris! You know your panties? They’re on fire!”

“I don’t have-”

“Big, massive old lady panties. On fire” You scolded, crossing your arms in a way you must have picked up from Buffy. You were upset. Angry. He had brought up all of these feelings and you were annoyed he was denying everything.

You stared for a moment, he was floundering. His mouth opening and closing. You didn’t need this. You didn’t need him messing with your head. You didn’t need to wait around for someone that probably kissed your for a dare. So, you stormed off. 

“Hey, wait!”

“No, you know what? I should have known! That stupid ‘twin’ was hotter than you anyway!” You shouted, whipping around. 

“Y/n, please!” he pleaded, which was new and it took you off guard, “I mean it, ask anyone!”

“I don’t care anymore, I just want to get drunk and find a real man that I can kiss without any of these stupid childish games you have to play!” You shouted, your voice louder than the music now.

“Then, let’s just start over!” He pointed at you before holding a hand out as if to offer to shake, “I’m Xander and I like you and I want you. I know it’s hard to believe ‘cause of my strong manliness, but it hurts when you cut me off. I get it, I’m average. I have no strength, I’m no vampire and I don’t have any magical powers-”

“You’re not selling yourself here” You said, but he could see the smile spreading on your face.

“-But, I do care about you. I’m jealous of me, the other me, because he got to kiss you. He got to do that and now I can’t ‘cause you hate me again”

“I- I don’t hate you Xander” You admitted as he put his hand back down.

“Yeah? I’m definitely feelin’ the love with the scary shouting in the middle of a Halloween party with everyone we know watching” He said sheepishly as you looked around to see that everyone had stopped what they were doing to watch your exchange. When you stared back they quickly looked away and pretended not to listen in.

You stepped towards him, sliding your hand up his chest and pressing your lips to his. You slid your hand up his neck and weaved your fingers between his short hair and his hands caressed your back. He hesitated at first, but relaxed into the kiss. It was everything he had hoped. Dreamed of. He kissed you with fervour, never wanting the moment to end. 

You eventually both pulled back, breathless. Both feeling your cheeks redden. You didn’t know what to say, you just smiled, avoiding the audience who wasn’t being subtly anymore. All eyes were now on you both.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you, that costume looks good on you” He offered after he got his breath back.

“You know what would look better?” You smiled suggestively and leaned in again, meeting his lips. He had flushed further, but enjoyed you being more honest with him. Showing him that you actually did like him. Maybe you could try it out, this honesty seemed to be worth it after all.

Every kiss was as good as you had remembered it. Maybe even better. His lips were like magic. You spent the rest of the party laughing and dancing and making sure you could lock your lips with his at every opportunity.

[jojo-fantasy-aus]

Fantasy Au!

Josuke x F! Reader - ch 7

It Takes Two.

This chapter is a but shorter than usual, but I hope Ya'll enjoy!

----

Your eyes fluttered open as you lay in the comfy, warm, bed. This was useless. You had been trying to fall asleep for hours, it felt like, but all you could do was twist and turn and flip your pillow over and over again. 

With a sigh, you sat up in bed, reaching over to the side table with a blind hand. The square matchbox was easy to find, and with a flick of your wrist you lit the candle next to you. The room filled with a soft warm light.

It felt impossible to quiet the thoughts in your head. You thought that you'd gotten over the guilt from the fight this morning, but you couldn't stop thinking about it. You were so angry, but why? After years of serving at the palace you thought you had learned to hold your temper, but everything had just felt so out of control.

And then there was Josuke. How had he remained so… so calm? He wasn't angry, just shocked. Or was he angry? Was he just hiding it? The more you thought about it the more your head hurt. You needed a break.

The cold floors slightly creaked under you as you stood and picked up the candlestick, gingerly opening the door to your room. 

You tiptoed down the stairs as silent as you could in such an old house, and the sound of a fire going was loud and clear in the quiet night. That was curious, who else could be up at this hour? A split second thought of the person being Josuke made your stomach flutter, and you pressed a cold hand to your hot face. Were you…? 

No. You decided that you would analyze your own thoughts later, it was much too late for this.

Finally reaching the last step, you headed towards the living room where the main fireplace was. 

Warm light leaked through a small crack in the door, and for a moment you hesitated before opening it further. The cold doorknob pressed into your palm as you pulled the squeaky door open to peer into the room.

The man half-asleep on the couch caught you by surprise, and your heart sunk when you realized it wasn't Josuke, staying up a little later, wandering the house with those fitted sleepshirts he wears…

You physically shook the thought from your head, stepping into the room fully. Okuyasu's eyes were open, but it looked like he hadn't noticed you. In fact, you were pretty sure he was snoring. A notebook and quill had been abandoned in his lap.

"Okuyasu?" The man snorted violently, and then choked on the breath, doubling over in a cough. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing as he tried to regain his composure.

"Keeping vigilant watch over the fire I see?" You mused, blowing out the candle in your hand. Okuyasu gasped dramatically and ran to the fireplace in front of him, peering at the dying embers. He settled back on the couch once he was confident that the fire wasn't an immediate threat.

"Thanks for waking me up, Shigetchi would'a killed me if I burned down this house." You smiled brightly, settling down on a rocking chair yourself. 

"Not if Josuke got to you first." He let out a goofy chuckle before stretching his arms with a big yawn, stiff joints popping all at once. The silence settled for just a moment. 

" 'Mind if I ask why you're up so late, Miss?" Okuyasu said a little too loudly. You shush him, reminding him that there was, in fact, another person in the house. Once he nervously apologized you answered him.

"I haven't been able to sleep. I guess I've just been thinking too much." You subconsciously rocked back and forth on the chair as you spoke. Okuyasu nodded, leaning comfortably back on the couch. 

"We all seem to have that in common, huh?"

"All?" 

Okuyasu smiled in a goofy way, shaking his head before speaking up in his gruff, sleep deprived voice. 

"Josuke wouldn't go to bed until you got back, all he did was wait out in the stables the whole time. And even then he didn't fall asleep until a few hours ago." He laughed. Instantly your face flushed, a strange feeling blooming in your chest when you thought about it. Josuke worries too much.

" I fell asleep right after you left for the dinner thing. Had a dream- No! A divination about a new pumpkin bread recipe. Woke up 'bout an hour or two later with an itch to write it down, but…" Okuyasu glanced at the papers in his lap, some scrawled over and scratched out with the ink. He frowned, just slightly.

"I just can't seem to get it right." You hummed, brows furrowing. That was quite a predicament. The one thing you had learned about Okuyasu was the sweet man had quite the gift for baking, so much so that you'd much rather call it an art, and him an artist. Even then, he still hit walls in inspiration. Your face lit up when an idea flashed in your head 

"We could go to the market tomorrow? I heard from Shigetchi that they harvested the last of the fall crop recently, so they should have some good pumpkins ready. -mabye we can ask to borrow some of his spices too! I'm sure you'll have it figured out by then." Okuyasu's face lit up immediately, looking at you with stars in his eyes.

"Whoah!! That's such a great idea- I didn't even think about adding spices!!" Okuyasu cheered, snatching the quill back into his hand. You must have given him some kind of idea already, because he was already aggressively writing things down. He quietly rambled off the things he would need to get from the market under his breath. The small action ignited a smile, it was nice to see him so happy. It was no wonder that this goofball and Josuke were best friends, they were both filled with passion and excitement for even the littlest of things. 

You didn't realize you had spaced out until Okuyasu spoke up again.

"You're so smart! It's no wonder Josuke likes you so much!" Your face heated up in a split second. Did he really just say that?

"He what?" Okuyasu looked up at you, a face of confusion turning into panic. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the door creaked open.

"What're you guys doing?" You jumped at the sound of Josuke's voice. Turning around in your chair to face him.

He looked dead tired, almost half awake as he stood there. He was still in his pajamas, (weren't you all,) which were just some baggy pants and a green shirt with a neckline that maybe dipped a bit too low… But even still he looked so handsome.

The flush of blood in your face was hopefully still hidden by the looming night, as it had become even worse when you realized you were staring.

"I- well I couldn't sleep, so I came downstairs and found Okuyasu…" He sent you a pleading look. Right, maybe you shouldn't tell Josuke that he could've burnt the house down.

"-Trying to write down a recipe all night." Josuke's face shifted a bit, but he nodded. He sent a disappointed glare in Okuyasu's direction, and the mercenary panicked, frantically waving his hands back and forth in surrender.

"Look- I know you told me to stop staying up so late- but bro- this recipe!" You giggled a bit as Okuyasu struggled out the excuses. Josuke sighed, shaking his head at his friend. He was so caring. You could tell that from the moment you met him. You looked at him fondly, but he didn't turn to see.

Maybe having a little bit of a crush on Josuke wasn't such a bad idea after all. 

When the three of you eventually dispersed and went to bed, it was almost difficult to remove yourself from Josuke's side. An exchange of a soft Goodnight made your stomach flutter all over again, and the moment you closed your door you slid down the surface and onto the floor.

This was definitely not just "a bit of a crush" anymore.

Shit.

Josuke sighed heavily as he closed his door, heart wrenching as he pried himself away from you. You and Okuyasu had just been talking, that was all. Right? He shouldn't be jealous of his friend. There wasn't even a reason to be jealous. But then he thought of your giggle as Oku rambled, and the short moment you hesitated while explaining why you had been up so late, and his chest felt like it started to squeeze in on itself. 

He was overthinking this. Okuyasu would never try to court her when it was so obvious that he was trying to himself. He's a good friend, always will be too. 

He couldn't stop thinking about what Okuyasu said after he came home from Shigetchi's. Sure, he didn't know that Josuke had been watching over you instead of taking care of the horses all night, but his words still hit in all the fuzzy places.

"She's worried about you too, Ya'know that? Barely got a foot in the door before asking where you'd gone off too. 'Didn't get to answer before you walked back in to say hi," 

He had only been standing there for a moment before you changed the subject and started telling the two of them about your lead. He remembered how you couldn't look him in the eye. He had no doubt that it was because you felt terribly guilty for slapping him.

 Josuke pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed that had long gone cold. You had never meant to harm anyone, not for the short amount of time he knew you however. You certainly never meant to harm him in the way you did. It was the first time in a while that someone had gotten physical with him, and he didn't get mad. He supposed that it was simply because it was you. You, looking so… so scared. He would've been offended that you thought he was one of those men from back at the camp, but he out of all people definitely knew the toll that trauma can take on people.

"Love is fickle like that sometimes…"

The sentence had been burning into his mind for a while, and so had you. 

He fell asleep with the thought of you on his mind.

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.11

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 11/20

Previously <- Chapter 10: Alpha Wanted

Chapter 12: Parents and questions they shouldn’t ask -> Next

Author’s Notes: So, there's songs in this chapter! Yay! They are Never Enough by Loren Allred and Tightrope by Michelle Williams (don't @ me about them being from the Greatest Showman, I know it's trending, these songs just fit them so well). You'll notice that there are also two links, and those are to figure skating videos that are the closest to how I imagine the programs to be. If you mute the video and play the song over it, they match up pretty well. I had a really easy time finding one I liked for Izuku, but a much harder time finding an example for Katsuki. I really like Yuna Kim as a model for Izuku and Yuzuru Hanyu as a model for Katsuki, but Yuzuru's style just didn't fit what I was trying to portray in this chapter. That's okay though! Of course, I don't own the videos. They belong to their original posters and creators. Let me know if the links don't work, and I'll find a different way to share them. I hope you guys like the chapter. I had a really fun time writing it, and I can't wait to post for next week!

Chapter 11: Solo

Izuku stepped onto the ice for the first time since his injury. Terror washed through him. His heart raced in his chest. His hands shook violently. His breath quickened. He clutched at the wall to keep himself steady. A fear weighed heavy on him, fear that as soon as he let go his hip or ankle or knee would simply give out. That the break that had healed months ago would suddenly shatter apart again.

Just because he knew it was an irrational fear didn't mean he knew how to fight against it.

“Just take it slow, young Midoriya, there's no need to rush. You've been doing strength training for a few months now, but being back on the ice is a different kind of taxing,” Toshinori said close by, hands stacked on his hips while he watched Izuku all but cowering against the wall.

“I'm not getting tired. Nothing hurts yet, I'm just...” He trailed off, unwilling to admit his fear.

“Scared? I understand. That's a normal reaction after an injury as severe as yours was. I was scared too the first time I got back on the ice after my injury, but it will get easier. Like I said, take it slow. Soon enough, you'll be sprinting and jumping just like you used to, but we've got to start small first.”

“Right,” Izuku whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. They remained there for long moments, and it was only when the scent of sweet spices assaulted his nose that he was able to open his eyes again.

He found Katsuki's familiar red eyes watching him. Katsuki who's hair was pushed away from his forehead with sweat and seemed to be in the middle of a training exercise with Mr. Aizawa. Katsuki who's scent of excitement was beginning to make the rink smell startlingly like snickerdoodles.

Izuku had forgotten what Katsuki's scent smelled like when he was excited, and it made his mouth water.

Embarrassed, he ripped his eyes away. Once upon a time, he had been the reason for that smell. He was desperately jealous of whoever or whatever had provoked such a reaction in his old friend. Whatever it was though, it had nothing to do with a useless deku like him. Maybe one day very far away, he could be the reason again, but he had a long way and a lot of work before then.

Swallowing, he struggled to stand up straight and push carefully along the wall. With each step and each second of feeling Katsuki's eye on him, he felt his confidence slowly inflate.

.....

November Week 2

Izuku stared down at his phone, mouth turned down in a frown as he waited impatiently for Katsuki to respond, but the little icon telling him that his partner had even seen the message remained blank. It was strange to say the least. Katsuki was the most punctual creature he knew and had ever known. The only time he'd ever skipped class or been late for something were times when his rut had hit suddenly or he'd been uncharacteristically sick. To put it simply, Izuku could count on one hand how many times Katsuki had missed something.

He was only holding up three fingers.

"Let's just go, Deku, I don't think he's going to come tonight," Uraraka suggested, still sitting in the same place on the bleachers that she'd been sitting since she and Kaminari had followed him from his apartment. Team practice had been early that morning instead of later, and the pair of omegas had made the unanimous decision to have an omegas' day. So far, they'd had lunch where the pair had pointed out every marginally attractive alpha to cross their paths, gotten mani-pedis, gone window shopping for potential Christmas presents, looked at venues for the team Christmas party, and gone into a sex store specifically catoring to omegas with a wide range of heat aids. Kaminari had been adamant about going in when they passed by, and after more than a little prodding from both of his friends, Izuku had agreed.

Now, a black bag was tucked away in his gym bag with an item that made him both hot around the collar and simultaneously hot between the legs. The item excited him, but he was loathe to admit that to either of them. He'd only ever had a few encounters of the sexual nature, and those hadn't been very good. Other than that, he really didn't think much about his pleasure. He didn't even really masturbate which had seemed to send the omegas into a frenzy. There had been so many noises of astonishment and disbelief from both Kaminari and Uraraka that he'd hid in the lingerie racks for the better part of a half hour until they'd coaxed him out with the promise of ice cream and figure skater themed lingerie sets.

He hadn't thought his lack of sexual appetite was all that strange. He'd been on suppressants for years. Katsuki had been the focus of all his attention since they'd been kids. He'd always just been more focused on figure skating. He wasn't the only one in the world who felt the same. The asexual spectrum existed for a reason, and he was a staunch believer that he was of that spectrum.

Uraraka and Kaminari had followed him back to the rink, fully intending to drag him away after for a sleepover and movie night.

"Yeah, man, let's just go. What's the point of waiting around any longer? We're just wasting time at this point," Kaminari piped up, head hanging back between his shoulders as he leaned against the wall. "This is just typical Bakugou. He doesn't really consider other people's feelings, you know?"

The comment set Izuku's teeth on edge, and with effort, he unclenched his jaw.

Izuku wasn't particularly annoyed. He loved his friends and loved the sense of community that being with the other omegas gave him, but he wished they would just stop talking. He tried very hard to remind himself that no one had known Katsuki as long as he had, and for a good portion of the time they had known him, Katsuki had hiding behind a mask.

Releasing a quiet sigh, Izuku smiled and said, "He'll be here. He just must have gotten tied up with something with his class. He'll be here."

Uraraka smiled, but he could tell that she wanted to sigh. Maybe she even wanted to roll her eyes. "Will you skate for us while we wait then? If he doesn't get here in time, at least you'll have had a chance to practice. You don't have to skate your program, but maybe something else?"

For a moment, Izuku just considered her idea. He smiled. "Sure. That sounds good." Connecting his phone to the speaker that Toshinori left in the rink for them to use on their off time, Izuku quickly found the song he wanted.

.....

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Katsuki hissed as he tore across the street, flipping off a car as they slammed on their brakes and subsequently on their horn. He couldn't stop though. He was fucking late. Really, really fucking late! He hated being late, always had and always would. Being late for his nightly practice with Izuku just pissed him off all the more. The worst part of it all was that his phone had died sometime during the day so he didn't even have a way of letting his partner know that he'd be late.

The situation had been unavoidable though, and Katsuki swallowed passed the thick lump in his throat.

Two of his students had gotten hurt, and memory of the blood splattered ice made bile rise in the back of his throat. He had turned his back for a single second to correct the form of the new five-year-old he'd taken on. Just a moment had been all they needed. Two of his students had tried the same lift Katsuki had tried with Mina off ice, and just like her, their foot had slipped. The blade had sliced deep into their would be partner's thigh and started gushing blood before either of them had really realized what had happened. There had been an ambulance and paperwork and worried parents and Katsuki trying to keep his head on straight in the mayhem. Now, the adrenaline was wearing off, and he could feel himself crashing. Crashing hard.

There was only blood and ice and screaming and green curls and pain twisting Izuku's face and pain twisting Katsuki's chest. He was having a hard time separating the two memories, and while he knew that was dangerous, he didn't know how to stop it.

So, he ran. Ran to catch Izuku before he left the rink, and ran to stave off the no doubt mount panic attack.

Out of the corner of his eye as he passed a store front, he caught the flash of forest green fabric. Screeching to a stop, he backtracked to the window. Someone had dressed mannequins in winter wear. It was clear that each had a theme and that each set of clothing had been handmade. One wore all pink. One wore woodland colors with a bright orange fox-eared beanie. Another was dressed from head to toe in sparkly purple fabric. The one that had caught his attention was the most subdued with the beanie as the only spot of color.

The beanie was forest green like the gloves he'd bought for Izuku. Floppy white lined bunny ears lay across the mannequin’s forehead with little tassels that hung on either side of the mannequin's cheeks. Minutes ticked by as Katsuki kept staring, imagining green locks poking out from beneath the edge as he tugged on the tassels to pull a smile from its wearer. Green eyes going wide as he handed it over, actually presenting his omega with a gift face to face. A whispered, "Thank you," as round freckled cheeks reddened-

"Evening, young man."

If Katsuki could have literally jumped out of his skin, he would have. Jerking his head towards the voice, he stared at the old man that stood in the doorway of the shop. He hadn't noticed, but unlike a lot of shops in the city, this one seemed to be part of a small home. The wood around the window was weathered and old with peeling robin's egg blue paint. Swallowing, Katsuki tried to find his words. If he'd just been staring into this man's home, it was no wonder he'd come out to find out what Katsuki's doing. "Evening, old man," he finally replied gruffly.

A smile cracked across the old man's ancient face, and he leaned out to see into the front window. "My wife's work. She knits all year long with the best yarn she can find so that alphas like yourself can gift something special to their omegas. Or betas, of course. Times are changing. It's more common to see alphas or omegas marrying betas or even their same dynamic. I think that's lovely." His smile only grew as Katsuki blinked at him nonplussed. "Sorry, I tend to ramble. My wife says it's a problem, but I don't think so. Did you have a special someone in mind? Would you like to take a closer look?"

"I'm... late... to meet... with the omega I'm courting," he said haltingly, unable to resist the other alpha's probing. That happened sometimes with the older alphas. It felt like a sense of community to him, one he resisted, but appreciated when he actually took their unsolicited advice.

"You're only getting more late, but this young omega might like a gift in return. It's not an apology, but it could be the start of one."

"I-"

"If you didn't want to take a closer look, you would have already walked away. You don't have to buy anything, but you could keep it in mind."

Sound logic, and with a sigh, Katsuki nodded. Only a few minutes later he had bought the beanie, and a few minutes after being gushed over by the old man's old omega wife, he was sprinting even faster than before. He felt lighter with the beanie clutched in his hand though, and the only thing in his chest was the anticipation of handing the gift over to Izuku.

It felt like there had been a lot of helping hands in his courting of Izuku, but it also felt like he'd been squandering the chances. With any luck, this would push the scales back in his favor. He hadn't heard anything else about the date Izuku had gone on, and sadistically, he hoped it hadn't gone well for the alpha.

When Katsuki finally shoved into the rink, he let out an explosive sigh of relief. Music played through the rink, and he seemed to have come in right at the crescendo. Not only that, but he immediately recognized the song.

' All the shine of a thousand spotlights/all the stars we steal from the night sky/will never be enough- '

Slowly, Katsuki stepped out enough for him to fully see the rink.

There was Izuku, occupying the whole rink with his presence if not his body. Whenever Izuku skated -really skated, not what he did in practice- it was impossible to look away from him. And in that moment, it was even more so.

Out on the ice, Izuku moved more elegantly than ever. There was no wobble in his stance, no hesitation in his jumps. There was a languidness to his movements that made something deep in Katsuki's chest ache to join him. And then he saw the look on Izuku's face.

He clutched the beanie even more tightly. "Why does he look so sad?" he whispered to himself.

He nearly jumped out of his skin for the second time that night when he heard Uraraka speak up from beside him. He hadn't seen her or Kaminari on the bench, too absorbed in his partner.

"I think you know, Bakugou. It might not be obvious to him, but you and I aren't dense."

On the ice, Izuku lifted his open palms toward the ceiling, staring up at them longingly. ' Towers of gold are still too little/these hands could hold the world but it'll/never be enough/never be enough- '

He watched Izuku until the end of the song before going to take the seat between Kaminari and Izuku's bag. As discreetly as possible, trying to make it look like he was getting into his own bag, he carefully slid the beanie into Izuku's bag.

Then he went to grab for his skates. An image flashed passed his eyes. Crimson blood on stark white ice. Fear and pain in forest green eyes. Tears on freckled cheeks. A young girl’s hand clutched in his as he used his pheromones to calm her.

"Kacchan, you made it!"

Sucking in a sharp breath and doing his best to calm the sharp rise and fall of his chest, he glanced at Izuku leaning over the wall. The omega's cheeks were flushed, pushed up high on his face from the force of his smile.

"I was worried you weren't going to."

There was a subtle undertone to his words, something that went along with the song that was now repeating through the speakers. Katsuki swallowed, and squeezed his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He couldn't practice with Izuku tonight, couldn't touch him, not in his state. He'd fuck up. Make a mistake. Get them both hurt. He shouldn’t have come.

He pulled his hands away from his bag. "Had an emergency during lessons. One of my students got hurt. Phone died." His sentences were clipped, short, just fragments that lacked any of his usual harsh tone.

"Did you see my program? It's what I had been planning for this year before Mr. Aizawa's announcement."

"Most of it. Missed the first part."

Izuku's smile never faded, but it softened marginally. He pushed away towards the rink entrance, and slid on his guards before moving over to Katsuki to crouch in front of him.

"Do you want to talk about your student? Were they seriously injured?"

Katsuki felt his mouth begin to twitch into a sneer. He forced it down, ignoring the feeling of two extra pairs of eyes on them. This moment felt private, and he wished they were alone so he could just open his mouth and spill his guts. Instead, he just said, "No."

Still, izuku smiled. He didn't stand as he asked, "Will you skate for my blog? My readers are always asking for more videos of you. I'll stay on this side and just record. Can't trust these two to get the proper shots."

Katsuki hadn't known Izuku had talked about him on his blog, and the knowledge made his alpha purr contentedly. The meaning behind Izuku's words took a moment longer to hit. He was offering him an easy way out. Time on the ice alone and an excuse to not be on the ice together for the night. He didn't know if Izuku was doing it on purpose or simply just wanted to let him skate, but the thought sent a ripple of affection through him.

"Yeah, sure, whatever," he finally said, yanking his skates from his bag.

…..

Izuku could tell that something was wrong, and he could tell it had something to do with the student that had gotten hurt. He didn't know exactly what was wrong, what was going on inside that blonde head. If he could have opened up Katsuku's brain and climbed in, he would have done it when they were twelve. No, younger. When they'd first met.

But he couldn't. They're relationship was only just getting better, and he didn't think he was allowed to or should push for a more complete answer.

The ice was the only thing he could offer. Still, he was surprised that Katsuki had so easily taken it, but he was thankful that he had.

Standing on the side of the rink while Katsuki queued up the music and pushed out to middle ice, Izuku felt himself grow giddy with anticipation. While he was desperate to feel Katsuki holding him close like he always did while they skated, he'd been waiting for a long time to get a video of Katsuki that wasn't a competition video.

He was almost vibrating as the first cords of the music played through the rink. When the singing began, he sucked in a breath.

' Some people long for a life that is simple and planned/tied with a ribbon/some people won't sail the sea cause they're safer on land/to follow what's written/but I'd follow you to the great unknown- '

' Please, let me not be imagining this ,' Izuku silently prayed every time Katsuki's eyes met his across the ice.

Katsuki's programs were usually sharp and energized and to the point. He was beautiful and skillful when he skated, but he'd never been one for delicacy. Katsuki was almost savage when he skated, and Izuku loved that about him.

Now though, Katsuki was skating like he was dancing ballet, all strong purposeful movements. All flourishing hand placements and arm sweeps.

And the look on his face was one of painful longing. ' So I risk it all just to be with you/And I risk it all for this life we choose- '

Behind Izuku, his attention was drawn to his friends as they whispered.

"Is it weird that they chose songs from the same movie?" Kaminari asked, voice just above a whisper.

Uraraka snorted. "I think it's weirder that Bakugou has watched The Greatest Showman more than anything else."

Izuku allowed for just a bare second to glance over his shoulder at them. "Shh," he hissed before swiveling back. He fell back into the skating without trouble, but something in the back of his brain wanted to tell his friends to leave. This program felt far too personal for them to be watching. Not only that, but Izuku almost wanted to be the only one to ever have seen it. He wanted to have this part of Katsuki all to himself even if he knew he'd never be allowed such a thing.

When Katsuki glided over, cheeks glowing and eyes looking more grounded than they had before, he asked, "Is that what you were hoping for?"

Staring Katsuki straight in the eye, he whispered, "More. Far more."

[mithranqueersmusings]

I Think I'll Love You Too III

Chapter: 3/?

Rating: U

Summary: George and Ringo have been going out officially for a couple of months. Ringo anticipated that dating a stripper would be complicated, but he didn't understand exactly how complicated it would be.

Tags: Modern AU, Established Relationship

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo hadn't been back to The Helter Skelter since he and George had started dating, much to the disappointment of John who had been begging constantly. However there cane a point where George began to grow suspicious, evidently he was worried that his relationship history was beginning to repeat itself. Not that he expressed any of these concerns to Ringo, instead he dropped passive aggressive hints and made vague comments which unfortunately reminded Ringo of the potential downsides to dating. Once the clues had been deciphered, Ringo vowed to return to the club the following night which seemed to please both John and George.

"You're not gonna get jealous are you?" George had asked while getting ready for his shift "Because if you are, just don't come."

Ringo certainly wasn't enjoying the harsher side of George but he understood the defensive tactic well "Of course not." He sat behind George who was doing his makeup in the mirror and wrapped his arms around his waist "What have I got to be jealous about?"

"I'm just saying..." George leaned in to the touch "You might think you won't get jealous, but when you see me rubbing my arse on some ugly bloke you might flip."

"George." Ringo said sternly "Stop worrying, please. I'll be just fine."

"Hmm, if you're sure." George sounded distracted as he coated his eyelashes in mascara.

Ringo had headed back home when George had left for work, he saw no use in hanging around the club so early in the evening. He caught up on some much needed sleep, his body was still rather exhausted. When night fell, John was excitedly knocking on Ringo's door. Awakening feeling groggy and disoriented Ringo shuffled over to open it. John burst in immediately, swinging the door so violently that Ringo had to jump backwards to avoid being hit.

"Jesus!" Ringo scolded "Could've taken my nose off."

"I'd be doing you a favour." John joked with a grin, collapsing onto Ringo's sofa "You got anything to drink?"

"Nice to see you too." Ringo scoffed, closing the door.

The two of them shared a few cold beers before heading out to the club, blasting the radio as they drove through the night. John was eager to see Paul, even though they'd spent the last few nights together, it was refreshing for Ringo to see his best friend so happy.

Ringo had forgotten how loud the music had been, the vibrations rattling in his ears as they made their way past the bouncer and into the warmth of the club. It was relatively packed, unsurprisingly for a Saturday night, but luckily their usual seats at the bar were free. John didn't even have to order a drink, as soon as he sat down he was being served without a word. Ringo supposed it would be an impressive sight if they weren't in a strip club, the thought passed his mind that John had paid the bartender prior just to make him look cool.

Ringo didn't recognise the dancer on stage, they had short platinum blonde hair and intricate tattoos dotted across their skin. Neither of them paid much attention, far more invested in their own conversation. Eventually they were shooed away from the bar to make room for other customers, so they sat at the back of the rows of chair and continued their nonsensical discussion as best they could.

"Ey up." John's tone changed as he nodded his head towards the stage "Someone's got their eye on you."

Ringo didn't register the words entirely at first, both his thoughts and visions gradually  blurring as he drank more and more. John nudged Ringo to direct his attention, the dancer was making their way through the throng of customers who were eagerly waving money in the air. Gradually they maneuverered over to Ringo and John, swinging their hips with their eyes glued to Ringo.

"Shit." Ringo breathed with a hint of a laugh.

He looked around the room to see if George was around, but there was no sign of him. As the dancer got closer and closer, Ringo figured there was nothing he could do but humour them and to get the whole thing over with as soon as possible. He could hardly complain, it was the guy's job after all. John seemed ready to burst into a fit of laughter upon witnessing Ringo's dilemma, his face scrunched up in an attempt to keep it in.

It was strange to compare the difference in emotion Ringo felt when being singled out by this new dancer versus how he'd previously felt with George; surprisingly the nerves were still present but were far more of a negative rather than actual excitement. Ringo leaned back in his chair a little in an attempt to gain some distance from the blonde dancer who had begun gyrating in front of him, but the gesture was mistaken for encouragement as he only intensified his lewd movements. John's laughter began pouring from his pursed lips, luckily the music masked the noise so that the dancer took no notice.

Ringo felt a hand on his shoulder, he assumed it was John trying to further his discomfort but then he heard shouting behind him and he knew something was up. Turning his head, Ringo saw an extremely pissed off looking George.

"You trying to be funny?" George was yelling, his hand possessively pressing down on Ringo's skin.

The other dancer seemed unfazed, passing George a momentary glance before reaching his hand forward to caress Ringo's cheek; at least that's where Ringo assumed he was aiming for it never reached it's destination. George gripped the dancer's wrist, the anger in his face melting away into a strange kind of satisfaction.

"Watch it." George spoke in a low voice, Ringo hardly even heard it.

By this point John was unable to restrain his emotions, his mouth agape in shock for a few moments before laughing again; George paid no attention to him, his dark eyes fixed solely on the blonde in front of him. He tried to shake George's hand off, it was causing quite the scene, but couldn't. After a few more moments of struggling, George released his grip and the dancer shuffled sheepishly away and attempted to finish their number with the little dignity they had left.

Ringo started laughing now, mostly because he was nervous, but was silenced when George ordered him to meet him outside. John gave Ringo a look which said 'good luck' with a mixture of both encouragement and worry.

In the cold air of the night Ringo felt himself sobering up a little, he hadn't fully registered the whole situation but it still felt pretty comical to him, though that may have just been the alcohol.

"You alright?" Ringo broke the silence, offering George a cigarette who snatched it.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." George mumbled as he lit it.

"One too many 'yeah's there, I think." Ringo chuckled.

George just looked at him, saying nothing. Ringo knitted his brows together in worry.

"Er- You gonna say anything?" Ringo shifted his weight between his feet awkwardly.

George said nothing for a few more moments then finally said "I'm sorry."

Ringo laughed again "Sorry? For what?"

"I..." George broke off his speech with a huff "That was out of line. On my part, I mean."

Ringo rolled his eyes and moved closer to George, interlacing their fingers together "Don't be daft, George. I get it."

"But- I just..." George sighed, Ringo had never seen him so internally frustrated, he tried to speak again but Ringo silenced him with a kiss.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me." Ringo said firmly, his hands cupping George's cheeks.

"I- Alright..." George huffed, closing his eyes in an attempt to dispel the frustration "I really hate that new prick."

Ringo laughed, breaking whatever tension was laugh "I can tell. What's his deal anyway?"

"Oh, I dunno." George flicked his cigarette away "Think he's jealous of me or something. Can you blame him?"

"Not at all." Ringo hummed happily, planting a short kiss on George's now cold lips.

Ringo could feel the tension leaving George's body: his shoulders lowering, his breath slowing. He wondered whether he'd ever be able to have a drama-free night at this place.

"You wanna go back in?" Ringo offered, rubbing his thumb on George's cheek before pulling the hand away entirely.

"Sure, sure." George still seemed a little distracted, Ringo knew he wasn't being told everything "Let me get you a drink."

"If you're offering." Ringo smiled, leading the way back into the humid club.

"Will you stay until I finish?" George asked, sounding almost shy "Please." He added after a moment.

"Of course." Ringo held the door open for George to walk through.

Inside George led them over to the bar where he ordered another round for both Ringo and John. He placed a brief kiss on Ringo's cheek then vanished into the crowds. Ringo let out a huff of air, managing to find John who had moved to the front of the stage and was hollering even louder than the music. It was no mystery as to why, Paul was currently onstage spinning around the pole in a way Ringo only assumed was incredibly difficult. He was wearing no shirt yet a multicoloured tie was hanging around his neck, his trousers a sheer black material with relatively high platform boots on his feet.

When John realised Ringo had returned, he offered him a cheesy grin which revealed how drunk he really was. His face lit up when Ringo offered him yet another drink, accepting it gladly and downing it almost instantly.

"Everything alright?" John yelled into Ringo's ear, his eyes not moving from Paul.

"Yeah." Ringo shouted back, it was all that needed to be said.

As soon as Paul had finished his number, he sought John out in the crowd instantly and the two disappeared giggling excitedly into one of the private room. This left Ringo alone to think and, more importantly, drink. He spotted the blonde dancer serving drinks later on but avoided eye contact as best he could.

George had been appearing and disappearing throughout the night but Ringo didn't really mind, it wouldn't be too long until the club was closing for the night. Ringo tucked himself away in a distant corner, finishing an array of drinks and scrolling through his phone aimlessly.

Eventually John resurfaced, dark bruises dotting the skin of his neck, with a very satisfied grin. He didn't hang around for too long, helping Ringo finish some of his drinks, before excitedly saying goodbye to head to Paul's for the night. It was a relief to Ringo, he no longer had to worry about getting him home safely.

George appeared only several minutes later, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat from exertion. Ringo smiled at him drunkenly, stumbling up from his seat and banging into the table which knocked a few empty glasses over.

"Ready to go?" Ringo asked "You're sober enough to drive, right? Because I am not."

"Sure thing." George pulled Ringo close to his body "I'm bloody knackered, let's just get to bed."

Ringo made a noise of agreement "Lemme just have a piss, then we'll go."

"You don't wanna go in there, trust me." George scoffed, nodding his head towards the toilet "It gets blocked every night, it's dead grotty."

Ringo curled his lip up in disgust "Really? I don't care, I'll just-"

George stopped Ringo from turning away "No, no, really, it's dreadful. I'll just get us home quick, alright?"

There was a strange tone to George's voice, at least Ringo thought so but his senses were considerably dulled from the alcohol. Ringo gave him a quizzical look but allowed himself to be pulled out of the club all the same, his stomach feeling a little sensitive as the car pulled out onto the road.

George was silent, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as he drove. Ringo wasn't quite sure what was awaiting him when they were fully alone back at George's place, but he knew it was something big.

[u-look-beautiful-today]

Owl House Gang Zodiac Signs

Okay so, keep in mind these are my opinions and I really don't know much about zodiac signs. This all comes from basic knowledge and from people I've met. Considering we only have 11 episodes out, we really don't know much about some characters' personalities. So some of these are possibly going to change, but this is just at a first look. Also, Zodiac signs do not define a person. People are complex and can fit into multiple Zodiac traits. With all this in mind, enjoy my ramble!

Luz: For the love of GOD, this bi disaster is an Aries. I feel like I don't need to explain it. If you know an Aries, you KNOW I'm right. Aries are usually courageous, determined, confident, enthusiastic, optimistic, honest, and passionate. While they are also Impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, and aggressive. Aries are known to act before they think (don’t we know). They are also considered the most active sign and have youthful energy about them, no matter their age.

Amity: Scorpio. Hands down, this little bean is a Scorpio. Again, I really don't need to explain. Scorpios are resourceful, brave, passionate, hardworking, and a true friend (interesting!). While they are also distrusting, jealous, secretive, stubborn, violent. They are one of the most misunderstood signs. While mysterious and often seen as cold-hearted, they are also excellent leaders and they hate dishonesty. They value the truth and fairness (sound familiar?). If a Scorpio allows you into their life, they will be loyal and protective over you.

King: This lovable little guy is a Leo. Leos are creative, passionate, generous, warm-hearted, cheerful, and humorous. While also being arrogant, stubborn, self-centered, lazy, and inflexible. Leos have very high self-esteem and have no problem praising themselves. Leos are known to put themselves first, but if a Leo puts you first, it is genuine and because they want to. Leos are lions, known as the “King of the Jungle” (very fitting for King!).

Willow: I was struggling to find her sign. But after much thought and 3am Ted Talks to myself, Willow is a Virgo. Virgos are loyal, analytical, kind, hardworking, practical. On the flip side, they are shy, worry, overly critical of self and others, all work, and no play. When you first meet a Virgo, they may seem shy at first but are amazing friends. Always willing to lend a hand or advice. They hate being let down, but they never want to disappoint others and will wear themselves thin.

Gus: Oh Gus! Most would expect him to be a Cancer however, I feel as though he fits more like a Pisces. Pisces are compassionate, artistic, intuitive, gentle, wise, musical. They can also be fearful, overly trusting, sad, desire to escape reality, and can be a victim. They are never judgemental and always forgiving. Pisces are known for having the best gut feelings, almost being psychic. However, they can get stuck in their heads and have a hard time asking for help. Pisces can also be very friendly and thrive in small groups of people.

Eda: So Eda, at first I thought Scorpio, however, I believe that she might be a Sagittarius. They are generous, idealistic, and have a great sense of humor. While being selfish, blunt, impatient, and can promise more than they can deliver. Sagittarius is known as travelers and doesn’t mind going about it alone. They will step away from the crowd and do as they please. They are leaders and will go after whatever they want, no matter what others think.

Honorable Mentions:

Emira and Edric: Leos. I mean COME ON.

Lilith: Gemini. Only because it is the opposite of a Sagittarius.

Boscha: Capricorn. Only because every Capricorn I’ve met are DICKS.

Hooty: Cancer. I really have no idea why. It just feels right.

Again, these are just my opinions and hold no real facts. If you have other thoughts please let me know!! Especially if you are more well educated in Zodiac signs! I can’t wait for more episodes to give us more character depth into everyone.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk

[perfeggso]

till the sun’s seeing through my eyes (yumark)

hitting for six

Yuta and Mark are next-door neighbors who grew up together, joined at the hip until Yuta went off to college. Due to their four-year age gap, Mark’s freshman year at the same school marks the halfway point of an unprecedented amount of time apart. Yuta is sure he can handle it, until Mark’s arrival home for spring break makes him wonder if the fondness he has for his friend might be blooming quite literally into something stronger. It’s up to him to handle the consequences.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Masterlist 

Characters: Yuta x Mark + NCT ensemble, other SM (and non-SM (?)) idols tbd, character families 

Genres: heavy angst, fluff, Hanahaki!AU, small town!AU, slight Witchcraft/Magic!AU, College!AU

Warnings: blood and gore, mentions of death, disease, vomiting, college-typical alcohol use, swearing  

Rating: T

Length: 8.3k

Yuta twirled the stick of rock candy he’d picked up at the market around between his lips, enjoying how it felt rough on his tongue and filled his mouth with the flavor of unadulterated sugar.  He checked his phone – no new messages.  

He tapped the toe of his sneakers against the linoleum floor of Kun’s coffeeshop and drummed his hands against the seafoam counter before pulling the candy from his lips with a pop and dunking it in his glass of mint tea.  All around him, the clinking, hissing, and chatter of a well-liked café filled his ears, and the arousing scent of coffee steam kept him a fidgety kind of alert.  On second thought, replace “alert” with “distracted.”   

“Did you hear me, Yuta?” Sicheng was saying, sitting at the table nearest the espresso machine and picking at a mini egg custard tart.  Yuta had not heard him, that much was evident.  

Yuta sighed with some effort, then made a fake sorry face.  “No – no, I apologize, babe, I didn’t.”    

Sicheng rolled his eyes.  “Whatever, it wasn’t important.”  He took a large bite of his tart, pale, buttery crumbs affixing to his lips.  

“Neko latte!” Kun interrupted, setting a white coffee cup in front of Yuta, the frothed milk on top of it shaped like a stubby-tailed cat that wiggled as the cup moved.  Yuta had to restrain himself from jiggling its foam butt into oblivion.  Kun returned a moment later with a plate. “Aaaand, let’s see, one slice of orange poppy seed bread.”  He dropped his smiling customer service face momentarily as he leaned in towards Yuta. “I thought you said you could handle calling out the orders.  That was my condition for letting you behind the counter, wasn’t it?” 

Yuta shrugged, repeating the order at double Kun’s original volume and smirking when a customer instantly shot out of her seat to come collect it.  Yuta downed his tea, burning his throat, and stuck the melting candy back into his mouth as she made her way over, pushing the now-empty cup forward as an encouragement to leave a tip in it, which the poor girl did.  Kun snatched the sticky bill from the cup and shook it out, disapproval contorting his face as he voiced his disappointment with a simple “nope.” 

“But Kun, I watched her earlier and she didn’t leave a tip when she ordered,” Yuta protested, making himself laugh until it was threatening to become a cough.  Dammit.  He pulled in a shaky breath.  “I’m only trying to help.” 

Kun pointed to the seating area.  “Out.” 

Yuta sulked his way to the chair opposite Sicheng, noting on his way that it was still pouring not insignificantly outside.  Yuta had gotten off work early because of the rain; the indoor soccer field had been reserved weeks earlier for the high school team.  Instead, he’d taken his kids to Yukhei’s gym for a short workout and then sent them home, choosing to wile away the rest of his time waiting for Mark with his buddies over a warm beverage.  

“Has he responded yet?” Sicheng asked.  

“No,” Yuta pouted.  He’d sent Mark a text nearly twenty-five minutes ago saying he was ahead of schedule and to come meet him at Kun’s shop.  “Ugh, wait, I’m sorry.  What were you saying earlier?  Nothing you say is unimportant, friend.” 

Sicheng looked like he wanted to smack Yuta and hug him at the same time.  Yuta was used to this.  

“I was only teasing you for missing my speech last night because no one cut you off,” Sicheng clarified, wiping his hands against each other once he’d finished eating.    

The memory of heaving in his bathroom in an attempt to extract whatever was obstructing his airways hit Yuta like an unforeseen ocean wave.  He nodded slowly, schooling his face to pretend to be irritated rather than scared.  He didn’t want to lie to his friend, but not even he knew what the real issue was, and it would undoubtedly get sorted, so why worry people?  

Yuta made his face into the disappointment emoji.  “Mm-hm,” he said.  “Well since you can only process my suffering as it pertains to you, maybe you’ll cut me off next time you have something important to say.”  

Sicheng raised his eyebrows.  “Someone’s feeling bitchy today,” he observed.  “This is because your boyfriend’s not texting back, isn’t it?” 

Yuta scoffed.  “Boyfriend,” he huffed in disbelief, but the word stirred a sickened feeling inside him.  He chose to ignore that.  “Yeah, it is,” he teased, “you jealous?” 

Sicheng shook his head.  “Not at all,” he said.  “It means you’ll let me be for a couple weeks.” 

Yuta laughed, his body once again nearly giving into coughing.  Like, choking on one’s dinner and needing the Heimlich kind of coughing.  Instead of letting that happen and calling attention to himself, he doused his throat in the contents of a glass of water.  

His breathing had been a bit better since he’d spoken with his mother that morning, but the problem wasn’t gone, and the raw coughing fits that started the day before were only growing more frequent.  A particularly violent one had gripped him during practice, scaring some of his kids enough that he’d run away to the bathroom to get it under control.  Thankfully, Yukhei had been in another room.  

*

Yuta came from a tradition of hedge witches, of which his mother was a shining example.  She ran an apothecary in town with his father; handling the medicine and potions side of it while he handled the business angle.  She was a skilled potion-maker and healer, and she had a keen sense of spiritual effects on the physical.  She was often able to gain insights that seemed so spot-on that Yuta had no choice but to believe whatever she told him to do.  

She’d encouraged her children to utilize tarot cards from an early age and endeavored ever since to teach them everything she knew.  Now and then, having someone so spiritually inclined as a parent could be burdensome, but it was times like these – when Yuta felt something strange and unwelcome stirring in him – that he felt he was lucky.  

When Yuta had gone to the main house that morning, he found his mother in the kitchen, making banana pancakes as his little sister looked over her advanced biology homework.  The high school still had a week left before spring break.  

“Hi Haruna,” Yuta greeted, shoving her face softly into her papers and receiving a well-earned glare.  

“Good morning, dingus.  You really shouldn’t be partying when you have work in the morning.” 

Haruna was a senior, less than a year younger than Mark (a fact which regularly escaped Yuta’s mind) and possessed an attitude problem – though one quite different from Yuta’s.  That morning, she wore a long, eggplant-purple frock dress with lots of heavy eyeliner and her hair in a helmet-like bob.  She might have been sartorially challenged and a bit of a bitch in Yuta’s view, but she was also his adorable little sister, and a veritable genius, he had to admit.  

Yuta went to the fridge and pulled out an apricot yogurt.  “I assure you I can handle myself,” he said, grabbing one of a collection of mismatched spoons and plopping it into his breakfast.  “The last thing I need is a seventeen-year-old lecturing me on alcohol.”  

Haruna tried to flick some of the syrup on her fork into her brother’s hair but missed.  “I can’t wait until Momoka comes home to visit,” she grumbled.  “Maybe you’ll listen to her.”   

Yuta’s mother gave her youngest and middle child a heavy look of disapproval as she flipped a pancake with a wet, resounding plop.  The action itself communicated as much authority as any scolding words could have.  Yuta just smiled sweetly, digging into his yogurt.  

“Yuta, dear,” she began, “can I interest you in some pancakes?” 

Yuta shook his head, feeling a little guilty, but he was rarely very hungry in the mornings.  “No, this is enough for me,” he said.  His mother smiled.  It was the same smile Haruna would flash when she was about to tease him.  

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way over here just to bother your studious sister and refuse my cooking, so there has to be something else, hm?  I’m right, aren’t I?” 

Yuta sighed.  As usual, she was indeed correct.  “As a matter of fact, there is something bothering me.” 

His mother listened attentively as he recounted the last day’s events: the asthma scare, trying to use the potion she’d taught him with a prayer, his concern over the reading he’d had that morning.  All the while, she finished shaping her stack of pancakes and leaned on her elbows, steam rising from the food and swirling in front of her paisley house dress, fluffy hair, purple kerchief, and concerned face.   

“It sounds to me like you’re having anxiety about change,” she offered once he’d finished.  “You always tend to have flare-ups during transition periods.” 

“Yeah,” Haruna cut in, spearing a chunk of pancake and narrowly escaping dropping it on her school papers, “remember when you were a freshman and you had a panic attack before coming home for winter break?  You said you could hardly breathe all night and that you didn’t think you wanted to come back.” 

Haruna seemed a little too casual with that difficult memory for Yuta’s liking, although she was right that he hadn’t forgotten.  He pinched his eyebrows together.  

“Is this a transition period though?” he asked.  Everything for him was more or less the same as it had been all year.  

His mother nodded.  “I’d say so.  Some of your younger friends are coming home, and Taeil will be going back to the city soon.  There are a lot of moving pieces in your life at the moment, dear.  I don’t think it's at all strange that you’re feeling off and maybe hiding some things from yourself.” 

“Alternately,” quipped Haruna as their mother went to fetch a cloudy, pastel purple concoction she had sitting in a beaker by the window, “you’re just a drama queen.” 

Yuta started.  “Wanna get your butt kicked by a college athlete?” he threatened.  Haruna stuck her tongue out at him. 

“You mean former intramural college athlete?” 

“That’s enough!” 

Yuta and Haruna both turned to face their mother.  She looked like her hair would be suspended in exasperation if she were in a Ghibli Movie.  Yuta knew that meant it was time to Shut Up.  Oops.  

She sighed, running her hands over the lip of the beaker in her hand and muttering to herself to calm down.  Then, she slid it forward to her son.  

“Bring this to work with you, Yuta,” she advised, voice still stern.  “I made it fresh this morning for the shop, but I think you could use it.  It has lavender, mint, chamomile, soy oil, salts, and I’ve charged it with moon water.  It’s something I’ve been messing around with for dealing with anxiety and stress during liminal periods in life.”  Yuta nodded, listening attentively and twirling the little vial in between his fingers.  She went on.  “Then later whenever you have time, I want you to sit alone with your confusion for a little while.  I think that might give you more insight into what is driving this spiritually and subconsciously.  Try not to smother it, whatever it is.”  

Of course his mom’s advice was essentially “meditate.” Why had he even bothered to ask? He nodded one more time, subdued, and dropped the vial of pale liquid into his pocket.  He would put it into a water bottle and bring it along.  

Yuta finished his yogurt and chucked the container into the recycling.  “Thank you, Mom,” he said, snagging a pancake on his way out of the kitchen just to win a little more of her favor.  “And have a good day, Haruna.” 

“You too, dingus.” 

“Tell me if you’re feeling better tonight!” his mother called after him, finishing off with a mild threat: “And I’ll be able to tell if you didn’t follow my directions!” 

*

Yuta sighed for what felt like the eightieth time all day, watching the café’s glass door from over Sicheng’s shoulder for any signs of Mark.  He didn’t know how to summon people or things, but he half-imagined that he did, concentrating so hard on the door that it was making his eyes cross.  And in a matter of seconds, it worked (or, at least, the universe gave the illusion of it working).  

Mark rushed into the coffeeshop, looking harried and tugging a cumbersome guitar case along with him which he tried desperately to protect with a too-small umbrella.  The image put Yuta at attention, smiling.  

“I’m so sorry!” Mark spluttered as he rushed through the door.  “I was practicing, and I didn’t check my phone!” 

“Whoa there,” Kun warned from behind the counter.  “This does not need to be advertised to my entire clientele.” 

Mark shook out his umbrella and shoved it into the holder in the entryway, checking with Yuta that they planned on staying for at least a little while and apologizing sheepishly to Kun.  

He sat down at the table with Yuta and Sicheng as Yuta grinned at him.  

“Don’t be sorry, Markie-boy,” Yuta said, poking Mark in the side and making him almost giggle his way out of his chair.  As the chair tipped and then slingshotted violently back to its starting position from Mark regaining his balance, it clattered so loudly that it attracted more concerned looks than Mark had when he’d busted through the door.  Yuta hardly seemed to register this as he gushed about how devoted his friend was to his craft that he would haul his equipment through a rainstorm.  Kun rolled his eyes and huffed in defeat at yet another disruption. 

“Mark, the usual?” he asked, and Mark nodded after nervously confirming Yuta didn’t have other plans for them to go eat somewhere.  

Only then did he allow himself to settle in, peeling off his damp jacket and balancing his guitar case against the side of his chair.  

“Did you carry that all the way here?” Sicheng asked, and Yuta shot him an obvious look.  

“Of course he did,” he replied for his friend, and Sicheng glared at him.  “The kid can’t drive, after all.  Just like you.” 

Mark nodded in confirmation as Kun set a mug of hot chocolate and a cream cheese bagel in front of him.  “I love being referred to as ‘the kid’ as if I’m not present,” he snarked.  “Also, thanks, Kun.” 

“Sure thing.” 

Yuta crunched absently at the end of his rock candy.  “Aw, don’t go trying to make me feel bad when you forced me to wait for thirty-five minutes and didn’t even tell me you were on your way.  It’s like you want to keep me in constant suspense with your little surprises.”  Mark scowled, but his mouth was too stuffed with bagel to form a retort, so Yuta went on.  “Anyway, you got a guitar in there?” 

Mark swallowed.  “What do you think?” 

“I think we’re just impressed you lugged it all the way here,” Sicheng clarified, trying to clear the air of Yuta’s usual bitchiness.  “Surely, you brought it for a reason.” 

Mark clapped his hands against each other to rid them of crumbs, body going taut with excitement.  

“Actually yes!” he mouthed around his food.  “I did have a reason.  I wanted to show off what I’ve been practicing!”

“Oooooh!” Yuta buzzed, applauding preemptively at hyper-speed.  “You might want to check with the stickler in charge though,” he warned, stage whispering and indicating towards Kun.  The subject of the jest frowned at his table of friends.  

“I can hear you, Yuta,” he said, “and it’s fine.  Just give me a minute to turn the speakers off.” 

Soon enough, Mark had extracted his guitar from its case and had it over his knee, strumming experimentally to warm up and drawing the attention of most of the customers behind him.

“Don’t look now, Mark,” Sicheng began.  “But it looks like you’ve roped yourself into a little concert.”

“A little what now?” he asked, immediately going against the advice he’d just received and turning around to meet the gazes of at least fifteen people he only marginally knew.  “Oh, uh, okay.  This is fine.” 

Yuta smiled to himself as he watched his friend adjust his fingers over the metal strings and clear his throat, red face betraying that he might not, in fact, be fine.

Pretty soon though, he was finger-picking his way through the intro to Frank Ocean’s “Cayendo.”  Once Mark started singing, Yuta found himself lulled into an admiring trance at the smooth sweetness of Mark’s voice.  Mark was usually shy about singing solo, but he’d been working on it and Yuta loved that he had gained some confidence.  The fact that the song was in a language Yuta couldn’t understand served even further to pull him under its calm spell.  

He pretended to swoon at the little performance, rolling his eyes around and fanning himself theatrically.  “Ooh, Markie, take me now,” he joked, just loud enough for his table to hear and no one else.  Mark’s ears went red and he struggled to sing through a giggle.  

Right in the middle of the song though, Mark sang a stanza that Yuta did understand.  It ended with a melancholy plea of love:

When I still really, really love you, like I do

If you won't, then I will

If you can't, then I will

Is it love to keep it from you?

It was such a sad sentiment.  Yuta thought that if he were a more sentimental person, and under different circumstances, he would have started to cry.  Though, maybe he wasn’t as unsentimental as he thought he was… 

Mark transitioned back to singing in Spanish and Yuta took the moment to lose himself less in his friend’s voice and more in the space around them: the chatter of impressed coffee-sippers, the whirring of the espresso machine, the soft and appreciative expressions on his friends’ faces.  It was almost as sweet as the leftover sugar which coated the inside of his mouth – almost sweet enough for him to forget that some kind of repression within him was causing him vascular stress.  Almost; almost.  

Mark plucked the last note of the song and the café broke into a pitter-patter of applause which echoed the pounding of rain outside, and in that moment, as if to remind him of the tenuousness of his almosts, Yuta found himself hurled into the most intense pain he’d felt in the last twenty-four hours.  

He bent himself over and started retching into a napkin.  It was the same sensation he’d gotten the night before at the party, when he’d locked himself in the bathroom and coughed himself raw into the white sink, trying to force something out that just wouldn’t budge.  He felt like he had a copper wire weaving through his muscles, and someone was sending shocks of electricity through it.

Sicheng and Mark stared at him in concern and Sicheng pushed a glass of water his way.  He choked out his thanks before downing it in one go, once again taking note of the clump of – something – which drifted back down along with the liquid.  By the time he had himself back under control, both his friends were posing some variation on the same ‘you okay?’ question.  

“Yeah, yeah,” he lied.  “Just aspirated some very sharp candy.” 

Sicheng winced.  “Ouch,” he said.  “At least you had the courtesy to wait until Mark was finished.” 

Yuta stuck his tongue out, but the way his friend went so casually back to teasing him actually made him feel a little better.  

“I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Mark said, a stupidly proud grin crossing his face as he set his guitar back into its case and puffed his chest out involuntarily.  “So I could have saved you if it came to that.” 

Yuta smiled weakly.  “That’s very reassuring, Mark.”

“NBD.”  Yuta groaned, the sharp pain from only moments ago leaving him just as quickly as it had come.  He cringed.  Had Mark really just said “NBD?” Whatever.  Mark continued.  

“Seriously though, what did you guys think?” 

“It was really good,” Sicheng said, “and I would say, a glowing testament to your four years of high school Spanish.”  

Mark snickered.  “What about you, Yutaaa?” 

“Well if you couldn’t tell by the way I reacted at the beginning, I loved it!  Really, like your voice just keeps getting better and better.”

Mark placed a hand over his heart, meaning to indicate that Yuta’s compliment had touched him.  

“Aren’t you not supposed to be using instruments though?” Sicheng chimed.  “I mean, considering you’re an a cappella person?”  

Mark rolled his eyes.  “Very funny,” he said.  “But thanks, guys.  I think I might play it live sometime on the Serotonin Hour.”  That was the name of the radio show Johnny had left to him upon graduation.  

“You know,” Yuta began, rapping his fingers against the table, “when Johnny willed his time slot to you, I don’t think he expected you’d use it for such self-serving purposes.”     

Mark rolled his eyes even farther into his head this time.  “It’s an hour where I impose my music taste on the small group of people who actually bother to tune in.  What could be more self-serving?” 

Yuta clicked his tongue.  Mark had a point.  

“Anyway,” said Mark, hopping to his feet, “what do you want to do, Yuta?” 

*** 

Since it was raining out, they decided they would have to stay mostly indoors, so they resolved to wander around the market hall until they came up with a more exciting activity, Yuta letting Mark store his guitar in the trunk of his car while they perused.  Sicheng was invited along too, but he had a dance class to run in half an hour and needed to review his lesson plan ahead of time, so it was just the two of them.   

Well, it was just the two of them until they got to the Jung family farmstand at the end of the long, warehouse-like building.  Jaehyun sat behind it, writing something into a notebook and looking so bored that his face was practically melting into the hand supporting it.   

“Oh, thank god,” he said when he saw his friends approaching.  “It’s been such a slow day I was ready to choke myself out just to have something to do.” 

“Ooh, kinky,” Yuta guffawed at his friend as Mark nodded slowly.  

“Nice to see you too, man,” Mark said.  

“Want anything?” 

Yuta and Mark surveyed their options: a selection of dairy products, meat, and eggs in a set of coolers, and a table covered in artichokes, celery, pears, asparagus, broccoli, brussels sprouts, cabbages, and a veritable rainbow of root vegetables.  As usual, the Jung family farm’s output looked delicious.  Maybe Yuta would get something for his parents to put in tonight’s dinner.  He grabbed a bundle of radishes by the leaves and shoved them at his friend with a grin.  

Mark, on the other hand, knew immediately what he would go for.  

“And, uh, can I get a banana milk?” 

Jaehyun nodded as Yuta gave his younger friend his best side-eye.  

“You just drank a giant hot chocolate.  Haven’t you had enough dairy for one day?” 

Mark pouted, fishing for his wallet, and Yuta couldn’t help but smile at the way Mark’s eyes looked like shiny tea saucers.  He could be devilishly cute sometimes.  Cute enough to make Yuta want to buy shit for him, which he did, paying for the radishes and the milk before Mark even had the opportunity to complain.  

“Drink up!”

Mark glared.  “Fine.  I’ll just sneak-buy you something next time.” 

Yuta wobbled his head like an anime heroine as he spoke.  “Oh, so I’ll get a next time?  Man, this date is going so well!” he said, and Mark’s ears flushed for the second time in thirty minutes.  A niggling voice in the back of Yuta’s head told him he wanted to see Mark like that more often.  He brushed that idea away, not quite knowing how to process it.    

“Whatever,” Mark mumbled as Jaehyun looked on in his usual casual detachment.  Yuta turned his attention back to him.  

“By the way, Jae, where are your parents?  Can’t they come relieve you of your existential dread?” 

Jaehyun blew a puff of air at his bangs.  “I wish,” he responded.  “They’re out of town for the weekend though, so I’m left to suffer alone.  Oh – which reminds me!  Can you go check on Sugarfoot and Lacey for me?  They probably need their water troughs refilled right about now.  And besides, I’m sure they miss Mark.” 

Yuta and Mark agreed easily.  Everyone loved those horses, even if Sugarfoot could be a pain in the ass.  When Yuta was a teenager, she had apparently decided he’d lived long enough, because she tried to buck him off until Yuta was pretty sure he’d suffered acute whiplash.  Besides Jaehyun, Johnny was the only person she seemed to tolerate (and tolerate simply meant she was a bitch to him rather than straight-up murderous), but alas, Johnny wasn’t around.  

“Perfect,” Jaehyun said.  “I’d do it myself, but everyone here knows my parents and they’d definitely somehow manage to tell them I’d abandoned my post.  You know where the keys to the stable are and everything, right?” 

“Yup!” 

And with that, Yuta and Mark left Jaehyun to return to pondering auto-asphyxiation. 

It had stopped raining outside, and the sky was in the process of clearing from a mournful grey to a clear periwinkle, like a windshield-wiper was slowly swiping across it to rid it of clouds.  They ran into Taeil on the way to Yuta’s car, in the middle of walking five dogs of varying sizes and breeds.   

Naturally, Mark became immediately preoccupied by the tangle of fur attached tenuously to Taeil’s wrist by a set of leashes.  The cute scene made Yuta’s chest go tight with fondness.   

Yuta told Taeil they’d missed him at the party the night before as Mark rolled around on the wet ground, getting his face smothered by a particularly friendly Chow Chow and laughing like his lungs were about to burst out of his chest.    

“I know, I’m sorry!” Taeil said, trying not to let himself get tugged around.  “It was just last minute and I’d already been roped into cooking for my family, and we had friends over – bad timing.” 

Yuta waved him off.  “Don’t worry, I’ll only hold it against you forever.  But when do you go back to the city?” 

“Next week,” Taeil replied, leaning down awkwardly to save Mark from five rough tongues.  Taeil didn’t have a dog himself (although he did have a goose in his backyard, a fact which Yuta was never not perplexed by) but his family owned the local pet shop and he always had dog-walker duty when he was home.  It was also how he made money when he was in high school.  “We should definitely get together before I go back though!” Taeil continued.  “You guys can help me make this pasta dish I’ve been wanting to try.  Sound good Mark?” 

Mark got up, brushing the wet dirt off his backside.  “What?  Oh yeah, for sure!  I’m always down to eat – and to see you, Taeil.  I didn’t forget about you.” 

Taeil looked dryly at his younger friend. “Yeah, of course.  But listen, Mark, it’s really good luck we’re home at the same time.  I need you to tell me all about how the Aca-Fellas are doing.”  Mark nodded shyly.  Taeil had been the star of the a cappella group at his college, so he’d had plenty of run-ins with the Fellas at competitions.  His own superiority at singing was something it was at times difficult to get him to shut up about.  Taeil continued:

“Anyway, I should be going.  These guys are getting squirrely, and I don’t want them to do their business right here.  I’ll see you two around, I guess.  Enjoy the rest of your date!”

Hey, Yuta thought, that’s my joke.  Somehow it made him feel weird to hear someone else use it.  

*** 

They were at Jaehyun’s stables after a short drive, and they found the keys easily.  Mark scratched lovingly at Lacey’s chin as Yuta filled the troughs with water.  Then, they decided it was as good a time as any to see if Johnny was free to FaceTime.  He was.  

“Heyoooo,” Johnny greeted once his pixelated face flashed onto Yuta’s phone.  Yuta laughed.  His friend looked happy and healthy.  “Oh what? You have Mark with you?  Sweet!” 

They caught up on Johnny’s life for a few minutes; he was having a great time on his own, but he missed everyone and couldn’t wait to come home in the summer.  

“Hurry home,” Yuta joked, getting up from the bail of hay he’d been sitting on because Sugarfoot was cribbing on the door to her stable.  “I think Taeyong is wilting without you here.” 

Johnny chuckled indulgently.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  He gasped and his image froze in the exaggerated reaction face he’d pulled, making Mark squeak with laughter.  “Is that my favorite girlie?” came his crackling voice.  

Yuta held the phone up to Sugarfoot, nudging her head a bit to get her to detach her teeth from the wood.  “Sure is.” 

Johnny asked if Jaehyun was there, so Yuta informed him on their friend’s predicament.  Then Johnny addressed Mark, telling him he should try braiding Sugarfoot’s dark mane – he’d found she had come to enjoy it.  Mark, being the least experienced with Jaehyun’s bitch of a mare, immediately fell for it and tried, causing Sugarfoot to squeal and jerk her neck away from his touch.  He fell back on his butt in surprise and Johnny cackled through Yuta’s phone speaker.  

“Aw, I see college hasn’t made you less gullible, Markie-boy.” 

“It most certainly has not,” Yuta confirmed, and Mark attempted a glare, but it only ended up looking like what he’d done when Johnny tried to teach him how to flirt that one time.  

Johnny continued.  “Anyway, Mark how are you really?  I don’t care about this old hag; Yuta, give the phone to Mark.”

Yuta handed over the phone with a casual threat of murder.  

Mark was doing well.  Johnny asked if his a cappella group had let him rap yet.  Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, leaning against the stable door right next to Lacey.  

“Naw, not yet,” he said.  “Just beatboxing for now.  Eventually...” 

Johnny shrugged.  “It’s okay.  When you’re a senior you can run the group and do whatever the hell you want.  And, when they see how good you are, that’ll really show ’em.” 

Yuta watched the conversation unfold, reveling in the warm feeling he got from watching some of his favorite people interact.  

“Are you doing the Serotonin Hour justice, by the way?” Johnny asked.  “Playing that good shit?” 

Mark fumbled around a response so Yuta cut in, yelling from off-screen.  “He’s great, Johnny!  Wish you were here to tune in because I think he might be surpassing you in quality already.” 

Yuta heard Johnny scoff as Mark looked embarrassed.  “Impossible!”  Yuta leaned in next to Mark and Johnny asked about his own parents.    

Yuta frowned.  “Can’t you just call them and ask how they’re doing?” 

“I did! I do!” Johnny said, exasperated.  “I wanted to hear it from a third party though, otherwise all they tell me is ‘we’re good, John, we’re good.  Everything’s just fine.’  Know what I mean?” 

Mark answered.  Mr. and Mrs. Seo were doing just as well as they let on to their son, as far as he could tell.  This seemed to satisfy him.    

Johnny had to go soon after this, so Yuta and Mark took the opportunity to get back in Yuta’s car and drive to his house, where brand new purple crocuses had pushed through the dirt in the front yard.    

Yuta led Mark straight to his loft when they arrived, happy to finally have some actual alone time with his friend.  He didn’t know where this territorial streak was coming from.  He usually did it as a joke – especially with Mark and Sicheng – but all of a sudden, he didn’t feel like he was joking anymore.  He shrugged it off mentally.  It probably had something to do with his repression, he figured, realizing he hadn’t followed all his mother’s instructions yet.  Oh well, the meditation could wait.  

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he offered.  “We can hang out all day that way, until you’re absolutely fed up with me.” 

Mark giggled as they traipsed through the wet grass, passing the fresh crocuses.  

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” Mark agreed.  “I’ll text my parents and ask them.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” Yuta remarked, pointing straight ahead to where Mr. Lee stood in his driveway, getting ready to go out.  “Mr. Lee!”

Mark’s dad turned around, startled for a moment, before waving.  

“Your son is eating dinner over here!”  Yuta yelled.  “We’ll take good care of him!”

Mark laughed nervously at Yuta’s side as his dad consented.  Yuta had to admit that his life was a little emptier when Mark’s ridiculous giggle-fits weren’t a daily feature.  

Back in Yuta’s room, Mark hooked his phone up to Yuta’s Bluetooth speaker and played one of his most recent DJ set playlists while Yuta sat at his vanity and yanked a radish from the bunch he’d bought earlier from Jaehyun, biting off a chunk.  It tasted watery and sharp.

“What are you doing?” Mark protested.  “I thought those were for your parents.”

“I’m only taste-testing,” Yuta defended, mouth full of radish.  “Calm down.”  He poised the other half of the radish as if he were about to overhand chuck it in Mark’s direction.  That was, in fact, what he planned to do.  “Open up.” 

Mark’s eyes went wide.  “But it has your spit on it!” 

Yuta rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a baby.” 

Mark nodded in acquiescence, opening his mouth for a split second before thinking of something else to worry about. 

“This seems dangerous though, like what if I choke on it?” 

“Then that’s really too bad because I do not know the Heimlich,” Yuta snarked.  “Try not to.” 

Mark opened his mouth again and Yuta threw the radish in an arc the few feet between them.   Mark shuffled a little to align his mouth and caught the radish, doing a little dance of victory when he realized he’d succeeded.  

“Yoooooo!” he yelled around his mouthful.  

Yuta clapped, he remarked to himself, like a cheerleader congratulating his boyfriend. Whatever.  He wasn’t above that.  

“That’s what I call synchronicity!” he said.    

Then, Yuta decided to experiment with combinations of the new earrings he’d bought recently while he and Mark talked.  They ended up mostly reminiscing about the stupid hijinks they’d gotten themselves into over the years: the time they got drunk and went skinny-dipping in the bioluminescence despite a slew of recent shark sightings (Mark kept trying to drift off into the mist and when they heard a loud splash near them in the water, Yuta asked Mark if he’d retrieve his dick if it got bitten off.  “Is that something you would want me to do?” Mark had responded); the time they went cliff-diving as a group and somehow Yuta managed to injure himself while stumbling over rocks to take a picture and then tried to tell everyone who hadn’t been there that he’d hurt himself jumping into the water so he wouldn’t sound like an idiot; the time Mark tried weed for the first time and became convinced he was suffering an aneurysm, begging Yuta to make him a potion for it; all the times Yuta and Mark travelled to dance competitions together as kids and shared hotel rooms, planning their entire futures as they waited to get sleepy.  They had promised to always have houses next to each other, and that their families and spouses would be forever close.   

Yuta sometimes found that, with long-time friends he didn’t get to see as often as he would have liked, it was easier to reminisce than to create new, whole memories.  It had nothing to do with Mark’s value as a friend, and they still came away from every summer with plenty of additional experiences and stories, but Yuta hated the feeling he sometimes got of their rhythm being off during the shorter breaks.  He worried their friendship would calcify into something past tense.  But then again, he figured, a deep understanding like what he and Mark shared didn’t need constant updates.  

Being with Mark sometimes took him back to being eighteen – right before he left for college – and in a way he liked that as much as he liked his friend.  He just got an occasional sinking feeling that they were missing each other’s landmarks.  It was irrational, but he couldn’t deny it. 

Mark had moved on to updates about his friend group as Yuta held a thin and dangly silver earring against his lobe.  Mark nodded in approval and Yuta worked to stifle a sudden bout of coughing.  Ah yes.  There it is. 

Later, at the dinner table, Yuta hardly got a word in edgewise with his parents and sister grilling Mark on how his first year was wrapping up: was his friend group holding up?  Yup.  Did he like his second semester classes?  He did.  Was he still sure he wanted to pursue a conservation major?  Yes.  Did he know who he’d room with the next year?  He was going to try to room with his friend Yeri, but they had to sign a consent form for co-ed housing first.  When was his next a cappella performance?  The big one was in late April.  Did he have a significant other?   

Yuta almost hacked up a spoonful of his root vegetable soup before glaring at his mom, the source of that query.  

“Aish, why does everyone wanna know that?” asked Mark, setting his spoon down for a second.  “Sorry, it’s just really funny to me.  No, I don’t.” 

Yuta looked across the table to his mother and caught her sending an irritated look right back at him.  He figured it was probably related to the vague threat she’d made earlier that she would know if he didn’t follow all her advice by the time he got home in the evening.  

Once they’d finished eating, the boys helped wash the dishes and Mrs. Nakamoto gifted Mark a little vial of her signature lucky potion for him to use during finals.  

“Bye, little dingus,” Haruna called to Mark as he and Yuta were on their way out for a quick post-prandial stroll.  Yuta turned around. 

“Don’t talk to your elder that way!”  She rolled her eyes.    

Outside, it was fully dark, and a distinct late-winter chill tinged the air enough that Yuta had to burrow his chin into the collar of his bomber jacket.  Rather than the chatter of crickets they would have heard at that hour during summertime, the air sung with the hush of breeze rustling the pines and the distant break of ocean waves.  Yuta thought bittersweetly about how the next time he’d see Mark for an extended time, the crickets would be back.  

“Sorry for all the prying,” Yuta grumbled as the two made their way to the little pedestrian suspension bridge over the river on the edge of town.  The river led to the ocean eventually, but inland, it felt thin and closed-off all the same.  This bridge passing over it was one of Yuta and Mark’s favorite spots to sit and chat late at night without anyone hearing.  In fact, it was that type of spot for most of the town’s young residents.  

“Don’t be,” Mark said jovially, kicking his feet leisurely as he walked.  “I expect it at this point.  Bet you remember what that’s like.” 

Yuta nodded.  He did.     

“You know,” Mark began, “it’s actually sorta calming to get the same questions over and over again.  Cuz like, for some reason I keep getting really stressed out when I come home.  I don’t know why…It’s kind of annoying.”  

Yuta pointed at Mark in recognition as he chimed in.  “No – I know exactly what you mean.  I used to get that too.  Remember when I had that panic attack?” 

Mark nodded.  “Oooh yeah, man, I do.  You were calling me at like two in the morning and you sounded like you were crying.  I had no idea what you were on about.  But I guess now I understand more.”  

Yuta smiled to himself as the sound of the river added its own particular hush to the mix of natural noises.  He tried not to take too much comfort in the idea that his friend was now suffering the same way he had.  At least it was a pretty privileged form of suffering…

Yuta took a deep breath, looking up and trying to find stars in the hazy dark sky.  

“My mom calls it liminality.  She says it's natural to feel spiritually detached at times of transition.  It’s like your identity is thrown into flux and it can be hard to balance your competing selves all at once.  You’ve got your independent college self and my little Markie boy who lives with his parents and can’t drive.”  At this, Yuta grabbed Mark and tried to give him a noogie.  “I think that’s what’s stressing you out. Might do you some good to recognize it and hear it verbalized.”    

Mark laughed.  They were approaching the entrance to the bridge.  “I guess that makes sense.  I – wait.” 

Yuta took a second to register that Mark had cut himself off and stopped walking.  He was staring into the distance towards the bridge, so Yuta followed his gaze.  He blinked a few times in the dark, but once his vision focused, he noticed what Mark had been looking at: a dark lump in the center of the suspended walkway.  It seemed to be moving – writhing almost – and Mark placed a finger over his mouth to indicate they should be silent.  Little groans and giggles emanated from the wiggly lump over the rush of the water.  It was a person – no – people.    

Yuta felt himself about to start laughing, and he didn’t want to disrupt whatever moment was going on in front of them, so he grabbed Mark’s arm and hauled him away, running back towards their houses and cracking up the minute they thought they were out of earshot.  

Mark tried to catch his breath from all the exertion.  “Were, were they –” 

“Fucking?” Yuta finished for him.  “Yeah, I think so.” 

Mark leaned over his knees.  It was the same position Yuta had used several times in the last day to combat his lung issue.  “Shit, man,” he said.  “I was not expecting that.” 

Yuta shook his head in disbelief.  “Me neither.  Here; on that note, let’s get you home. The Lees deserve their son back.” 

“Sounds good.  That’s enough excitement for one night.” 

***

Yuta tiptoed back into the kitchen before going to the barn to sleep, opening the fridge to sneak another few bites of the raspberry meringue cake his mom had bought on a whim from the Seos while shopping for dinner.   

Her voice in the dark startled him so badly that he jolted against the refrigerator shelving, rattling a whole row of bottled drinks and sauces and causing a racket.

“Holy shit, mom, you’re going to kill me,” he said, holding a hand against his chest like a 19th century gentlewoman.  

“Come to the living room with me, Yuta,” she said, bypassing his griping.  

Yuta gulped, following his mother’s directions until he was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of her lounge chair.  

“Didn’t I tell you I’d notice if you blew off my instructions?” she asked, sipping from a cup of tea.  It smelled like chamomile and it was making Yuta sleepy.  

“I know,” he said, “but I was with Mark all day and I didn’t want it to be weird for him while I like, went off into a corner to ruminate on my inner demons or whatever.  I was still gonna do it.  Also, I drank the potion you gave me.” 

“I understand Yuta,” she said, cutting him off before he could spew any more excuses, “but you’re going to do it right now.  I want you to feel better.” 

“I already do feel a little better,” Yuta said, though he knew he was lying.  His mom knew it too, because she gave him a skeptical sideways glance.

“You looked like you were holding in a coughing spell all through dinner,” she informed him.  Had he?  Yikes… “So, close your eyes.” 

Yuta knew how this was going to go, but still, he let his mom lead him through breathing and visualization, focusing on tracking and changing the color and temperature of his internal energy as it passed through each of his limbs, his gut, hit neck and shoulders, his head, and finally, to his lungs.  He tried to pull air in until it touched the extremity of them, boundaries of his body going fuzzy in concentration, but it was difficult for him; shaky almost.  

His mother’s voice floated into his consciousness, instructing him to imagine the hollow of his mind and let thoughts begin to trickle in without obstruction; to let them come and go without judgement. 

He thought of what Mark had been saying on their walk and how it resonated with his own experiences, how it frustrated him that he could never quite recreate the comfort of his and Mark’s dynamic when he visited him at school and they were with all Mark’s first year friends (at least Kun and Jaehyun were around at times, but still).  He thought about how weird it felt for all his friends to be scattered around.  Mostly though, he thought about the strange burning tightness that had been threatening to cut off his air supply over the last day whenever he dwelled too much on thoughts of his best friend, on observing him, on feeling lucky to know him.  

Next thing he knew, he was coughing aggressively again, dragging in empty breaths whenever his throat gave him a break from its violent convulsing.  The metal wires felt like they’d made their way into his heart.  Neither his breathing nor his coughing was satisfactory though; there was still something stuck.  What on earth was wrong with him? 

Yuta latched back onto the sound of his mother’s voice as he calmed down and opened his eyes.  She knelt next to him on the floor, rubbing over his back and knitting her brows in concern.    

“Oh darling,” she cooed.  “Have some tea.”  He drank gladly, but this time the obstruction inside him stayed right where it was halfway down his windpipe.  “It’s just as I thought.  Something is blocking you off from your spiritual self.” 

Yuta blinked some tears of exertion from his eyes, smirking as he returned somewhat to himself.  

“You sure it’s not just my sarcasm?” he joked, and his mom scowled.  

“Well, that’s certainly not helping,” she said.  She kissed his forehead and pulled away to find her tarot deck.  “But I am proud that you took that seriously.  It obviously stirred something.  Let me do a quick reading for you and then we can both get to bed.” 

Yuta waited as she set up the deck and drew a six of cups, reversed.  He sighed.  Intense nostalgia; feeling caught in the past or with a past self.  That much was obvious.  

Yuta’s mother smiled at him softly.  “Whatever this is, it’s holding you hostage in memories and longing.”  He nodded, remembering his earlier conversation with Mark where they couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on an idealized highlight reel of teenage shenanigans.  Right.  “Do you want to talk about it now?” 

“Not really.”  Yuta yawned.  He didn’t know if it was because he was actually tired or because he wanted this to wrap up.  

Mrs. Nakamoto started packing her cards back up.  “That’s alright.  You should get some sleep anyway.  Good night, dear.” 

“G’night.” 

***  

Yuta gave back into coughing the minute he’d crossed the threshold to his room.  He ran to the small trashcan next to his desk, still full of bottles from the night before, and heaved into it so hard he thought his eyes might pop out.  Finally though, he had a twinge of relief when the thing that had been caught in his airway materialized on his tongue and his trachea cleared fully for the first time all day.  He reached into his mouth and plucked out the offending object, holding it between his fingers over the trash.  It was long and yellow and smooth, shaped like the wooden paddles Donghyuck’s ice cream shop gives out for testers.  

A horrifying thought crossed Yuta’s mind as he rolled the delicate yellow petal softly between his fingers, watching it disintegrate under his touch and the acid of his saliva.  He turned to the bouquet on the coffee table to his left, shivering as he caught a glimpse of the sunny yellow rays of petals adorning each of the three baby sunflowers in the vase.  His heart dropped into his feet.  

Of course.  

[sparklydreamies]

Stray Kids 8 Part Series ~ (3) Seo Changbin: He Laughed

Group: Stray Kids

Member: Seo Changbin

Genre: Light angst +hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4,000+

Summary: Don’t give power to merciless people behind a screen. 

Stray Kids 8 Part Series MASTERLIST

A/N: Hi guys!! Sorry it took me so long to post again, but I’m back, and hopefully I will be able to write more frequently! This story is centered around the changes in Changbin’s appearance and confidence from debut to now. I always feel bad writing members in pain, but this is the story I came up with lol,, I guess the moral of this story is that idols are people who have valid emotions and feelings, and we as fans don’t have the right to dismiss them and treat them like dolls. So on that note, thank you all for reading!!<33

All throughout his childhood, Seo Changbin had always been skinny. There was never much of a reason for his naturally slim stature other than genetics and a fast metabolism. It always seemed as though throughout his youth, he had never experienced the usual figure changes that a lot of his friends had gone through, whether it was the gain of muscle or fat. 

No matter how much food he ate, it never seemed to show on his body. There wasn’t a single part of his body that had excess fat covering the very visible bones. He could never grab a hold of any extra flesh on his body like some of his friends could.

As a teenager, he was always told that it was because he was a “growing boy”, and that he needed a lot of calories in order to grow big and strong. It wasn’t until he was in his early twenties that his stature began to change. He slowly became more muscular, thanks to his countless hours in the gym. Not only that, but he began to notice the faint gain of fat whenever he ate a lot without burning the calories. 

In a way, Changbin had always felt like he was blessed to be naturally slim. It was especially appreciated for someone in his line of work. Even after it became easier for him to gain fat, the company had never considered him “too heavy” for an idol. Muscle mass was a different story, however as time progressed, Changbin was able to build the perfect amount of muscle to satisfy the company as well as his fans. 

In short, Changbin had always liked his body. 

“Time’s up!” Doni called. “Put your markers down.”

Changbin didn’t put his marker down. Giggling like a small child, he avoided the attempts Jisung made at stealing the black marker from his hand, only stopping when the show host called him out on it. 

“Changbin’s naughty, he keeps cheating!” Coni laughed. 

This was what Changbin loved doing. Making a fool out of himself during variety shows, cheating during games with his members, and overall acting like a child whenever he could. 

“We should stop the show right here, Changbin ruined it for everyone.” Doni joked, and Changbin felt Jisung collapse on his back in a fit of laughter, nearly knocking them both off their stools and onto the ground. 

“Okay, let’s start with Felix! Show us your drawing,” Doni called, and Felix flipped the notebook he was holding in his hands around. 

The point of this segment was for the members to draw a portrait of how they perceive another member. 

The entire group as well as Doni, Coni, and a few of the staff members had burst out in laughter at the drawing Felix made of Jeongin. 

“Felix, you forgot eyebrows!” Jeongin whined from his spot. Changbin didn’t even notice the missing eyebrows; he was more focused on the teeth that were twice the size that they should have been. 

The segment continued on like that, and Changbin felt a swell of pride when the whole group laughed at his drawing of Minho, which looked so scrappy that a five year old could do better. Changbin was having fun.

It wasn’t until it was Jisung’s turn to share his drawing that his mood took a shift. 

“And this is my drawing of my lovely Changbinnie-hyung” Jisung giggled from his spot behind his muse. 

Changbin took in the piece of art before him. The hair was scraggly, the eyes were small, and the chin looked more like a “V” than a chin. 

Changbin laughed at the representation of himself. 

“Oh the chin! The chin!” Coni laughed as he made the shape of a “V” with his hands to mock the drawing. Changbin laughed. 

“That is the most accurate drawing so far!” Doni commented as he forcefully took Changbin’s face and traced the edges of his chin with his fingers. “Wow, Han is an artist!” Doni cracked as he high-fived Jisung. Changbin laughed. 

“He captured Changbin’s face so cleverly!” Coni praised, sitting back down on his stool. Changbin faked annoyance at the hosts and at his band mate. And then, he laughed once again. 

His brothers were practically howling at the scene, their voices creating a cacophony of sound ringing in Changbin’s ears. He was happy. He was laughing. So why did it feel as though his stomach was falling through the floor?

For the first time that day, Changbin had to forcefully plaster a smile on his face. He felt the bubbling feeling of embarrassment in his chest for the rest of the filming. 

A little while back, Han Jisung had been given a nickname by his fans. Less than a nickname, it was more of a cute comparison. His cheeks had always been unusually large and soft. Whenever he would eat, he would store food inside of them, making them more accentuated than they were before. It was because of this that fans had begun calling Jisung a squirrel. 

Jisung liked the connection. Contrary to how he presents himself, he had often struggled with accepting and liking his cheeks. He didn’t like the way they made him look younger and more boyish. He wanted to be perceived in a more mature and manly way. 

That was why when fans began to compliment and praise his chubby cheeks, it helped him become more confident in his face. 

Changbin had seen the improvement of Jisung’s spirit. Praise for Jisung’s cheeks from fans had helped him improve his self image a lot, and for that, Changbin’s love for his fans had only grown.

He only wished that he could experience the same reactions to his insecurities. 

Changbin wouldn’t consider himself jealous of Jisung’s full cheeks and round face. It was stupid to compare oneself to another person based off of superficial things like looks, however it didn’t stop Changbin from appreciating the younger boy’s unique features. 

The show aired on it’s planned date with no faults. Changbin watched the program on television, and was fairly proud of the results of the editing process. He had hoped that STAYs would enjoy the hour-long show.

After a few hours, Changbin opened Twitter so that he could get a sense of how his fans appreciated the show. Skimming through fans’ tweets, he noticed a few that stood out to him. 

Most of the comments were about Felix and Jisung’s aegyo, or Hyunjin’s random dance challenge. The deeper he scrolled, the more tweets he found about him. 

Normally, having a lot of tweets aimed at him would be an honour to Changbin. It usually meant that he was charismatic and funny enough to gain fans’ attention. That was why he didn’t understand the embarrassing feeling that came along with the jokes about his face structure. 

That’s all that they were. Jokes. People liked to joke about his chin, so why should he worry? Why did he feel shameful? 

Changbin’s stomach continued to drop with every comment he read about his face. Every time he saw that drawing of him, it was like another pin stabbing his chest. 

That night at dinner, everyone was talking about the show. The members were talking about the comments that they received, the fans reactions, and how they thought it was a really successful show. 

At one point during the meal, Jisung had shoved Changbin in the shoulder and laughed about the drawing that he made and how funny the fans thought it was. Changbin laughed. 

Changbin had always been able to hide his feelings well. Especially as an idol, hiding hardships is mandatory. Changbin was good at laughing. It was a sure fire way to make everybody think that you’re happy, when on the inside, it feels like you’ve swallowed a thousand bees. 

So that night, he laughed. He subjected himself to be the clown, even though it hurt him. Nobody needed to know about how he let his tears fall onto his pillow while they all slept. 

Changbin had thought about how he was working so hard to remain slim and skinny, and how if he were to gain just a little more weight, he could possibly make himself softer and cuter, like his brother Jisung. 

He figured that it was worth a try. Sure he might have to fight the company tooth and nail to gain the weight that he wants, but it was worth it. It was worth it to change how he looked. It was worth it to satisfy his fans. 

For the next few weeks, Changbin had let himself gain weight. He ate more and stopped trying so hard to burn it all off. He still worked out enough to remain healthy, and he was still trying to gain muscle, but whenever he stepped on the scale and saw that he was a pound or two heavier than he had previously been, he felt his heart swell. 

It was an odd thing to want to gain weight. Most idols would kill to be as skinny as Changbin had been, yet here Changbin was, trying to gain weight for the purpose of chubbier cheeks and softer edges. 

Eventually, it began to work. Changbin began to wake up in the morning to see that his face was rounder, fuller, and cuter than it had been before. The whole thing made him elated. 

It had gotten to the point where he was satisfied with his outer appearance. His chin was much less prominent. A less prominent chin meant that there was less for people to make their jokes out of. 

“Hannie, stop!” Chan shrieked just as Jisung smeared a fat glob of vanilla frosting on his cheek. 

All of the members were crowded in their living room, celebrating Bang Chan’s birthday with their fans. The energy level in the room was ecstatic. Some members were getting cake violently rubbed into their skin while others were trying to read comments and make the VLive as normal as possible. 

Changbin was in the middle of answering a question when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind where he was sitting on the ground in front of the coffee table. Before he thought better of it, his head was turning and he was met with a face full of frosting from Minho. 

“Hey! Minho, get back here!” Changbin screamed, getting up to chase the nuisance around the room. 

Laughter filled the room and lit up Changbin’s heart. He thought that nothing could destroy his mood.

It wasn’t until the next day that Changbin had checked Twitter again. 

He scrolled through a lot of happy birthday wishes for Chan, which made him smile. He read a few of the messages, and saved the ones that he wanted to show to Chan. 

And then, he got to some posts about the live. Most of them were sweet and nice, there were some clips of various parts of the live including the moment that Changbin got his face full of cake. As he scrolled for longer and longer, he got to some comments that were less light-hearted. 

They didn’t like the weight he gained. Of course he noticed the comments from fans who had thought he looked healthier and happier, but no matter how many positive comments he saw, the posts from people calling him fat and saying that he was “letting himself go” were far stronger. The people calling him a pig and a fatass and ugly were too loud. 

Changbin didn’t understand. After everything he did to satisfy the fans, they still made negative comments about him. He once was too skinny, now he is too fat.

He knew that he shouldn’t listen to people who didn’t show their faces, yet to know that people were confidently calling him degrading names stung him deeply. He felt a hopeless feeling bloom inside of him, and it drove him mad. 

Changbin felt the first tear slip down the side of his face as the feeling of his chest collapsing took him over. His phone was thrown across his bedroom, the sound of a screen shattering as it hit the floor being the only identifiable noise in the room. 

He wanted to scream. There was no pleasing them. He hated himself. He hated the way that he looked. He hated himself when he was skinny, and he was beginning to hate himself now that he gained weight. But mostly, he hated the way that he was reacting.

This was the job, wasn’t it? None of this should be surprising to him. He had known about the malicious comments aimed at the other members for various reasons, so why was this so frustrating for him? 

Changbin fisted his hair to ground himself. He tried to count his breaths in his head, but all he heard was the comments ringing around in his ears. 

...He got fat...

...Has he stopped working out?...

Fucking breathe.

...He’s turning into a pig...

...Changbin’s face is so fat...

Letting out his first scream of frustration, Changbin shot up from his bed. If the fans wanted him to be skinnier, then fine. He would get skinnier. 

This was for the good of his career. Nobody liked an ugly idol, and if he is more attractive with a slim stature and a pointy chin, then he would work to achieve it. If he gained the weight, surely he could lose it again. 

The room was small, and it felt like it was getting smaller. 

Wiping the tears from his eyes, he threw open his bedroom door. Changbin grabbed his running shoes from the rack by the entrance, slipped them on, and took off from the dorm that felt like it was suffocating him. 

The night air was refreshing against Changbin’s burning skin as he sprinted down the street. Ten o’clock at night couldn’t be considered too late to go for a run, especially when the moon was shining so beautifully in the otherwise pitch-black sky. 

Changbin didn’t know where he was going, but he didn’t care. His lungs and legs were burning with the unexpected extortion. The sweatpants and t-shirt he was wearing didn’t make for good running clothes, but that didn’t matter to him. 

For a minute, he felt okay. He could even say that he felt good. For a minute, he had forgotten all about the fans and their vendetta against his happiness.

The wind had dried the tears off of his cheeks, and he just became another faceless person in the dark. Changbin didn’t think of himself as an idol, but rather a person who’s tight chest was slowly beginning to take in enough oxygen for his head to stop pounding. 

He didn’t know how long he ran for that night. His mind had cleared completely of thoughts, and he wore himself out. He didn’t even notice the warning signs of exhaustion before he was throwing up in a patch of shrubs. 

Slowly coming back to reality, Changbin realized he needed to get home. He wasn’t too far from the dorms, so once he gathered some strength back, he began walking. 

It was hard to tell how long it took him before he was trudging up the stairs and letting himself through the front door. He tried to be as quiet as possible.

The clock on the stove read 12:24. Changbin knew that if any of the members had realized he was gone, that he would be in a world of trouble. 

He took his running shoes off at the door and made his way to his and Felix’s room, expecting to see the younger boy playing video games or getting ready for bed. What he was not expecting was to see Felix sitting on Changbin’s own bed, frowning at the phone in his hands. 

Felix’s eyes darted up like a meerkat, relief flooding his features when Changbin entered the room.

“Where the fuck have you been!” Felix sighed, jumping up from the bed to pull the older boy into a hug, “I came out of the shower to see you were gone, you weren’t answering your damn phone, I was fucking worried you asshole!” 

Changbin repressed a smile as he pushed Felix away. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” 

Felix scanned Changbin, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “Did you go for a run?” 

“Yeah,” Changbin answered.

“In... your sweats?” Felix fingered at the pockets of Changbin’s sweatpants, and the older boy swatted his fingers away. 

Changbin nodded and flopped down onto his bed. 

“Why didn’t you take your phone with you? I’ve been trying to call you,” Felix ran a hand through his hair, “Fucking hell,” he sighed. 

“I don’t know, Lixie.” As soon as Changbin’s head hit the pillows beneath him, he felt the exhaustion from his midnight run catch up to him. “You should watch your language, by the way.” he mumbled, cracking a small grin. 

“Changbin, seriously,” Felix climbed up beside him, “You’re fucking lucky! I was two seconds away from telling Chan, I swear to god.” 

Changbin looked up and saw the lines of genuine concern stretch across the boy’s face.

Felix had always been a caring person. He was always dependable, and he was really a true friend. It didn’t matter if Changbin was older, because he knew that Felix would always be there to protect him. 

Wordlessly, Changbin grabbed Felix by the arm and pulled him to lay down beside him. A fond smile graced his face. 

“Thank you for worrying,” Changbin whispered, “but I’m fine.”

Felix sighed. There was a beat of silence where Felix closed his eyes, and Changbin had started to think he fell asleep. But then, “Are you okay?” 

Changbin was stunned and confused for a second. “Yeah... why?” 

“You don’t usually go for runs. Especially not late at night.” Felix whispered. 

Changbin snaked an arm around Felix’s torso. “I was just having a bad day.” 

Felix was fidgeting slightly. It looked like he was fighting some sort of internal battle about whether or not he should say what he wanted to say. 

Changbin smiled at the nervousness. “What?” he encouraged. 

Felix’s gaze caught Changbin’s eyes. “Was it the comments? About your weight gain?” he asked in a small voice. 

Silence. There was no sound coming from anywhere in the dorm as Changbin processed the question. The smile that rested on his face immediately slipped away. 

“I... I saw them on Twitter, and they pissed me off, so...” Felix trailed off, lowering his gaze, “I mean you haven’t even gained that much...”

“I gained the weight on purpose,” Changbin said when he zoned back in on Felix.

“Oh...” Felix’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Why? I mean, not that you don’t look good, but like... Why did you want to gain weight?” 

Changbin thought about why he wanted to gain weight. He thought about Jisung’s drawing, the “V” face comments, the constant embarrassment around his appearance, and his own insecurities. 

“It’s stupid.” Changbin dismissed, but of course, Felix kept digging. 

“It’s not stupid. It’s just me, you can tell me.” he eased. 

Changbin sighed. “You know... how people had been making jokes about my face? And my chin?” 

Felix nodded, confusion showing again. 

“I hated those comments.” he whispered. “I just got so insecure about my looks after people began to make those jokes, and I just... wanted to fix them.”

When Changbin looked at Felix, he saw that the confusion was still etched onto his features. “But...” Felix started, “you always laugh at those jokes.” 

Changbin felt like shit for unloading this onto Felix, yet he continued to explain. “I’m good at laughing.” 

The boys sat in silence for another minute. Felix seemed to be mulling over what he had been told, and Changbin watched the look of confusion melt into one of realization, and then sadness. 

“I’m so sorry,” Felix breathed, “I... I didn’t know you felt like that. I would have never made those jokes.”

Changbin felt his heart crack. Felix almost sounded heartbroken, and it killed Changbin inside. 

“But hyung...” Felix said, “you know that you don’t have to fix anything, right? You’re perfect. Don’t let them get to you.” 

Teardrops were threatening to fall from Changbin’s eyes for the second time that night, except instead of being born out of pain, these tears were brought on by the overwhelming feeling of being loved. 

“Okay...” was all Changbin could muster the strength to whisper. He didn’t trust his voice, so instead, he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his best friend’s forehead. 

“You know what, hyung?” 

Changbin hummed.

“I have dealt with so much hate because of so many things,” Felix sniffled away his own tears, “first they were upset because I wasn’t fluent in Korean, then they didn’t like my freckles, then it was my voice, and I thought that there was just no winning with them.” Felix closed his eyes. 

Changbin didn’t even think about that. If any member was no stranger to criticism from online fans, it would be Felix. 

The thought was crazy to Changbin. Why would anybody go out of their way to hurt somebody as sweet and perfect as Felix? The thought of somebody actually hating Felix for his mess of pretty freckles still amazed Changbin. 

“But you know what I realized?” Felix continued, snapping Changbin out of his own thoughts, “It’s not my job to please everyone.” 

“What do you mean, Lixie?” Changbin asked. 

Felix opened his eyes again, “Like... I’m doing music for me, right? If people don’t like the way that I look or who I am, then that’s their problem, not mine. Get it?” 

Changbin was amazed. 

“How are you so young and yet more wise than half of the industry?” Changbin saw the light in Felix’s eyes, and it made him smile, too.

“I mean it still hurts sometimes, but... less now.”

Changbin agreed. He couldn’t see how reading vicious comments like that could ever end up getting easier. 

“But now that I know you get comments and stuff that hurt you too, maybe we could... help each other. When it hurts a lot, you know?” 

“Like you mean... I come to you when it hurts, and you come to me?” Changbin asked. It made him feel special to know that Felix trusted him enough to want to go to him for comfort. It made him feel like he wasn’t the only one that got happiness out of their relationship. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answered. 

Changbin’s smile returned full force. 

Felix was like sunshine, Changbin thought. This issue that seemed so horrible and painful to Changbin, now seems less than half as terrible since Felix was there for him. Since now, Felix was there to comfort him. 

He didn’t care if it made him weak or less of a man, because he didn’t feel like he had to be strong when he was with Felix. Felix had always been comfortable in his emotions, and Changbin admired that about him. 

“If you’re happy with the way that you look right now, you should keep it this way,” Felix encouraged him, “because for the record, I think you look better like this. You look happier.” 

“I am happier,” Changbin whispered. 

Shortly after that, the two boys fell asleep in Changbin’s bed, happy to have the support of their best friend. 

Although it was hard at first, Changbin slowly became more confident in himself and his appearance to not care about how other people wanted him to look. Even when he slipped up, Felix always caught him with a hug, a smile, and a shoulder for him to rest his head. 

For a while, Changbin had to fake his happiness during videos and variety shows. No matter how much he repressed it, the worry of how his fans would react to his appearance was always dangling in the back of his mind like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. 

But it got better. Changbin found himself worrying less and less about what his fans thought, and more about what he thought. Over time, he didn’t have to fake his happiness. The fans had even noticed how Changbin’s growing confidence affected him.

And perhaps best of all, eventually began to laugh again. It wasn’t a fake laugh, or a laugh to cover his shame. It was a real laugh that honestly held his real happiness. And unlike how he laughed before, this laugh was the product of his self confidence and strength. No laugh could ever be brighter or fuller than his.