#bounced onto the second floor and landed with very little health

[vespertine-legacy]

got another Revanchist under my belt

[highlordofkrypton]

Summary: The High Lords of Prythian and their Courts are coming to celebrate Tamlin’s sixth birthday. The little Spring Fae cannot wait to meet new friends, celebrate his family and create one of the happiest memories of his life. Read the first chapter beneath the cut.

They’re here. The High Lords!

Face pressed against the glass of his ornate window, a golden haired little Fae watches as the throng of nobles march towards his mansion. Tamlin has never seen so many people before gathered in one place. The last time this many lords visited the Spring Court was at his birth. He doesn’t remember the gasp of his first breath and the strength with which he wailed at his arrival—a tell-tale sign of his good health—nor does he recall the singular moment of peace within Prythian as new life is welcomed by the seven rulers in the Continent, but his mother does, and she beamed with pride when she told him that the lords would all be coming for him.

The small child gums on his knuckles, both anxious and excited, as his pointed ears twitch to try and listen for the very distant conversation of High Faeries. The mansion does well to keep the world out, so he can’t eavesdrop on the Lords. Not that he would understand any of it.

He needs to get a better view. Better yet, he needs to get closer. 

Just like that, a plan unfolds in his curious little mind. He’s far too young for anything elaborate, going only as far as planning his next step: escape through the window and down the trellis upon which many twining vines grow. They’d never let him fall, twisting into steady footholds when their growth was too thick for him to step on the wood.

“Thanks. Thank you,” Tamlin offers in excited whispers as he scrambles not one, but two whole floors down to the ground. 

About midway in his descent, the voices of Vice Commander Rhodri and a sentry named Angus stop him in his tracks. The young High Faerie releases his hold on the trellis and his old friends to free fall with arms wide into the bushes below. The foliage swallows their thorns and sharp edges to create a soft bed of leaves for the little one to fall into. They shield him from the two talking soldiers and he stays still until they’ve walked past him. 

“Thanks,” he says again, petting the bushes lovingly before continuing on his journey.

The trickiest part is getting past the golden gates surrounding his mansion. They’re enchanted to inform both the Vice Commander and his father. They’re also, very, very tall. Tamlin cranes his neck to look at the top of the sharp-tipped fence. If he misses, he will most definitely get hurt—the kind of pain that his mother’s kisses can’t fix. He should be too young to know this, but this world of High Lords and their stronghold on power means that he cannot afford to live in innocence. His father’s punishment is the kind that leaves scars so that he remembers the consequences of disobedience. He’s not afraid. Children are supposed to test limits, his mother once said hurriedly while ushering Tamlin to his room after he was caught playing in the Starlight River during his last escape.

“Can I have a bounce?” He asks the shrubbery that lines the gates that surround the manor. 

An honourable-looking hedge carved into the shape of the current High Lord of the Spring Court turns towards Tamlin. At first, he’d expected his father’s doppelgänger to treat him with the same severity, but the Green has a life of its own. Its large leafy hand reaches down to the ground, a platform for Tamlin to crawl onto. His not-father lifts him into the air, high above the gates, so that escape is nothing more than an easy leap. He’s not afraid of falling; landing has always come second nature to him. Tamlin dives towards the ground. From the other side of the fence, he waves his sprucely friend goodbye.

The High Lords are closer now. Tamlin only recognizes one of them. He’s careful not to reveal himself, standing deep within the tall grasses that part only for guests of the Spring Court. Excluding his father, there are six other rulers of Prythian: the High Lords of the Winter, Autumn, Summer, Night, Day and Dawn. They are High Faeries of the strongest order, and each of their Courts have dominion over the seasons or the cycles of the day. 

“Don’t you just love the celebration of new life?”

That voice—Tamlin lights up, he knows that voice. He fights every childish urge to jump up and say hello to his old friend. High Lord Nostrus is the only other High Lord in Tamlin’s life aside from his father. He had made a point to visit nearly every year, bringing toys that he would like, most of them hand carved sailboats of different models. An ‘ ad-mi-rable’ knows everything about boats, so Tamlin keeps the sailboats as a badge of honour in his room. He doesn’t play with them, afraid to break them. They’re on display for his mother to see. Sometimes, his brothers. No one else really visits. 

The tall grass sways in the cool breeze, like supple green silk waving their welcome. Tamlin weaves between the tall stalks; it’s an easy hiding place, everything is so big, and he’s still little. It takes him three steps for every one of the High Lords and their horses take. His eyes widen like saucers at the sight of his favourite friend from the Summer Court. As a child, he longed to have the same sun-loved skin, envious of the way the rich umber framed his sparkling sea-coloured eyes. 

“Yes,” answers another High Faerie made of sunshine. His tanned skin glows beneath the Spring Court sun, and the golden crown around his head is nothing short of a halo. 

A grumpy god, Tamlin muses to himself with a small smile.

“Don’t sound too excited, Memrun.” Nostrus laughs upon his horse, his laughter smooth like tides against the shore. “Are you sure ?”

“Yes,” Memrun repeats.

The Seven Courts of Prythian have been drilled into Tamlin’s brain; tales of the High Lords have been read to him every night. High Lord Memrun is of the Dawn Court, which is why he glows like the sun, and High Lord Nostrus is from the Summer Court. That leaves… 

Tamlin counts on his fingers, remembering that seven minus two and minus his father means that there are four more High Lords to see. One of the shorter blades of grass tickles his nose, and ah, ah —Holding back his sneeze turns it into a snort, muffled only by his palm.

The talking stops, and the High Lords look around them. Their guards offer to search the area for spies, but Nostrus lifts his hand. His turquoise eyes scan the sea of green, hovering for a brief moment over Tamlin’s hiding spot, and he waves the soldiers off.

“The Spring Court has many little creatures. It’s actually known for having more fauna than faeries or humans,” the Summer Lord offers. He smiles at the grass, knowing, and continues his lesson on the Spring Court’s variety of residents.

High Faeries and Court nobles follow their Lords in a long throng of people. They are all beautiful, more than the lesser Faeries and the humans. That’s what his parents always told him. They walk tall and proud, some on horses and others with the magical strength to winnow into wisps between the moving bodies to get ahead.

Tamlin balls his fists and with all the will he can manage, tries to winnow, too. The harder he tries, the more red his face becomes. He gets light-headed and abandons the attempt to take in a quiet breath of air. No winnowing for him today. But one day, he will. Only the strongest and the highest of Fae can do it. He’s just too little for now.

He gets bored with the very long parade of fish-scaled armour of the Summer Court and the golden jewelry of the Dawn Court. He longs to see something different. On he goes, stomping his way to the back of the line in hopes of catching sight of more High Lords. He wonders what they look like. How do they lead their Courts? What parts of them reflect upon their people? Or is it the High Lords that mirror their territories? He’ll only know once he sees more of them. 

There’s nothing Tamlin enjoys more than learning, especially by watching. It’s wondrous and exciting . 

The Autumn Court won’t take this route; their territory is on the opposite side of the Spring Court. High Lord Beron has seven sons and all Tamlin knows is that they’re not very nice; his father has drilled it into him that Beron is weak and a coward, that’s why he has to be cruel all the time and never take anything he says to heart. Those with true power do not need to keep yapping about it , the Spring Court’s High Lord had said. That’s all he needs to know about Autumn and that’s one less Court for him to sneak up on.

Instead of going back to the mansion, Tamlin keeps walking through the parting grass. It gives way to their little prince, able to lead him home if that’s what he wants. Every single plant watches over him like they do for all the little ones of the Court. His determined feet lead him all the way to the Earrach Calaport, the territory’s only sanctioned port. 

Ice lines the bow of the ship, freezing the sea as it docks. Ice is the ship, crystal clear at the top, where it makes a terrifying and beautiful impression. The lower half of the ship is made of thicker and murkier ice, layered with snow.

Snow.

Tamlin’s green eyes grow wide, and he can’t help himself, clambering onto unloaded cargo so he can get a better look. The truth is… he wants to touch it. He’s heard all kinds of stories about the Winter Court. Gairdín gets no snow, but High Lord Nikitas’ entire lands are covered in white powder.

His palm melts a tiny little print on the bow and he giggles to himself. There’s a little piece of himself on the ship now, and no one will know. It’s his little secret. Not even the watchful eye of the Green has caught sight of his little prank. Tamlin giggles a little more because the humour of a child is both endless and senseless. 

“ What do we have here? My lord, it seems we have a spy.”

Before he knows it, Tamlin is picked up by the hem of his sleeping shirtdress—he hadn’t bothered to change before leaving on his adventure. It’s better than wearing no clothes at all, which would have embarrassed both his parents terribly. He kicks his feet, trying to reach the ground.

“A spy ? What a catch you’ve made, Commander Argiris,” purrs a tall High Fae. 

She is impossibly tall. Even from his unwilling perch in the air, Tamlin still has to look up at the Ice Queen. With hair pure as the snow on the ship and perfect lashes adorned with crystal snowflakes, she regards him with a cold gaze. Although… The smile on her face is amused. 

Tamlin should be afraid, but he isn’t. Instead, he tries to reach for the soft-looking furs lining her pale blue dress. He keeps wriggling in the Commander’s arms, and when that doesn’t work, he simply lifts his arms up so that he slips right through his sleepwear and lands on the ground gracefully. Commander Argiris looks confused and amused, all at once.

The Lady laughs freely, a sound echoed by the frozen sea. She only laughs harder when Tamlin half-hugs her and runs his hands through the soft, soft white furs at the hem of her dress.

“Niki, I think we’ve made a mistake. We should have brought him furs!” 

Her icy expression shattered, the Lady seems much kinder than her first impression let on. From somewhere on the ship, the High Lord emerges. The grin on his pale features fades at the sight of an intruder, and he leaps off the edge to land beside them. The ground beneath his feet begins to freeze. 

“Come now, it’s just a child,” his wife complains with a comforting touch on his arm.

“You… are the boy.”

Tamlin’s interests remain with the dress; he’s resorted to rubbing his cheek against it now.

Lady Stellina picks Tamlin up and cradles him in her arms. “Look at him, my love. It has been so long since Kallias was this little.” She pinches his cheek gently, and he can feel the coldness in her touch.

“Hi,” Tamlin grins, grabbing at her hand now and keeping it pressed against his cheek, fascinated with how different she feels from any other Fae he’s met.

High Lord Nikitas shifts his pale blue eyes between the child and his wife, waging a quiet debate with himself. “Where is your father? Your guard?”

“Uh,” Tamlin says before pointing in the direction of his manor. “There.”

It’s dangerous for a boy so small to be wandering all alone with no escort. Were they the Night Court or the Autumn Court, Tamlin’s life would have been forfeit. Taking the life of a child is far too easy and they have much to gain by destabilizing the Spring Court. The greed of the other High Lords is the reason why Nikitas keeps to himself, never inviting others to his home and only venturing out when necessary. Were it not for his wife, then he would not have bothered with this celebration.

Once he’s sure that there are no witnesses aside from his own people, High Lord Nikitas grins as widely as his wife. “Oh, you are adorable .” He leans forward, pinching Tamlin’s cheek, too and ruffling his hair. “My love, my life , we should have another.”

Tamlin is immediately forgotten as Nikitas lavishes his wife with words of pure adoration. It’s weird. He’s not used to such open affection and starts fussing in Lady Stellina’s arms. 

“Would you like me to take him, my lady?” The Commander steps forward, holding his hands out to take Tamlin. He also has Tamlin’s shirt which… he should probably put on.

“I do not think our little wasset intended to stay with us.”

“What’s a wasset?” Tamlin asks.

High Lord Nikitas conjures more snow in his hands, shaping it into a snake-like creature with a white, white pelt. Without any limbs, it boasts ferocious fangs and tufted little ears.

“That’s a weasel,” the Spring son points out.

“Something like that. We call it a snow wasset. It lives beneath the surface of the snow, burrowing and burrowing. If it feels movement above, it will spring out from its hiding place to eat wandering little animals,” explains Lady Stellina.

“Or sneaky little Faes,” High Lord Nikitas adds, handing the snow sculpture and tickling a laugh out of Tamlin.

Tamlin takes the sculpture, giggling until his tummy hurts. He is set down and dressed in furry Winter finery instead of his sleeping shirt. 

“Thanks,” he whispers, so happy it overwhelms him. He pats the fluffy collar of his shirt; he can’t seem to stop stroking it.

“Are you all really old?” He asks suddenly. Every member of the Winter Court he has seen so far has had pale hair, in shades of powder blue, snowy white or silvery ice. The only other beings he’s seen with such light colouring are wrinkly old humans, but Lady Stellina and High Lord Nikitas’ skin is as smooth as the icy bow of their ship.

The question has Nikitas laughing—the sound shares the same echoed quality as his wife’s, and Tamlin realizes it’s the sound the ice makes when something falls upon it, but does not shatter it. It sends a shiver down his spine, but only because of the cold.

“No, our pale features are simply traits of our Court,” Lady Stellina explains.

“Is it because of the cold? Nostrus is not very hot.”

A child’s mind makes connections however possible. If the people who are cold are pale, then those with darker skin must be abundant with warmth.

“Nostrus? You’re on a first name basis?” High Lord Nikitas muses, cocking his brow curiously. “Then, you can call me Niki.” He must one-up the Summer Lord.

“It is a bit more complicated than that, darling. If your questions are not answered in your future studies about history, lineage and genetics, you are always welcome to come study in the Winter Court. It’s a good thing to learn from others.”

Niki lets out a snort of disapproval and Lady Stellina rolls her eyes.

“Secretly,” she raises a hand to her lips. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Mother says I shouldn’t make bargains without really thinking about it.”

“Lady Margret is a wise woman, but I am not asking for a bargain. Only your word which is more important than any bargains.”

The concept of his word is new. He doesn’t understand what that could possibly mean. Tamlin pretends to think about it, hoping that the answer will come without him needing to ask.

And it does.

“Giving someone your word means you’re going to keep a promise even if there are no magical consequences to breaking it because it proves that you are honourable. It is proof of your character. How good and trustworthy you are.”

That appeals to Tamlin who admires his father, his brothers and their entire guard for being honourable. It’s the most important trait of heroes and knights. He nods at Lady Stellina.

“I’ll keep the secret! We both will.” Tamlin holds up the snow wasset that has yet to melt no matter how tightly he holds it or how hot he gets under the Winter furs. 

He bids the Winter Court farewell as they begin their journey towards his home. The festivities will begin later in the evening once all their guests have settled in. Tamlin still has a bit of time and there are still two more Courts to find. With his new toy tucked beneath his arm, Tamlin ventures back into the tall grass and continues his mission.

Suddenly, the green tendrils slip around his ankles, holding him in place.

“Let me go!” 

Betrayal frustrates Tamlin as he tries to pull his leg free by the hem of his pants. He loses his balance and tips over. He sighs and keeps fighting to be free. 

“There you are.”

At the sound of his brother’s voice, Tamlin starfishes dramatically in the grass, trying to make himself as heavy as possible so that he can’t be carried. It’s the downside of being so small, anyone can tote him around and take him where they want him to go. The Winter Court had been very polite, not making him do anything he didn’t want to.

“I don’t wanna go back yet! I’m exploring!”

Iolin, the second son of the Spring Court, chuckles. The grass releases his brother as he takes a seat beside him. Out of the three children of the High Lord, Iolin has always been the most unassuming one. With dark blonde hair, edging on brown, and hazel eyes, he is easily lost in a crowd. He lacks their father’s presence which was inherited by their older brother, Enfys. Rather, he has his mother’s kindness and delicateness, a trait that their father believes to be weak. Even at his young age, Tamlin knows this.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Iolin is his favourite brother.

“You didn’t want to let anyone know you were exploring? You gave mother a fright, again .” The older High Fae regards Tamlin’s outfit and sculpture curiously. “I see you’ve met the Lady Stellina.” She is, by far, the friendlier half of the Winter pair. Iolin can’t imagine High Lord Nikitas taking Tamlin’s surprise and welcoming him positively. He can taste the cold disdain in his memory. 

“I was going to come back before the party.”

“I should hope so, it’s your party.”

“I know ,” Tamlin kicks his feet. 

He already knows all this! He has to come back and get dressed, his mother will do his hair and then he has to stand prettily next to his father to greet every single person that wants to see him. It’s very boring. He likes it better this way, sneaking around and getting a peek of the High Lords before they start pretending. (Just like how Niki is pretending. Maybe he can share secrets with all the Lords. Nostrus hadn’t revealed his hiding spot. That’s two secrets for two.)

Iolin makes no move to take his little brother back home. He just sits with him, enjoying the breeze and the way the grass shivers with excitement. The very earth thrums with magic. It thrives on fertility in any form—in fruitful engagements and friendship as much as romance. It celebrates the trust between two siblings at least three centuries apart.

“So, tell me. What do you think of the other Courts so far?”

Tamlin sits up, driven by the excitement to share his discoveries. In a single breath, he tells his brother how he saw Nostrus with High Lord Memrun who only seems to be able to say ‘yes’. It’s very silly because High Lords should be able to talk lots and lots, so they can lead their Courts. He thinks that the Winter Court is very cold, and his brother misses the fact that he is being literal. Their greeting was all but icy. Even the adoration Lady Stellina and Niki have for one another is warmer than any affection he’s seen in his short life. They were kiss-y and touch-y with each other. None of their people found that strange. 

He knows that his father hates to be touched, especially in front of others—that his mother can only be close when he thinks no one is looking. Tamlin keeps that observation to himself, so as not to sound like he’s complaining. His father’s way is the right way.

“So, you’ve seen the Winter, Summer and Dawn Court. Which Courts are left?”

Tamlin puffs up his chest, ready for this test. “Autumn Court led by High Lord Beron coming from the East. High Lord Apollo and his Day Court,” he hums. “And, and… Night Court!”

“Do you remember which High Lord rules the Night Court?”

“High Lord S… Suffer!”

Iolin bites his lip, holding back a laugh. “Sieffre. Close enough, but do try to get it right for tonight.” He knows Tamlin will, but encourages him just in case he lets the silliness reign. Tamlin is still a child, and he can be unpredictable. “It’s important to be the best, especially in front of father.” His voice is soft, wistful.

“I know,” Tamlin whines.

“You know everything, don’t you?”

“Yup,” answers the little Fae, popping the ‘p’.

“Alright then, know-it-all, how about you look up?” Above them, a comet blazes through the sky. High Lord Apollo always knows how to make an entrance, much to the disdain of the other lords. Iolin is sure Tamlin didn’t know that.

Chapter 1, Wildflowers

[lovely-ateez]

I’ll Be Home Soon~

ꕥPosted: 5/16/21

ꕥGenre: Fluff

ꕥPairing: Fem!Reader x Idol!Mingi

ꕥWord Count: 1.8k

ꕥWarnings: An overwhelming heaping of fluff

ꕥTag List: @nevieatiny @bobateastay

ꕥA/N: I know this is short but I wanted to write at least a little something for Mingi’s return. I’m just so proud of him and can’t wait to see him again ><

I sat on the couch as stiff as a board. At any minute my boyfriend would return home after being away for months. We kept in contact while he was gone, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing each other in person. Even after all this time, I still wasn’t accustomed to the cold bed or the lack of sticky notes he would leave me throughout the day, all saying some variation of I love you or good morning or you look beautiful today. It was always something simple, but they became so meaningful to me. Waking up without his warm smile never got easier, and every moment he was gone I thought of him. Our house wasn’t a home with only me.

I heard the faint jingling of keys and I scrambled to the door, about falling over in the process. The door opened to reveal my tall, lanky boyfriend. He was dressed casually, wearing a large white sweatshirt over black baggy pants. His brown hair was down, slightly covering his eyes. He wasn’t dressed up or wearing anything special, but in that moment he looked more handsome to me than he ever had before. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds since I laid my eyes upon him and my heart was already beating as rapidly as the first time I met him.

He smiled at me and opened his arms wide to embrace me in a tight hug. I jumped in his arms without thinking and felt tears beginning to run down my face.

“I can’t believe you’re home. I missed you so much.” I nuzzled into his warm chest.

His voice was deep and warm, enveloping me ten times over. “I’m home, baby. I’m home.”

We held each other tight, basking in the feeling of the other after being separated. It felt new, in some ways, but completely and totally familiar at the same time.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” His voice was soft, as if he thought I might blame him.

I pulled back from his embrace, making eye contact. “Song Mingi don’t you dare apologize! Health always comes first and I’m so proud of you for recognizing that you needed a break.”

He gave a shy smile that I happily returned. Noticing the luggage that he was carrying, I picked up a few bags and ushered him in, setting the bags down once we were inside. He looked around our living room, smiling at its setup. On the main table I had placed his favorite snacks, a few presents, and an overwhelming number of envelopes.

Mingi quirked a brow and chuckled, obviously thankful but a bit confused, “What are the envelopes for and why are there so many?” 

I looked to the ground,feeling shy. “Every week that you were gone I wrote you a letter. I know we facetimed and everything but I thought it might be more personal through a letter. I tried to send them to you but your manager told me to keep them instead-”

Mingi set his luggage on the floor and once more hugged me, this time lifting me in the air and placing kisses all over my face. “You didn’t have to do this, babe.”

“Oh I know, but I wanted to. It’s the least you deserve.”

His eyes watered at my words and I gently cupped his face. “You deserve the world, my love.”

He set me back down and gave me a playful shove, “Stop that I’m gonna cry.”

I pouted, “I’m sorry I don’t mean to make you cry. I just love you so much.”

“I love you too, baby.”

I stood on my toes to press a kiss to his lips, which he returned. I felt him smile against my lips and the gesture made butterflies stir within me.

"So what do you wanna do, babe? We can stay here and watch a movie and relax if you want or-”

He laughed, “Honestly? I kinda want to go to the zoo. I don’t really know why, but I haven’t been in awhile and it just sounds fun.”

“Right now?”

“Hell yeah.”

I smiled at his childlike answer, expecting nothing less from my puppy-like boyfriend, “Alright, let’s go then! Oh-”

I felt a ball of fluff run past my ankles and up to Mingi. Both of us looked down to see our cat, Mao. Mingi smiled and picked her up, pleased to find her purring while he pet her.

“I missed you, too. Silly cat.”

“She’s been sleeping on your side of the bed since you left, so you’re probably gonna have to kick her out tonight.”

His eyes widened, “You replaced me?”

“No! I could never! She just decided to keep me company.”

A tight smile formed on Mingi’s face, “Sure, sure.”

I scoffed, “Are we going to the zoo or not?”

“Of course!” He set Mao down before moving his luggage into our bedroom. I picked up my purse and car keys as I saw him return to the living room and gave him another smile. We quickly said our goodbyes to Mao and locked the door, excited to spend more time with each other.

-

“So what’s your favorite zoo animal, Mingi?” I asked as we walked through the zoo with our fingers intertwined.

His eyebrows furrowed in thought, “I kinda like sun bears. Have you seen the memes about those things? How they look-”

“Like a person in a bear costume?” I finished his sentence and he giggled, nodding at me.

“I think they have those here, actually. We might have to find a map but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

After asking around and wandering for half an hour, we finally found the sun bear enclosure...only to be met with empty land.

“Damn, are they really not here?” Mingi asked, looking dejected, “I thought they’d have at least one.”

Before I could reply a little girl ran up to the exhibit in front of us, her brown pigtails swaying with her quick movements. She pressed her small fingers to the glass, squinting to see any signs of the sun bears. Her bottom lip stuck out when all she saw was an empty exhibit and my heart lurched for the poor girl. Mingi and I watched as an attractive couple ran from the same direction as the little girl, their movements frantic until they saw her tiny figure.

“Migyung you can’t just run off like that, sweetheart.” The mother lightly scolded, sounding more concerned than angry.

The little girl turned around at the sound of her mom’s voice and frowned. “I’m sorry, mama. I just wanted to see the funny bears!”

The father crouched down to reach her height, “I know, just tell us next time, okay?”

Migyung nodded at her father’s words.

“And would you look at that?” The man smiled and pointed behind her, “Look who’s coming over to see you.”

The girl turned around and spotted a sun bear walking towards her. She let out a gasp, once more pressing her fingers to the glass. Her eyes filled with stars as she looked at the bear.

She laughed with excitement and bounced on her toes, “Daddy, mommy, look at him! He’s so fat!”

“We see him, sweetheart.” The father replied with a smile, even though the girl couldn’t see it. He looked over to his wife and placed an arm around her, kissing her cheek as they looked at their daughter fondly.

Mingi squeezed my hand, his attention no longer on the sun bear. He turned to me with love-filled eyes and whispered, “That’s gonna be us one day, you know?”

I bit my lip and felt warmth spread through my body. We’d talked about our future before, how we wanted kids and planned on getting married, but watching the scene before us and seeing the sincerity in his eyes, it made my heart feel like exploding.

“I’d really like that.”

We stood there for a bit longer before leaving to look at the other animals. The red pandas, in particular, caught Mingi’s attention, and I found myself quite fond of the baby rhinos, but we both agreed that the sun bear was our favorite.

-

Neither of us were entirely sure how we both ended up covered in flour on the floor of our kitchen, only that once the sun had began to set we left the zoo and came home with empty stomachs, then deciding to make breakfast food for dinner. Now we were both in fits of giggles as we struggled to sit upright, Mao’s strange looks at us somehow making the event even funnier.

“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I laughed.

“I think this was a great idea,” Mingi said with a smile before grabbing a handful of flour and throwing it at me.

“Hey! You’re gonna pay for that!”

He stood and grabbed the bag of flour, raising a brow in challenge, “Oh yeah? Come and get me, babe.”

Against my better judgement I stood and ran towards him, throwing my body onto his and tackling him to the floor. As our bodies collided, the bag of flour flew out of his hands and I crawled over to the bag only to feel Mingi’s arms wrap around my legs and drag me back towards him.

“Noo! I’m so close!” I giggled, the bag barely a foot away.

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” He pulled me into his lap and wrapped his arms around me tight, preventing me from escape, “What are you gonna do now, huh?”

I tilted my head with a smile, “I’ll probably flirt with my captor until he falls for me and then I’ll run away with the flour.”

“Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Well, what if he’s already in love with you but won’t let you go?” Mingi shifted our bodies to where I was laying with my back on the floor, his own body hovering over mine but still very much keeping me in place, “What if he’s gonna keep you here with him? What do you think about that?”

My breath hitched as he looked down at me, his face slowly inching closer to mine. He had it too easy, really, with how quickly he could fluster me.

“I think you’re far too handsome for your own good.” I said barely louder than a whisper.

He let out a chuckle before kissing me, our lips moving in time with the other’s. My hands found his hair and I pulled him closer to me, my hunger long forgotten.

As I felt Mingi’s body against mine, I finally felt whole. It was hell, going without seeing him for so many months, but because of moments like these, I knew I’d gladly wait a hundred more if it meant I could just have one day with him.

[deerixiie]

description: one by one, love stole the people oikawa cared about the most. it stole him, too.

pairings: oikawa tooru x fem!reader

w/c: 1.6k

genre/warning: angst, hanahaki au, major character death, mentions of blood, body horror?

a/n: this is a one day late birthday present for the wonderful @wanderynn!! rae ily don’t kill me for writing oikawa angst for your birthday

Oikawa was nervous.

Which was odd, because he had been in situations like this before. Interviews required being asked questions he was expected to answer, after all.

But those were interviews. This was a therapy session.

Oikawa’s gaze dropped down at his hands, slightly worn from years of slapping a volleyball with his entire strength. Those same hands that had slapped a ball with spine-chilling intensity were the same hands that gently caressed your cheek, the same hands that easily intertwined with yours, the same hands that tilted your chin up with every kiss he placed on your lips.

Oikawa’s eyes started to burn.

The therapist seated in front of him continued to tap away on the computer, her face devoid of any emotion. She seemed to be satisfied with whatever was behind the screen and swiveled around to face him, a disgustingly fake smile on her face.

(Oikawa would know, his smiles were fake as well. Slightly strained, a little too bright to be genuine.)

“So, Oikawa-san,” the therapist said, making eye contact with him.

“Oikawa is fine.”

“Oh, alright. So, Oikawa, how are you feeling?”

Tired. Numb. Odd. Guilty.

“Fine.” The fake smile came easily.

“Ah, okay. Is this your first experience with Hanahaki?”

No, of course it wasn’t. He was told that being well-known meant people will fall in love with him. “It’s not your fault, Tooru,” they said. “Some people fall in love very easily.” Oikawa remembered snorting, thinking that no one could possibly fall in love with him just because he was charming and good-looking.

He was wrong.

(It started with Ume, the bubbly girl in his second year of middle school. Then Riko and Akika in his first year of highschool, one other girl he didn’t remember the name of in his second year, and Mizuki in his third.

Only three of them had settled on getting amnesia and forgetting Oikawa entirely instead of dying. The adoring gazes he was once plagued with became empty stares.

But Riko didn’t. Oikawa couldn’t bring himself to her funeral; he knew the only stares he would get would be accusatory ones.)

The therapist continued. “And I mean, not just from being a celebrity, but with people close to you.”

Oikawa suddenly found it difficult to breath. He saw the flash of spiky dark hair, of rude nicknames and harsh shoulder slaps.

(“I’ll be alright.”

“Iwa, you’re dying!”

“I said I’ll be alright.”

Oikawa was in Argentina when Iwaizumi died. “He had a severe coughing fit on the street that made him pass out,” they told him. “He was dead before they could put him in an ambulance.”

Oikawa cried for hours.)

“Yes,” Oikawa said quietly. “A close friend of mine died from it.”

“Oh.” The therapist’s smile faded away. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s fine,” he said, flashing his brightest of smiles.

The therapist’s expression became more serious. “Dealing with that much loss must be hard.”

Oikawa didn’t respond. What does he even say to that?

“Do you want to tell me about them?”

About Iwaizumi? No, about you. Oikawa’s smile was smaller, obviously less genuine. “No, not really.”

“Well, uhm…” the therapist drummed her fingers against her thigh. “Were you two close?”

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie. The lines between the two of you had been gray and blurred. Were the intoxicated kisses at two in the morning really love, or just drunken lust? Being tangled up under the covers as you lazily slept on top of the other wasn’t necessarily romantic, was it? You held his hand because you were afraid of losing him in the crowd, not because you loved him, right?

(Wrong.)

“Even if we were friends, we were closer than most friends were.”

“Ah.” The therapist typed something on her computer. “How did you find out?”

“Come again?”

“When she was diagnosed. How did you find out it was you she was in love with?”

“Oh.” Oikawa looked out the window. It seemed to be on the cusp of fall and winter, bare branches and freezing temperatures but no snow.

He found himself smiling. You hated the snow.

“She told me a couple hours before she died.”

The therapist sucked in an audible breath. “What was that like?”

Oikawa swallowed slowly. “We were sitting together, watching a movie or something like that. She had a coughing fit.”

(He remembered how weak you looked pressed up next to him, your knees drawn to your chest, your eyes hollow and empty, your body thin and frail. Your coughing fits were violent, more violent than most. Tissues and handkerchiefs followed you wherever you went, stained with shriveled, bloody petals.)

“She told me it was me. I didn’t understand her at first, but she was saying it was me over and over. And then I understood. Six hours later, she died.”

“Is that all?”

No. “Yes.”

“So you didn’t really have much time to think about it before she passed, but it must have made you feel guilty. That’s why you’re here today.”

Oikawa nodded.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself, Oikawa.”

That’s what they all said. But he couldn’t help it, could he? He saw you sprawled on the ground in a pool of crimson, serene white petals decorating the floor like it was some sort of aesthetic arrangement. You looked so unbelievably peaceful, finally freed from the death vice of your unrequited love for him.

Love for him.

Oikawa was blind. He was desperate. He was so desperate for affection that he accepted your kisses and touches with open arms, disregarding the fact that you could be in love with him. Pure, inhumane lust drew him to you, trailing his hands down your arms, pressing his lips against your skin. He was a monster.

“Oikawa, I take it that you’ve heard of PHH?”

(PHH - (Purple Hyacinth Hanahaki) A branch of hanahaki originating from guilt over the death of a loved one; usually one who had died a hanahaki-related death from being in love with them.”

Oikawa’s nose had wrinkled reading the definition off of his health textbook. “That can happen?” He asked, glancing over at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi shrugged and continued to fill out his homework. “Love is confusing.”

“If it’s this confusing I’m never going to fall in love!” Oikawa huffed. “Love is stupid!”

“That’s what you’ll say now, Stupidkawa. I bet you’re falling in love first.”

“Hey, Iwa-chan, not true!”

The world was an ironic, cruel place.)

Oikawa’s heart pounded in his chest, an ominous countdown. (Countdown to a diagnosis? Countdown to his death?) He nodded once. “I know about it.”

The therapist drums her nails on her desk, echoing his already racing heart. A sympathetic look passed on her face. “You might be at risk for that, Oikawa.”

Oikawa found his eyes drifting over to the window once more. He spotted a lone orange leaf clinging to the end of a tree branch, persisting even as the wind violently shook the branch.

(Your body shaking violently as you clung to Oikawa’s arm, whispering “it’s you” over and over, a mantra that would haunt him even in death.

Death. It was coming sooner now, wasn’t it?)

Another violent shake, and the leaf spiraled to the ground.

(Ghostly empty eyes, mouth slightly parted as blood dribbled from the corner. Your arms were wrapped around nothing, as if in those last moments of life you were holding something tight to your chest, a last connection to the mortal world.

Oikawa wished he was there. No—no he didn’t. He wouldn’t bear to see the light fading from your eyes as he held you in his arms.)

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

He found himself back on the court two days later.

“He always finds a way to come back to the court.��� His coach had said that once. Highschool Oikawa had reveled in the praise, reveled in his devotion to a sport.

Now it felt shallow. How dare he be more devoted to a sport than the own two people who motivated him to even start playing? How dare he be blinded by the rush of dopamine a successful serve gave him? How dare he not support his closest friend when he was nearing his end? How dare he not notice your unyielding love for him? How dare he how dare he how dare he-

Oikawa swiveled on his heel and threw the volleyball onto the wall. It bounced off with a satisfying “thwack” and landed back into his hands.

Oikawa sighed.

His thumbs traced slow circles against the leather. Soothing. Calmi-

(His thumb rubbed a gentle circle into your cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured, his breath hot on your face.

Your lips quirked into a smile. “For what?”

“Mm,” he moved forward and closed the distance between you greedily, encapturing you in another kiss. “It doesn’t matter.”)

Oikawa threw the ball up and took a step forward, shifting his weight into his feet for the jump.

A violent cough tore itself from his throat.

Oikawa collapsed onto his knees, his hand pressed into his mouth. The coughs were aggressive, sending violent tremors throughout his entire body. His throat hurt.

(“Yeah, it hurts,” Iwaizumi muttered, quietly rubbing his throat. “It hurts like hell.”)

(“It hurts.” Your voice was a ghost whisper in the quiet hums of the night. “Tooru, it hurts.”)

The coughs subsided, leaving behind an eerie sort of silence. Oikawa removed his hand from his mouth.

Ah, he thought. I should’ve expected this.

A vivid purple petal dotted with crimson sat in the palm of his hand. He closed his fists around the flower petal, his eyes stinging with tears.

Love was harsh words and sore throats. Love was drunken lust in the ungodly hours of night. Love was confusing. Love was stupid.

Love, it seemed, was everyone’s demise.

-purple hyacinths represent sorrow or regret.

-white tulips represent forgiveness.

taglist: @joliechuchoter @pablopascal @yn-tingz @vannerz @strawberriimilkshake @sunarashi @hajiimes @tttournesolll @hajibee @semiis @kageyuji (send an ask/dm if you want to be removed, fill out the form here to be added!)

[themetaphorgirl]

Prompt: Emily gets drunk and comes back to the school and she voices her love for all of them and won’t stop hugging bby Reid. Can u imagine the CUTENESS. I cry your au makes me so happy

so I LOVE this prompt. and also my darling @criminalmindsgonewrong needed something fun with Emily. So I hope you like this!!

featuring Hotch’s secret weakness, children learning profanity and Alex��s “I mean business” ponytail

----------

“Hey, guys?” Dave called up the stairs. “I just want everyone to know that none of this is my fault. In fact, I should be considered a hero.”

Hotch, James, and Alex raised their heads slowly from their respective homework. “What the fuck is happening?” James whispered.

“Language,” Hotch whispered, nodding towards the younger kids piled in front of the TV.

“I say ‘fuck’ all the time, Hotch,” Derek said, only half paying attention.

Something heavy thumped on the stairs and a high pitched giggle floated up. Alex closed her Russian dictionary. “If Rossi is bringing another new girlfriend in here, I swear to god…”

Emily stumbled to the top of the stairs and flung her arms in the air like a gymnast landing a vault. “I made it!” she cheered.

Dave climbed up behind her. “Listen, I only lost her for like two seconds,” he said. 

“Oh, no,” James said. “You didn’t.”

“Did what?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, did what?” Penelope echoed. 

Emily grinned. “We went to a party!” she said. “And there was a tequila!”

Hotch slowly turned to glare at Dave. “It’s a school night, and you took Emily to a party?” he asked.

Dave shrugged helplessly. “She was very persuasive,” he said. 

“Very, very persuasive,” Emily nodded.

Alex rested her chin in her hand. “She told you a certain girl was going to be there, didn’t she?” she said.

“I’m very persuasive,” Emily repeated. She threw her arms around Alex’s neck. “Lemme...lemme braid your hair.”

“No, no, not this time,” Alex said, peeling her hands away. “Oh, I’m not excited about sharing a room with you tonight once this starts to wear off..” 

Emily smiled dreamily and raked her fingers through Alex’s hair. “It’s so red,” she mumbled. Alex sighed and dropped her chin in her hand again. 

Penelope and JJ leaned over the back of the couch to watch. “Do you think she’ll throw up this time?” Penelope asked.

“Oh, absolutely,” JJ said. “At least twice.”

Spencer looked up from his book. “Make her drink V8 again, that worked last time,” he said.

“Emily, we’ve been over this,” Hotch said. “You can get in serious trouble if you’re caught drunk on campus.”

“Oh, shit, no,” she whined. She fumbled in her pockets. “I can...I got…”

“Don’t show me your credit cards again.”

“My credit cards!” she said, waving her wallet at him. “I’ll...I can...yeah, I’ll give ‘em money and it’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t be,” Hotch said patiently. 

Emily scowled and stumbled over to him. “Mr. Hotchner,” she said. “Mr. Hotchner, you gotta...why don’t you fuckin’ smile, dude?”

Derek burst out laughing; she whipped around and shook her finger at him. “This is a serious question!” she said. “I...I know you can smile.”

Hotch grimaced at her. “There,” he said. “Now can you please pour yourself back into your dorm room and sleep this off?” 

Emily frowned, plunking down on his lap. “You need to smile,” she said. She grabbed at his face and pulled at his cheeks. “It’s...it’s in there somewhere.”

“Emily, please,” Hotch said, pained, as her thumb came perilously close to jabbing up his nose.

“No, keep going, I wanna see what happens,” Penelope said.

Emily’s frown deepened. “Why won’t you smile?” she demanded.

“See if you can initiate gargalesis,” Spencer suggested.

“The fuck you say to me, nerd baby?” Emily said.

Spencer scowled. “Tickle him.”

Emily brightened. James immediately got up, gathering his homework. “This is going to end horribly,” he said. “Oh god. Oh, god.”

“He’s not smiling!” Emily said, digging her fingers in Hotch’s sides.

Hotch pressed his mouth together, firmly stoic. “Stop trying to tickle me,” he said. “You need to sober up, and I’m not ticklish, so-”

“Don’t ask me how I know this. Back of the knees,” Alex said.

Hotch’s mouth dropped open. “How did you-” he started to say, but Emily lunged for his knees, and he burst out laughing, trying to wrestle her off his lap. “God! Emily! Stop! Stop, you got me to smile, okay, I’m smiling!”

She tumbled to the floor and scrambled to her feet unsteadily, screeching with laughter. “I did it!” she said. “Aha! I knew you could...could fuckin’ smile.”

Penelope held up her phone. “I can’t wait to show this to her tomorrow,” she said. 

Emily staggered over to her. “You are so cute,” she said. She dropped her hands on JJ and Penelope’s head. “Two just...cute little princesses.”

“Oh, she’s really gone this time,” JJ said. She gently pried Emily’s hand off her head. “Emily, you should take it easy.”

“I can get you some snacks,” Penelope offered as Emily tangled her hand in her hair, giggling as the pompoms tied to her ponytail bounced. “Some nice saltines, maybe? A piece of dry bread? Something to soak up the alcohol in your bloodstream.”

“Hey, she hasn’t called me ‘cute’ yet, that’s how we’ll know she’s real bad,” Derek said.

Emily let go of Penelope’s hair. “But you are cute,” she said. “So...so fucking cute. You guys are all just...fucking babies and I love...all of you.”

“I’m only a year younger than you,” Derek said dryly. “Spencer’s the baby.”

“Hey!” Spencer protested. “I’m very mature for my age!”

Emily stumbled over to him, leaning over the side of the couch, and swooped him up in a snuggle. “You are a baby!” she said. “Just the babyest...fuckin’ baby.”

“You smell like hand sanitizer,” Spencer complained, squirming in her grip as she smacked kisses on his cheeks. “And I’m not a baby! Guys! C’mon, help me!”

“I’m not taking the risk,” Hotch said flatly. “Now that someone decided to blab.” Alex shrugged.

“Derek!” Spencer said, trying to wriggle away from Emily’s octopus-like hug.

“Nah, man, I’m not gonna take the risk either,” Derek said.

“Ooh! Try to initiate...gargling. Gargantuan. Gar...what was it again?” Penelope said.

Spencer scrunched up his face. “Gargalesis?” he said. Emily grinned and started tickling his ribs. “Noooo! Emily, no, stop tickling me!” He shrieked with laughter, kicking his legs at her and in an attempt to twist free. 

“Emily, stop torturing Spencer, he’s going to pee himself,” JJ said.

“No, I won’t!”

“Emily, you gotta stop, he has to breathe.”

“What?” Emily said, momentarily distracted, and Spencer tumbled off the couch and beelined to the table to duck behind Hotch and Alex. 

“Emily, you’ve got to chill,” Dave said. “We don’t want a repeat of what happened after homecoming.”

“What happened at homecoming?” Hotch asked, eyes narrowing as Spencer climbed onto his lap.

“Nothing,” Dave said quickly. Emily scowled and started scolding him in Italian; he shot back, waving his hands.

“What’s happening?” Derek asked. “What are we missing?”

“Profanity, mostly,” Alex said.

“Yeah, and you guys didn’t want me to learn how to say ‘fuck’,” Spencer said. Hotch covered his ears. 

Emily halted midsentence, holding out her hands. “Wait...wait…” she said.

JJ drew back. “Oh, she’s gonna hurl,” she said.

“False alarm,” Emily said. “We’re good. We’re good, everybody.”

Alex got up from the table and tied her hair back into a ponytail, snapping the elastic with resigned determination. “All right, Prentiss, say goodnight to everybody,” she said. “We’re going back to our dorm, and you’re going to sober up.”

Emily pouted and whined in Italian; Alex rattled something back and Emily sighed heavily. “Okay, okay, take me away,” she said. “Bye, everybody, love you.”

“Bye, Emily,” they chorused.

They didn’t see her again until breakfast the next morning; Emily sat with her head down on the table and a glass of tomato juice at her elbow. “So I take it things went well?” Dave said.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Alex said. “Miss Prentiss over here…”

“Shut up,” Emily mumbled into her folded arms. “Shut up, shut up, shut up…”

“Have we learned an important lesson?” Hotch asked.

Emily raised her head. Her eyes were still smeared with last night’s makeup. “That your ticklish spot is under your knees?” she said. 

Hotch’s ears turned red. “No, hopefully you learned a lesson about getting drunk on a school night,” he said. “Or, better yet, you’ve learned to not get drunk because you’re underage and it’s bad for your health.”

“Aw, come on, chief,” she said. She mimed finger guns at him. “Gimme a week, I’ll forget all about this.”

“Oh! I can help with that,” Penelope said. She handed her phone to Derek, who passed it to JJ, who propped it up in front of Emily. “Here’s the video! Maybe this will help remind you.”

Emily went pale. “Oh, cazzo,” she mumbled.

“That basically means ‘fuck’!” Spencer announced.

[cozy-fantasy-corner]

Band of Idiots Pt. 1: July

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of abuse and illness

Word Count: 1K ish

Summary: Y/n and Steve Rogers have been best friends since they were babies. One day, Steve is taken ill and Y/n has to find someone else to play with. This encounter will change all three of their lives forever. 

Author’s Note: This is my first fic, but I’ve put a lot of love into it. I really hope you fall in love with this story as much as I have! 

I was a runty little kid growing up, just like my neighbor, Stevie. I was always sick, and I was so skinny that it scared my mama. My poor health and my small size did nothing for me, but it never stopped me. If you asked anyone that knew me, I was ten times more stubborn than my Stevie. Thick as thieves, us two. We did anything and everything together. 

Our mamas both worked at the hospital together. I stayed with Stevie most nights because they had late shifts, not to mention Papa was a mean drunk. He would never watch us, just wake up and yell, maybe slap us around a bit. I’d do all of my work with Stevie, play on the fire escape with him, and curl up in his bed at the end of every day. It was nice, it just being us two. 

Everything was wonderful as it could be. Every day was the same things, but they never got old. A case of pneumonia or the flu here and there spiced things up, not to mention the random asthma attacks. But sometimes I craved a little more. I know, it sounds silly. I wanted more adventure, maybe even a new friend to add to our duo. 

Stevie got really sick the night after he turned 7. He had come down with something that could kill both of us if we weren’t careful. Mama said I had to stay home until he got better. This left me real uneasy. He was my best guy, we were never apart, and all of a sudden I couldn’t see him at all. I hated it. 

I sulked around the apartment for 4 days before Papa got sick of my long face. He got so annoyed with me that he put me on the fire escape and locked the window up tight. Boy, did that grind my gears. I just missed my Stevie, and then Papa wanted rid of me. 

I sat on the landing for 2 hours with my arms hugged tight to my chest and a scowl across my face before something jerked me out of my brooding. A girl, about the same age as me, with steely blue eyes, plopped down beside me. She had this quizzical look on her face and her eyes shone bright in the Brooklyn heat. 

“My name’s Rebecca Barnes, but Buck and Mama call me Becca. You can call me Becca, too. What’s your name, Grumpy-pants?” she teased gently, poking my side. 

I rolled my eyes at her remark, but I softened at her touch. I looked her up and down, taking in her bright energy and her curly brown hair. I unfurled my arms and smiled shyly at her. My fingers brushed the trousers I’d stolen from Stevie, plucking at a string without noticing. All I could do is be scared she wouldn’t want a loser like me to play with. Stevie woulda told me to go for it. Woulda said I needed a new friends anyways. I decided to go for it. 

“I’m Y/n. Mama and my Stevie call me Minnie, not Grumpy-pants. Wanna play?” I asked hesitantly. I didn’t meet her eyes entirely. 

I fully expected her to say no, and much to my surprise, she didn’t say anything. In fact, she just nodded excitedly and grabbed my hand. She yanked me to my feet and set off up the fire escape. I followed behind her, stumbling every couple of steps. Jeez, she moved quickly. All I could see were her curls bouncing as she raced up the steps. She came to a stop suddenly, and I slumped onto the landing, wheezing a little bit.  

I put my hands on the metal and tugged myself up the last step. Mama doesn’t let me climb much because it takes so much out of me. I could feel the energy leaving my body. The heat just sucked it right outta me. I shuffled into a seated position, breathing heavily. I put my hand up as if to ask for a second, and Becca looked at me with a deep concern in her eyes. 

She settled on the floor next to me, and studied me carefully. She could hear my chest rattling and wheezing. Most people would pity me, but Becca just waited for me to settle my lungs. She wasn’t rude or impatient. She just sat and made sure that I was okay. My heart felt funny. No one but Stevie or Mama was this nice to me, ever. 

“Are you okay, Minnie?” she prompted, snapping me out of my thoughts. 

I just nodded and gave her a weak smile. My breathing was still a little funny, but not too bad. Not enough to worry. I straightened my spine a little and placed my hands on my thighs. I rocked forward a little to try and stand, but Becca had already shot up and held out her arm for me. I hoarsely whispered my thanks and leaned into her. She guided me to the window of her cool apartment and took me to the couch. I flopped gracelessly and pressed my wrist to my forehead. 

“Got asthma” I weakly explained, pressing my eyes closed tightly. 

She nodded like she knew already. She shuffled off past me. I heard a glass clink and the faucet running. She came back with a wet rag and a glass of water. She nudged my arm away from my face, replacing it with the rag, and set the water in my hand. I sipped silently as she studied me. It was almost as if she did this often. I shooed the thought from my head when I heard the tip tap of shoes on the floor. 

“Bex? That you?” called the boy in the doorway. His eyes shifted between us girls, curious as to who was on his couch. 

Becca gave him a “leave it alone” look and his features softened. He was very pretty. I could tell that he was a little bit older by his height and how he spoke to her. His arms were crossed over his chest casually. His eyes were the same piercing blue as Becca’s and his dark hair was perfectly styled. They must be brother and sister. 

My study of him was interrupted by his voice floating over the room. He was introducing himself. Something about James. I didn’t really catch it. My head was too fuzzy. I blinked dumbly and just from that he knew I hadn’t heard anything he said. He waved his hand up to snap me out of my daze. My attention was fully on him. 

“The name is James Buchanan Barnes. I hate James and Buchanan. Call me Bucky, please” he said with a soft sort of arrogance in his tone. He was gentle, but full of himself. A real brother. 

That one moment, unbeknownst to any of us, had changed all of our lives for good. 

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

Author’s Note: I really hope you guys liked this first chapter. I’m going to start working on the next one ASAP!

[thiswasinevitableid]

“Listen you need to dance with me right now” pairing and scenario of your choice

Here you go! I went with Indruck and a college-ish AU

“Listen, you need to dance with me right now”

Duck turns around in the black pleather booth and finds a man about his age, silvery hair tousled out at odd angles and red glasses perched on his nose, smiling at him nervously. 

“Not beatin around the bush are you?” He smirks.

“Huh? Oh, ah, this is not a flirtation attempt, Ah, that is, not that you are unappealing, just, nevermind, this was foolish.”

He turns away, and Duck grabs his elbow, “whoah, hey, didn’t say I wasn’t interested. Not about to turn down a dance from a cute guy.”

Tension drains from the man’s shoulders as Duck stands leads them towards the strobing light of the dance floor, “Thank goodness. Wait, what did you say?”

“I said” Duck pulls him close as the current song winds down, “I think you’re cute, sugar.”

“There’s no need to pretend that’s true. As I said, this isn’t about flirtation.” 

“Then what is it about?”

His new friend thinks as the tempo grinds down to slow beat, couples flowing on and off the floor around them. It’s the kind of gay bar where anyone who falls under the rainbow banner can go to look for a partner. Duck himself is on the hunt for something to banish the taste of a bad break-up from his mouth. 

His original plan for the night involved sitting in the dark in his bedroom, watching nature documentaries until he no longer felt the dull heartbreak oozing in his chest. But Juno, his roommate, insisted he come with her for a night on the town.  So he’d settled on a new plan: get laid by someone who likes hairy guys with some fat on top of their muscle in hopes of not remembering all his insecurities, ones drilled deeper under his skin by his exes parting words. 

The man currently holding his hands with all the confidence of a freshman at their first homecoming dance hadn’t been on his radar until a minute ago. For the life of him, Duck can’t figure out why. Sure, he’s weird and messy, but he’s so singular looking Duck’s amazed everyone in the room isn’t trying to cut in.

“It’s about keeping you safe.” The man whispers, jarring him from his thoughts, their proximity the only reason Duck can hear him over the music. 

“Come again?”

“Do you see that gentleman who just walked in?”

Duck turns them in time to see a blonde man with the build of a water-polo player enter the bar.

“Mr. Salmon T-shirt?”

“Correct. Had you not danced with me, there was a high chance he would ask you instead. All would have gone well until you two decided to use the back alley for some, um, quick relief to the fact you were both very turned on. It would be at this point that he would try something you did not want, you’d push him away, and he would punch you before slinking back inside. I assumed you’d prefer not to end your night with a black eye.”

“Got that right. So if you’re dancin’ with me for my own good, what happens to him?” 

The man’s face goes worryingly blank, then he shakes his head as if clearing it, “he gets very drunk very quickly, starts spouting unkind words at Joseph over there and promptly gets bounced by the bartender.”

Duck snorts, “that’s what he gets for talkin shit near Barclay. Think the only thing that actually makes that man mad is when someone is rude about his boyfriend.”

“That’s my experience as well.”

“You know Barclay too? I mean, not just as a bartender?”

“Correct. You know how he has someone living in a trailer on his land?”

“Yeah? Wait, holy shit, you’re Indrid?”

A nod.

“I’ll be damned, Dani kept sayin she wanted to introduce us. I’m-”

“Duck Newton.” Indrid says along with him.

Okay, that was a little weird. 

“Y’know, s’okay if you actually hold onto me while you’re apparently savin me a fight.”

Indrid presses closer, but his hold on Duck is still light, as if he’s afraid of trapping him. A happy sigh drifts between them.

“You’re so warm. It’s very nice.” Indrid murmurs

Duck draws Indrid’s hand close to his mouth, blowing across the chilly fingers. Another sigh, Indrid actually curling his arm around Duck’s shoulders. He seems to relax when Duck talks, so he says the first thing he can think of.

“You’re in the art grad program, right?”

“Indeed. You’re in forestry, yes?”

“Yep.”

“Fascinating.”

“That ain’t the usual reaction.” Duck smiles up at him, “Once you start talking about tree taxonomy or forest health, people’s eyes start glazin over.”

Indrid cocks his head, “How does one measure the health of something as complex as a forest?”

And so Duck spends two songs explaining the answer, Indrid listening attentively and asking questions. Thank god the DJ is in a slow jam mood, so he doesn’t have to shout about pest control over some sort of horrible, rapid bass-line.  Not wanting to be rude, he spends song number three asking Indrid about how he chose illustration as his focus in his art program.

By the end of the song, Indrid’s left hand has slipped into Duck’s back pocket, and Duck knows he won’t be interested int dancing with anyone else for the rest of the night.

He gives his best sweet southern boy grin and nuzzles Indrid’s cheek. 

“Gotta say, think you win for creative excuses for askin a guy to dance.”

Indrid deflates and hunches in on himself, his hands dropping from Duck’s body, though he otherwise stays put.

“It’s not an excuse. I was just trying to help.”

“Indrid, how could you possibly know what was gonna happen?”

“I just can!” He snaps, recoiling instantly at the sound, “I can see the future. I’ve always been able to. Not that anyone, save for a few close friends, believes me when I tell them.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “there are no longer futures where you get punched, so I will leave you alone.”

“Indrid, wait, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, Duck, I’m not upset. Enjoy the rest of your night.” Indrid turns away.

“Do you wanna go grab something to eat?” He thought through the offer for exactly zero seconds, but he knows it’s what he wants the moment he says it. 

Indrid blinks at him, then smiles small and odd, “That was...unexpected.”

Duck holds his breath.

“I accept your offer.” The grin is wider now, to the point that it’s a bit unnerving. Indrid must notice, and forces the smile to a normal size, “where would you like to go?”

Duck takes his hand, leading him out into the night and down the street. There’s a Mel’s Diner standing mostly empty on the corner two blocks away, and they slip inside. Duck orders a burger and fries, Indrid an orange creamsicle shake. The taller man’s fingers drum on the Formica table top.

He waffles on what he wants to say, how much he wants to share.

“Sometimes a glowing blue woman appears in my room.” 

Indrid’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head, “there was only one future where you admitted that.”

“You actually believe me?”

“Of course. Why would you lie about such a thing?”

“I….I dunno.” Duck shrugs, rubbing his forearm, “tried tellin one or two other people and they looked at me like I was losin it. Been happenin since I turned eighteen, along with these weird vision-y dreams. Gets kinda old.”

“And you’re telling me because you think the fact I see the future makes me more likely to believe you.”

“Yeah. Uh, did you see that comin or just connect the dots?”

“Both. I take it you believe me now?” Indrid fiddles with the drawstring on his sweatshirt.

“Did the second I saw how hurt you looked.  Know exactly what bein on the wrong side of disbelief feels like.” Duck pauses as the server sets down their food, “Let me buy you dinner as an apology?”

“Gladly.” Indrid sips his milkshake, and Duck freezes mid-bite at the way his cheeks hollow and the little sigh of pleasure he lets out.

Indrid catches him staring, and licks his lips with a smirk. Duck hides behind his burger. 

“So, uh, why were you at the bar?”

“Bear hunting.” Indrid deadpans. It’s only when a blush splashes up Duck’s cheeks that he breaks into a smile, “I’m kidding. Mostly. I’ve been trying to get out more. I can be a bit reclusive, as I like my privacy and my hobbies and coursework are all solitary. You?”

“Gettin over an ex.” He shoves fries into his mouth, not quite ready to say more. Somehow that topic is even more intimidating than revealing his weird powers. Indrid nods in understanding, polishing off the first half of his shake with terrifying speed. Roy Orbison wails “Only the Lonely” from the Jukebox.

“Hardly the music for it. Hmm” Indrid flips through the options on the table-side music selector. The pink and blue neon flashes through the window and along the angles of his face. He looks so ethereal.

Duck is so screwed.

“Ah, here we are.” Indrid digs into his pocket, pulling out a quarter and dropping it into the machine. 

After a few moments, a voice croons from the speakers.

Love me tender, love me sweet

“Fan of the classics, huh?” Duck rests his elbow on the table and his cheek in his palm.

“I find Elvis and his contemporaries pleasant to draw to.”

“Know what else they’re good for?” Duck bounces his eyebrows. 

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it anyway.”

Duck slides out of the booth, holds out his hand, “Dance with me?”

Indrid takes it, and this time he doesn’t hesitate. His arms drape around Duck, and his head nestles onto his shoulder.

Duck sways them in time with the song, arms around Indrid’s waist. 

“Indrid?”

“Hmm?”

“I meant what I said earlier. About you bein cute. And I really like talkin with you. Would you, uh, wanna go on a date sometime?”

Chapped lips find the base of his neck, and Indrid kisses a slow line up until they’re gazing at each other. 

“Nothing would make me happier, Duck.”

Duck draws his fingers along Indrid’s face, leans in and kisses him in time with the fading melody.

“In that case, sugar, how about you and I go dancing tomorrow night?”

[gimmesumsuga]

Of Chivalry and Seduction

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x reader

Word count: 10K

Warnings: Vaginal fingering, unprotected sex.  It’s fairly vanilla for me, really...

“I took a vow when I became a Knight.”  Your eyes open, sincere interest easily read on all your features.  “An oath… to obey a code of chivalry.   To keep faith and speak the truth…  To protect and to serve.”  ....  “Will you let me serve you, sweet dove?  Let me worship you as you deserve?”  

An ever-so-slightly early Happy Birthday to @readyplayerhobi ! I hope you love it ^^ 

“Sir Hoseok, how long is it you intend for us to stay?”  

A smile tugging at his lips, Hoseok looks down to his Squire from atop his horse.  

“For as long as Lord Kim is willing to tolerate us, I expect,” the knight replies in good humour and Jungkook smiles happily from where he walks on a few paces ahead, reins in hand.  This is by no means their first visit, and Jungkook knows as well as anyone that Kim Taehyung would likely never let them leave if he had his way.

The journey from Hoseok’s homeland to that of his noble friend’s is by no means arduous but it is long, and after three days worth of riding he can think of nothing better than sitting in front of a nice warm fire, a stomach full of mead and a bed that consists of more than a pile of woollen blankets on cold and sodden ground.   

“They're expecting us,” Jungkook observes, pointing ahead to the plume of smoke rising on the horizon from one of the houses many fireplaces.  “I can’t wait to get into the warm; I swore last night my very blood had frozen stiff.” Hoseok makes agreeable humming noises as Jungkook continues to chatter idly, his steps echoing those of his horse’s hooves, and it’s only as they gradually emerge from the forest’s treeline that his Squire falls silent, the clay and timber walls of their destination such a welcome sight that Hoseok can already feel his spirits lifting with anticipation.

“Kim Namjoon!”  The stablemaster’s head shoots up at the sound of Hoseok’s shout and when he sees them approaching his left hand rises to wave a greeting from where he’s stood in the centre of the courtyard, the reins of a young chestnut filly clenched in his right.  

“Sir Hoseok!” he hails as he walks towards them.  He smiles broadly and bows from the waist once they meet, addressing Hoseok first and then Jungkook second, nodding his head.  Jungkook bows in turn to his elder.  “We worried you’d come upon some misfortune along the way.”

“Nothing more than we could handle.” Namjoon nods at Hoseok’s dismissal of their concerns, his gaze falling on Jungkook.  

“I’ve no doubt.”  His tone is warm - his look fond - and Hoseok has to hold back a laugh at the sight of his Squire’s cheeks turning pink and his eyes lowering to the floor.  

If there’s anyone or anything that can make Jungkook blush, it’s Kim Namjoon and his illustrious dimples.  He does so at least ten times every time they visit, and for weeks after they leave all his Squire can ever talk about is the things the older boy has have taught him - not that Jungkook will acknowledge it whenever Hoseok might point it out, mind you.  

He dismounts his horse without further delay as Jungkook keeps him steady, wincing as he attempts to stretch out the stiffness of his limbs.  

“Shall I stable him for you?” Namjoon asks, offering to take the reins from Jungkook’s hand as the filly next to him playfully bobs and nods her head.

“N-no,” Jungkook stutters quickly, his head snapping up. “I can do it.”  

“Let Master Kim handle him, Jeon.”  Hoseok understands his Squire’s desire to seem independent and capable but it would seem ungracious to reject the stablemaster’s kind offer, and after glancing at the knight and seeing Hoseok’s pointed look, Jungkook finally relinquishes the reins of large black creature into Namjoon’s capable hands - albeit somewhat reluctantly.  “See to my belongings,” he instructs, taking off his leather riding gloves finger by finger and then depositing them into Jungkook’s waiting hands, “And then return to assist Master Kim with whatever he may ask. Do your best.”

“Yes Sir,” the two men reply in tandem, each taking a bow.  Hoseok pretends not to notice the way their eyes both meet as they straighten but smiles to himself as he walks away, confident that Namjoon will make sure the younger man works hard and stays out of trouble.

As he climbs the steps that lead up to the entranceway of Taehyung’s home Hoseok knocks his boots against the steps to rid them of the layer of mud coating their soles, loathe to tread the mess inside.  He reaches the last step just in time to see the front door swing open wide and at the sight of a familiar figure stepping through it with arms spread open wide Hoseok laughs happily, rushing forward into the embrace that awaits him.  

“My friend!” Lord Kim merrily exclaims as his arms encircle the Knight and pull him close, chest to chest and cheek to cheek.  “It’s been far too long since I saw you last!”

“It has, my Lord,” Hoseok agrees as the young Lord finally releases him, happiness moulding Taehyung’s supple mouth into the same box-shaped smile he’s possessed since they were small.  

“You know I care little for such formality,” Taehyung says with a dismissive wave of his hand at Hoseok’s use of his title, “From you, at least.”  He steps back from the doorway, ushering his friend inside. “I’ve had the fires lit and your room prepared. Are you hungry?” Taehyung talks just as quickly as Hoseok remembers, barely pausing for a reply as he leads him from the entrance hall.   Hoseok follows after him obediently, admiring the rich deep purple of Taehyung’s tunic as he walks ahead with a bounce in his step. It’s an impractical colour choice, certainly (most of Hoseok’s own garments are far plainer; all greens and browns and beige), but Taehyung has never cared much for the practicalities of life.  Born into a wealthy and well-respected family, he’s had no need to.

“I could certainly eat,” Hoseok confirms, and as they enter Taehyung’s dining room in which a long dining table seats and a large fire crackles, his extravagant friend clicks his fingers at the serving girl stood in waiting.  She scurries off as they take their seats, Hoseok trying not to wince once more at the lingering ache in his buttocks.

“You look well,” Taehyung observes, his deep brown eyes surveying the Knight up and down in the seat he’s chosen, closest to the fire.  

“As do you.”  He speaks honestly, no need for flattery between such lifelong friends. “Tell me the news; you must surely have plenty to share since last we spoke.”

Needing no further encouragement, Taehyung launches into an epic tale of all the recent comings and goings of the lands over which he resides; the glorious summer just passed and the bounty of the harvest that followed.  Their food arrives whilst the young Lord is still in mid-flow and the leg of rabbit placed in front of him has Hoseok’s mouth near watering at the sight of it; the hard cheese and slices of apple at its side an added bonus.  

“Ale?” Taehyung suddenly asks, grabbing the Knight’s waning attention.  Ever since the food had arrived Hoseok had had some trouble focusing on whatever it was that was being said, to be frank.  

“You know me too well,” Hoseok smiles, crunching down on a crisp slice of apple as Taehyung once again clicks his fingers in mid-air to summon service.  

As is proper, the serving girl attends to her Lord first and foremost, and to be honest, Hoseok doesn’t even really think to pay you mind until ale is suddenly spilling across the table in front of him and onto his plate, spreading rapidly towards his lap.  

“Forgive me!” you gasp, and as Hoseok abruptly pushes his chair back and rises out of harm’s way you rush to correct your mistake, dabbing up the mess you’ve made with your apron.  “M-my apologies, Sir. My lord. I- P-please, forgive me.” With strands of hair falling across your face as you frantically right his fallen tankard Hoseok’s gaze is drawn to your heated cheeks, and when you finally straighten to face him he’s caught off guard by appealing you are in spite of the terror in your eyes.   

“Worry not,” he finds himself saying, gesturing down the length of his figure to display that he’s still dry.  Your gaze follows the path of his hand and somehow you seem to grow even further embarrassed when your eyes meet again, quickly looking away as you dip your head and bow.  “No harm was done.”

Behind you, Taehyung rests with his chin in the palm of his hand and mirth twinkling in his eyes.  

“You might do well to fetch the Knight a new meal, though,” he says in good humour, “One that’s still dry.”  You spin on the spot with a start to face your employer, almost as though you’d forgotten he was there.

“Oh!”  You pick up Hoseok’s plate quickly, dipping repeatedly as you back away from the table in the direction of the kitchens.  “Yes. Yes, of course.” You turn on the spot and scurry away as fast as you can, unaware of the way Hoseok keeps his eyes on you until he can no longer, your figure disappearing around a corner out of sight.

He sits back down, shuffling his chair back toward the table as Taehyung finishes pouring the ale he’d so been looking forward to.  Thankfully, there’s plenty left despite the spill. The two men bring their tankards together and toast to their good health before Hoseok takes his first sip, and it’s with a deep sigh of satisfaction that he places his drink back down on the table and licks his lips free of lingering foam.  

You return just a moment later with Hoseok’s fresh plate held in both hands and your gaze fixed on your feet.  You mumble apologies again as you put it down, and try as he may to catch your eye before you leave - eager to learn their colour - you seem to steadfastly avoid looking his way.  A pity - he’s sure they’d be just as pretty as you are to behold.

“Her face is unfamiliar,” Hoseok comments whilst chewing his first mouthful, a fresh leg of rabbit held in both hands.  He’d like to sound nonchalant but unfortunately, Taehyung knows him far too well to believe his statement to be entirely innocent and he looks up, a smile tugging at his lips as his jaw works to chew.  

“It would be,” Taehyung replies having washed down his mouthful with another swig of ale.  “Her service was offered to me in place of her father’s debts,” he explains. “The King’s increase in taxation has caused much hardship - bountiful harvest or not.”  

Hoseok hums sympathetically at the frown that appears on his friend’s face.  Though Taehyung was born blessed with riches he was cursed with a large heart as well, and as such, the Lord has always found it troublesome to witness the suffering and woes of those less fortunate than himself.  Too often has he offered up some of his own wealth in their place, and though others of similar standing might call him a fool for doing so, Hoseok has always admired him for it.

“She’s a fine one to look at.”  Taehyung chuckles at Hoseok’s statement, his one cheek puffed out from the great bite of bread he’s just taken.  

“That she is.”

“You’ve noticed?” Hoseok’s eyebrows rise and Taehyung gives him a sideways look, corner of his mouth curling into a smirk.  

“You know I’ve never held much of a fondness for skirts,” he grins and Hoseok laughs as Taehyung leans back in his seat, one hand rested casually on his stomach.  “But I still have eyes.”

The knight nods as he chews, the ache in his stomach on its way to being sated with each mouthful of spiced and tender meat he swallows down.  No doubt you’ll cross each other’s paths again during his stay, and if that should be so then Hoseok won’t turn down the chance to get to know you better.  

“In any case, let’s not dwell on talk of your passing fancies,” Taehyung grins, “We’ve far more pressing matters to discuss than the fairer sex, my good friend.”  

***

The pressing matter, it’d turned out, was nothing more than Taehyung’s burning desire for a hunt.  For as long as Hoseok can remember it has a been a tradition for them to do so during his each and every visit, and this occasion is no exception.   At the break of dawn three days after his arrival their small party had headed out into the forest on horseback, Taehyung and Hoseok leading the charge and Namjoon and Jungkook to the rear, conversing jovially back and forth.

Although tiresome, the trip had proved fruitful; Jungkook sharing the journey home with a young deer that Hoseok had brought down with his bow and many arrows; numerous rabbits hanging from each of the saddlebags of Namjoon’s horse.  Even their pockets had been stuffed to the brim with all the edibles they could find - a bounty fit for a king. Each man had returned with a smile on his face and a song in their heart; an enjoyable day had by all.

“What a feast!” Taehyung exclaims, clapping his hand against Hoseok’s shoulder as they re-enter the manor.  They take the tradesman’s entrance to avoid dirtying the floors unnecessarily, Namjoon and Jungkook walking in front, carrying the deer carcass between them towards the kitchens.  “Tonight, we eat like Kings!”

“I look forward to it,” Hoseok smiles, laying his arm across Taehyung’s shoulder and ruffling the younger lord’s hair affectionately.  “Though I feel as though I should take to my bed rather than the dinner table." Though he’d thought his body recovered from the long journey here, as soon as he’d mounted his horse those muscles had once again begun to cramp in protest.  Even now, his thighs are aching with every step.

“Then go rest.  I’ve had a fire prepared in your room and a bath for you to soak,” Taehyung tells him with a warm smile and Hoseok’s eyebrows rise at this new information, coming to a pause.  The chance to wallow in a nice, warm bath is a luxury he can’t often afford, so he deeply appreciates his friend’s kind gesture. On witnessing Hoseok’s obvious enthusiasm at the thought Taehyung’s smile grows.  “You’ll feel a new man in no time.”

“You treat me too kindly.”  

“It’s no trouble,” he assures his older friend, “What’s mine is yours, after all.”  With a parting smile and a pat of Hoseok’s shoulder, Taehyung takes his leave.

The matter of climbing the stairs proves rather a more difficult task than Hoseok would like thanks to the soreness of his limbs, but step by step he eventually reaches the top with a groan and a grimace.  After so many years of riding, you’d think his body would surely be used to it. Perhaps this is the price to pay for growing older; Jungkook never seems to have such troubles.

Hoseok can already feel the heat coming from inside his room before he’s even stepped inside, and there’s a smile on his face as he unlatches the door and imagines how blissful it will feel to sink into such warmth.  It’s smile that grows even wider when the scene that greets him is that of you busily preparing the long soak that awaits him; a light sheen of sweat across your brow as you frown with the effort that it takes to lift the pail of water that’s been heating on the fire and transfer it to the nearby tub.  

You don’t even realise his presence at first, occupied as you are, and Hoseok’s glad of the opportunity to stand and watch you work for a little while, leaning his body against the doorway and folding his arms across his chest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  You’re humming quietly as you work, singing the odd word here and there in blissful ignorance of the gaze that’s traversing your body, appreciating your form.

You’re a beauty to behold - truly, you are.  Hoseok hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since the first moment he saw you - not now, not then, not in the days that have passed in between - and over time he’s become increasingly fond of you, from the little about you he knows.  You’re always polite, well-presented and eager to please despite how hopelessly clumsy you may be, tripping over your feet and banging your elbows into doorways with nary a complaint.

You’re shy, too.  He’s certain of that.  Despite his persistence in trying to have your eyes meet you’ve continually shied away from his looks and his smiles, your gaze dropping to the floor and your cheeks aflame with heat.  At first, he’d worried that perhaps his interest in you had been unwanted until he’d begun to catch you staring whenever he’d subtly glance your way. Moreover, your lack of coordination seems to be all the more severe in his presence; too flustered to simply put one foot in front of the other or pay proper attention to wherever it is you’re going.  

The conversation he’d overheard between you and another of the serving girls had also helped put his mind at rest.  Passing through the kitchens late one night in search of food he’d heard the sound of your voice and been unable to resist its draw, lingering outside the larder door to listen in on whatever it was you were giggling about.  His chest had tightened when he’d realised it was him you were speaking of, a pleased smirk appearing on his face when you’d relented to your friend’s ceaseless questioning and admitted in hushed tones that yes, you thought he was handsome - the most handsome man you’d ever seen.  Your friend had begun teasing you immediately after your confession - much to your dismay - and Hoseok had found it very difficult not to let his laughter give him away when insinuations had been made about whether or not he’d invite you to see his lance; perhaps even let you touch it.  It was a joke that had amused him thoroughly but had earned your friend an audible slapping amongst squealing laughter.

That had been two nights ago now and the memory of your whispered words of adoration haven’t left Hoseok’s mind since.  He’s been waiting for a moment exactly like this one to get you alone and speak to you. Hopefully, he might be able to put you enough at ease that you might actually manage to look him in the eyes and maybe - if luck is on his side - you might even allow him to touch you.  Fortune has certainly favoured him enough to bring you here, after all.

You bend low over the side of the wooden tub and the Knight feels something sinful stirring deep down in his gut at the sight of you inadvertently presenting yourself to him; back arched and pert behind rising up in the air as you check the temperature of the water.  

Lord, how he aches to touch you.  

“Good day,” he greets when he can no longer bear to simply stand and stare, resisting the urge to laugh when the sound of his voice makes you startle, near jumping out of your skin as you straighten.  Your mouth hangs open for a second at the sight of him before you promptly snap it shut, looking anywhere but directly at his face as you wipe your hands on your apron, nervous.

“G-good day, Sir Hoseok.”  Your stilted reply makes him smile as he closes the door behind him and secures the latch.  “Your bath is ready, as my Lord requested.” You dip your head as he walks towards both you and the tub, stepping back for him to take a look inside.   The water looks divine, it’s warmth evident by the light steam rising from its surface.

“So I see.”  Your eyes dart away again the moment Hoseok looks back at you, your lips pressing together.  “You have my thanks.”

Your hands continue wringing at your apron, your head turning even further to the side as you add in a mumble,  “I hope it pleases you, Sir,” as though addressing the floor.

“I’m sure it shall,” he reassures you, unable to keep himself from doing so.  He wishes he could do more - wishes he could still your fidgeting hands by taking them in his - but it’s enough to see the hint of a fleeting smile on your lips at his kind words.  

“Then I’ll take my leave,” you say with a slight curtsey, holding out your skirts and dipping your head, and you’re just a step or two from the door when suddenly Hoseok calls your name.  He steps forward, stopping himself from touching you just at the very last moment when you turn and your eyes widen as they focus on his fingers hovering in mid-air, just an inch or so from your arm.  

Suddenly Hoseok finds himself just as flustered as he’s seen you become so many times before, swallowing as he lets his arm fall back down to his side.  

“I’d be grateful for your assistance,” he quickly begins to explain,  “My limbs are so sore from the hunt I’m not sure I’m fit to even undress.”  It’s you who’s swallowing now, trepidation evident on your face as you consider the task he’s asking of you, your eyes drifting down his body and back up again before pressing closed for a moment.  

He shouldn’t have asked this of you.  Although it may hurt to do so, Hoseok knows he’s more than capable of bathing unattended.  This an abuse of his station. He shouldn’t-

“Forgive me, I’m sure you have other-”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt, eyes opening, and Hoseok feels all his breath leave him as you meet his gaze for the very first time.  “My lord instructed for me to aid you as best I can, so I shall.”

“Thank you,” Hoseok says softly as you approach, your attention turning to the task at hand as the distance between you closes.  You lick your lips as your hands lift to approach the laces of his shirt, pausing.

“May I?” Hoseok nods and you very gently pull the knot loose, loosening the collar and exposing more of his chest to your eyes, gaze travelling from left to right as it traces along his collarbones.  You don’t seem to be breathing as far as Hoseok can hear, and taking pity on you he performs the next step in your stead, pulling the bottom of his shirt free of his pants with what he hopes is a kind and encouraging smile.  Taking hold of its hem, he hears you finally take a gulp of air as you lift it up and over his head to expose his torso, and though he may wince at the way his arms protest at the motion he’s almost thankful that it hurt. At least his excuse for having you stay isn’t so much of a lie, this way.  

He’d almost forgotten about the scar that mars his left pectoral until he notices you staring at it, and when you realise you’ve been caught looking you quickly lower your gaze, sheepish.  

“A jousting injury,” Hoseok says in way of explanation, knowing that you’re too well-mannered to ask the question he knows is on your mind.  You glance at it again and then up into his eyes, worrying your lip. “A pointed lance shattered my armour.” Two lines appear between your eyebrows as you frown and it takes a lot of effort for Hoseok not to want to lean down and kiss them away.

“You lost?” you ask and Hoseok smiles, head cocking slightly to the side as his chest inflates with pride.  

“No.  As his lance broke my opponent fell from his horse.”  

“And you did not?” He adores the look of wonderment and admiration he can see in your eyes as you look up at him with a smile curling the bow of your lips.    

“No, I did not,” he confirms and as your smile widens, his does too.  

There’s a pause between the two of you but it doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as perhaps it should for two almost-strangers when stood toe to toe.  He sees your gaze lower to his lips but before he can gather the courage to place his hands on your arms and draw you closer, you look down and the tension between you breaks.  

“Shall I… remove these, also?” you ask slowly.  Your hands reach out towards the tie of his pants and as they go your fingertips brush fleeting against his stomach.  Your touch makes his abdominals twitch, blood rushing between his legs.

“Please.”  His voice is husky when he speaks, heart pounding within his ribcage as he watches your deft, gentle fingers untie the knot of his pants.  Your thumbs slip into their waistband and then you’re carefully sliding them down, sinking to the floor as they go to help him step out foot by foot, and when you look up at him from underneath your lashes Hoseok’s sure you’re going to send him to an early grave, his heart near stopping at the sight of you.  

Both of you are well aware that he’s aroused.  His hardening length is impossible to miss inside his undergarments and yet you pretend as though you don’t see it, averting your eyes as you rise from the floor, not knowing quite where to look.   

“Shall I have these washed for you?” You turn away and begin to neatly fold his clothes, keeping yourself busy.  

“Thank you,” he nods, more than a little pleased by the way he can see your hands lightly shaking as you work; your heart thumping so hard that he can see each beat of your pulse as it bounds beneath the delicate skin of your throat.  It’s reassuring to know that you’re just as affected as he is, even if it isn’t so outwardly obvious.

Hoseok leaves his undergarments on as he steps into the tub and sinks down into the water.  The warmth provides instant respite for his aching muscles and has him groaning with pleasure as he slumps even lower until the surface of the water reaches up to his chin, his eyes falling closed.  

“I’ll take my leave if it so pleases you, Sir.”  His eyes snap open again when you speak, sitting up a little straighter.  You linger unsurely at the side of the bath with his clothes hanging over one arm, that ever-present blush filling your cheeks with colour.  

“It would please me more should you stay,” he replies with a smile, lifting one arm out of the water and laying it across the rim of the bath to extend his hand out towards you.  “A woman’s touch for my aches and pains.”

Once again Hoseok sees the hesitation in your eyes, noting the way you bite your lip as you look from his hand to his face and then back again.  He’s not afraid you’ll reject him anymore, though. You wish to stay just as much as he does, that much is clear.

He sees the motion of a swallow in your throat before you take a deep breath and nod your head just once, short and decisive.    

“As you wish.”  Hoseok watches keenly as you put aside his clothes, laying them neatly on his bed and then placing your apron with them, his chest tightening as you approach the bath, rolling up your sleeves one by one.  You kneel by the side of it and once again it seems as though you’re avoiding his gaze as you reach over the edge and pick up the washcloth that’s floating along the water’s surface. As you wring out the excess water he leans forward, granting you access to his back and shoulders.  

“For how long have you been in our Lord Kim’s service?” he asks at the first touch of the cloth against his back where you rub it in gentle circles between his shoulder blades.  

“Two months now,” you reply quietly as you dip the cloth back into the water and then press it to his back again, slowly working your way lower.  In the quiet of the room with nothing but the gentle splashes of water and crackling of the fire to fill the silence, Hoseok feels almost unnaturally aware of every one of your touches; even more so when he lets his eyes fall closed and his head flop forward.  You’re gentle yet firm, and as you start to rub across the breadth of his shoulders - your free hand coming to rest upon his bicep to hold him steady - he feels as though he might be in heaven.

“Are they treating you well?”  It takes a great effort for him to keep talking as you ease away the knots that have plagued him for days, biting his lip to resist moaning when you slip the cloth up and around each side of his neck in turn, his head leaning from left to right to make it easier for you.

“Lord Kim is… a little eccentric,” you answer slowly.  Hoseok gets the feeling you’re choosing your words rather carefully and it makes him laugh, knowing exactly what it is that you mean.  “But he’s been nothing but kind to my family. We’re forever indebted to him, in more ways than one.” Your hands leave him and Hoseok’s eyes automatically open at the loss of your touch, his head turning to seek you out.  “Lean back, please,” you prompt politely and the Knight does as you command, shuffling back to sit up straight with his torso twisted to face you.

Tentatively, you bring the cloth to his chest.  

“He’s a good man,” Hoseok comments and your eyes briefly flicker up to meet his before darting back down again to the task at hand, front teeth pressing into your lip.  

“He is.”  The two of you fall silent again as you diligently work and whilst you’re not looking Hoseok’s takes the opportunity to study you.  You have the sweetest look while you concentrate; the lightest furrow of your brow. You’ll tilt your head this way and that, showing off the angle of your jaw and the tempting curve of your neck, and more than once Hoseok feels his fingers twitch under the water with the want to reach out and touch you.  

Soon enough, it’s almost more than he can stand.

“Tell me,” he begins, his abdominals tensing when you drag the washcloth across them, leaning so close that he can smell the natural scent of your hair; sweet and intoxicating. “Have you a suitor waiting at home?  Some handsome young man awaiting your return?” Abruptly your hand stills - caught off guard by his question.

“N-no,” you answer stiltedly, glancing up at him and then straight back down.  “Father intended to but…” You trail off, lifting your shoulders, and Hoseok finds himself both a little glad that you never had the chance to be betrothed to someone else but also a little guilty for feeling that way.  It’s only having left your home that’d kept that from happening, and it’s obvious from the sudden moisture in your eyes that you must miss the family you left behind.

Unthinkingly, Hoseok places his hand upon your own where it rests against his chest and you startle at the sudden contact, blinking rapidly as you look up in surprise.  Your hand feels warm in his and when he squeezes it comfortingly, smiling, you swallow.

“Is there-”  You sound a little breathless - even more so when Hoseok reaches out with his free hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear and then lets his palm linger on your cheek, skin soft as silk.  “U-uh…” He knows what your own sense of propriety is keeping you from asking. Is he intended for another? Is there a Lady back home to whom he already belongs?

“Would I do this-” Smiling, Hoseok uses his grip on you to gently coax you closer, your eyes widening as the distance closes, “-if my heart belonged to another?”

Helpless to resist you’re drawn against his lips, your eyelids fluttering closed as a first kiss is pressed to the corner of your mouth and a second to your bottom lip, cushioning it between his own.  Your mouth is soft and pliant, just like the rest of you, and as you lean into him and begin to return his affections the washcloth drops from your hand into the water with a splash that goes unheard. His left hand joins his right to cradle your face in his palms and wet your cheeks, yet you make no effort to protest against the droplets of water that slide down your neck.  

It’s not until Hoseok attempts to coax your lips apart with a brush of his tongue - eager to discover if you taste as sweet as you appear - that you suddenly seem to remember yourself; gasping as you abruptly pull away and out of his grasp.  

“S-sir Hoseok,” you sputter out as you stand and back away from the side of the tub, the tips of your fingers pressed to your lips.  “Forgive me, please, I- if I gave the wrong impression, I- I mean- Oh lord, forgive me, I never intended to-”

Similarly alarmed by the strength of your reaction, Hoseok finds himself rising to stand within the walls of the bathtub as well, no thought given to closely his wet undergarments cling to his skin as he exits the water.  

“Why do you run away?” he asks urgently, frowning at the way you hasten to look elsewhere, shading your eyes to block him from your sight.

“It… this isn’t right,” you explain, flustered, “It isn’t proper.  If Lord Kim found out he would-”

“He would what?” Hoseok interrupts with a laugh.  His easy-going friend would be more likely to congratulate him on his conquest than ever be angry.  He steps out of the tub as you nervously bite your bottom lip, the soles of his wet feet slapping against the floor as he goes.  “Do you find me ugly? Have my affections been misplaced?”

The question is a pointless one; you’d be both a fool and a liar to deny your attraction to him.  You’re a good girl, though, and rather than speak dishonestly you remain silent and coy, sneaking glances at him from under your eyelashes that are driving Hoseok crazy.  He knows your answer anyway; the exaggerated rise and fall of your chest makes it clear.

Watching you - watching the way the blush of your cheeks grows and spreads down your neck and across the top of your chest with every stolen glance you take - Hoseok soon realises what it is you need.  You need him to take the lead; to take the responsibility for whatever happens next out of your shaking hands. He needs to make you feel so much that it overwhelms your ability to think so that it makes it that much easier to give in; to succumb to what the both of you so badly crave.  

He steels himself, slipping into his knightly persona and letting a seductive smile settle onto his face as he straightens his back.  

“I heard you the other night, in the kitchen,” Hoseok says softly, pleased when you sharply look up, eyes wide.  He starts to walk towards you and is even further emboldened when you almost take another step back but then falter at the last moment.  You hold your ground until he’s stood right in front of you, looking up to meet his gaze as he peers down the length of his nose at you, drawn in by the sweet innocence of your timid expression.  “If what you said is true, then you are just as pleasing to my eyes as I am to yours.”

You swallow so hard it’s audible over the crackling of the fire, pressing your lips together, and when Hoseok glances down he sees your skirt fisted in your hands, your knuckles white.  

“Were you speaking truthfully, dove?” he asks, delighted by the way your eyes seem to gleam at the careless term of endearment as it passes his lips.   

It takes you a little while to answer, your eyes darting this way and that before you finally find your tongue.  “I… I was,” you admit, and that’s all that Hoseok needed to hear to have him take you in his arms, pulling you close as his mouth once again descends upon yours.  You whimper sweetly as he kisses you with all the passion he can muster, one hand threaded in the back of your hair and the other firm upon your waist. No longer do you deny the kiss from deepening, tilting your head back into his waiting palm as his tongue slips into your mouth to brush tentatively against yours.  

The noises you’re making - the sweet moans and gasps every time his fingers press into your flesh - they’re driving Hoseok close to madness.  If you will allow it he would like nothing more than to take you to his bed, but your persistent shyness and the enthusiasm with which you’re responding to his touch has planted seeds of doubt in his mind.  You deserve better than for your innocence to be lost in such a way; to be seduced by the desires of a near stranger.

“Tell me,” Hoseok murmurs between kisses.  He loves how eager you are; how you continue to chase after his lips even whilst he’s trying to speak.  “Have you… have you known a man’s touch before?”

His question catches you off guard, a startled look upon your face as you pull back just enough to look up and into his eyes.  

“I…” you begin, clearly embarrassed at having to talk about such a thing.  You hesitate, glancing down at your toes, and Hoseok wonders whether you’re worried he’ll judge you harshly for your answer - whatever it may be.  “Just once… with one of father’s apprentices.” Your confession comes as a relief, truth be told, but he can see the way you’re searching his gaze in hopes of reassurance, your hands clasped tightly together where they're sandwiched between your torsos.  “You… you don’t think poorly of me, do you?” Hoseok smiles kindly, running his thumb across the slant of your cheekbone as he leans in to brush a fleeting kiss across your lips.

“Not at all, my dove,” he soothes, feeling you melt into him as he kisses you again.  Your hands unfold to rest palms against his chest, your short nails pressing into his pectorals as he squeezes you tighter against him.  “Did you like it?” He hears your breath hitch in your throat as he strays from your kiss-swollen lips, trailing his own across the angle of your jaw.  

“It w-was fast,” you answer haltingly, sounding unsure.  Hoseok frowns on hearing this, his head buried in the crook of your neck, lavishing your skin with affection as his hands work to loosen the cross-cross of laces at the front of your dress.  “And rather… painful,” you add and at that the Knight can no longer hold his tongue. He straightens, scowling.

“A gentleman would’ve prepared you,” he says, “Should’ve taken the time to make you feel good.”  Blushing, you shrug your shoulders but say nothing, and it only infuriates Hoseok all the more that you don’t even know how much better it could be - how much better it should be.  “I would never hurt you,” he tells you emphatically, cradling your cheek in his hand.  

The way you lean into his touch has his heart thudding hard against his ribcage; a hundred warring emotions coursing through him as you tilt your head into his palm and momentarily close your eyes.  Yes, he desires you, but more than that he finds himself possessed by the strangest urge to protect you and nurture you - to show you all that it is that you’ve been missing all this time, not knowing any better.  

“I took a vow when I became a Knight.”  Your eyes open, sincere interest easily read on all your features.  “An oath… to obey a code of chivalry. To keep faith and speak the truth…  To protect and to serve.” Very gently, he leans to steal a kiss as his hands return to the laces of your simple bodice, pulling them loose as your chest heaves beneath.  When he pulls away it’s only by an inch - enough that your noses still touch and he can feel your breath upon your face with every shuddering exhale. “Will you let me serve you, sweet dove?  Let me worship you as you deserve?”

Your mouth opens but for a moment it seems as though you’re powerless to answer, blinking in quick succession before you whisper a short and breathless, “Yes.”  

Hoseok has no intention of asking you again; that one simple word was all he could ever need.  As his mouth finds yours as he pulls and tugs at your dress with a renewed sense of urgency, loosening the ties so far that the course material slips from your shoulders without any further encouragement.  He swallows the gasp you make as he greedily cups your breasts in each palm, squeezing and kneading your goosepimpled flesh.

Your nipples are firm - taut - and as he bends and sucks one into his mouth it hardens even further under the ministrations of his tongue.  

“Hoseok!” you gasp as he puts his teeth to good use, tugging lightly at the sensitive bud till you’re arching against him, squirming in his grasp.  Not wishing to overwhelm one so lacking in experience, he resists the temptation to linger there too long.

“Yes, my dove?” Hoseok replies between the kisses he begins to strew upon you, working his way back up your neck as your head tilts back and he slips your arms from your dress.  He pushes it down to hang around your hips, your whole torso flushed with the heat of desire. You’re so pliant when he kisses you again - so submissive. You let him possess you fully with nary a sound of complaint save the small whimpers and whines of pleasure you release as his hands explore every inch of your skin, and Hoseok can’t get enough.  He wants more; so much more.

“You never finished undressing me,” he whispers into your ear when he pulls away, smirking as you shudder at the feel of his hot breath.  

Ever obedient, your trembling hands move at his bidding.  They travel down his chest and into the waistband of his linen undergarments, holding your breath as you ease them down over his buttocks till they fall in at his feet.  It feels like hours that he’s been wanting you, his shaft hot and heavy where it stands erect between his legs and brushes against your skirt.

“A-and now?” you ask softly, biting down on your lip as he smiles salaciously back at you, dragging his thumb across the swell of your bottom lip.  

“Now yours,” he encourages and once again it seems as though you lose all ability to breathe, completely silent as you rid yourself of what modesty remains.  “Good girl.” Hoseok’s whispered praise seems to lessen some of the anxiety he sees in your face when you next look up, his kiss easing away some of the tension that’d stiffened you against him.  

“I’m going to touch you now, dove.”  You nod, exhale shaking at the warning Hoseok gives as his hand caresses down your naked form, taking good time to enjoy every inch of what God gave you; squeezing your buttocks and tracing the palm of his hand along the curve of your hips.  It pleases him when you instinctively widen your stance and tilt your pelvis to allow his hand to wander upward, fingernails grazing your inner thighs.

“Hoseok,” you whisper into his neck as your arms come to rest around his shoulders to lean your weight on him, weak-kneed and breathless.  Your voice sounds almost pained, throat tight. “It aches .”

“I know,” he soothes, only full realising the depth of your desire for him when his touch encroaches on the wetness that has coated the tops of your thighs, smearing all over his fingertips.  “It’ll feel better soon.”

“Please,” you groan helplessly, pushing your hips forward, and at that Hoseok can no longer find the will to resist you.  He slips two fingers between your folds and upwards to where you’re most sensitive and presses with the tips, curling one arm tightly around your waist to hold you still when your body jerks at the foreign sensation.  

“Did he touch you here?” Hoseok questions with his voice pitched low, aroused beyond words by the sounds you’re failing to hold back with each feather-light touch.  He feels you shake your head into the crook of his neck, a whine spilling out of you when begins to rub the swollen little nub a little faster - a little harder. “More fool him.”  

Your thighs are clenching around his hand but he knows it’s not to try and keep him out - not if the way you clutch at the roots of his hair is anything to judge by as he’s drawn to the heat of your core, so wet that the circling of his digits is audible even past your heavy breathing.  

“Did he put them inside?”

“N-no,” you stammer, anxiety tautening your muscles at even the threat of being breached, and Hoseok swears to himself that should he ever meet the man that treated your first time with such disregard he shall make him live to regret it.  He retreats momentarily, hand placed unthreateningly in the small of your back to caress the softness of your skin.

“Dove,” he calls, prompting you to lift your head from his shoulder and look at him, worrying your bottom lip with something that appears an awful lot like shame in your eyes.  It breaks his heart to see; they’re far too pretty to ever look so sad. “I shan’t hurt you,” Hoseok repeats softly, leaning in to place the softest of kisses to your lips. “Should you ever want me to stop, you need only say.”  

Your fingers are playing nervously with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck and Hoseok tries not to let his own ticklishness show as goose pimples rise along each of his arms.

“I don’t want you to stop.”  Though nervous, your words sound earnest, and with smiling lips Hoseok kisses you again, resisting the urge to rush before slipping his hand back between your legs.  “Please,” you mumble against his lips when he hesitates, and at your plea Hoseok finally slowly presses one finger into your tight, wet insides.

You tense again but the eager way in which you return his kiss lets him know to carry on, and the longer he moves his digit back and forth inside you the more you seem to melt, holding onto his shoulders tight and gasping once you’re finally relaxed enough for him to add a second.  Ceaselessly he pleasures you, paying close attention to what best makes you moan and then repeating that motion over and over again till you’re mewling, forced to smother the sounds you’re making with his kiss.

“I feel… I f-feel…”  Your thighs are starting to tremble - your walls impossibly tight around the relentless motion of Hoseok’s fingers - and despite the alarm he can hear in your voice, Hoseok knows you have no need to fear.  “Oh, gods!”

“Don’t be afraid,” he speaks against your lips, unable to keep his own pelvis from rocking in time with the motion of his hand, seeking the where his length presses hard against your hip and soils your skin with his want for you.  “Fly, little dove.”

Hoseok feels the moment you ascend, your body stiffening as a cry of ecstasy bursts forth from you.  You soak his digits, your orgasm spilling out onto his palm in a series of vulgar noises as he gently eases you through it.  You become boneless, clinging onto him for support.

“Are you well?” he asks you gently, nudging his nose against yours to rouse you.  You have your eyes closed and your breath hitches, a shallow frown creasing your forehead when oversensitivity strikes and you start to squirm, pelvis tilting away from his touch.  He withdraws his fingers from inside of you as you kiss him, both of your hands coming up to cradle his face as if in thanks, pressing your body flush against his.

“Yes.”  You place kiss after kiss between words; his lips, his cheeks and his chin.  “Yes…. I… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he smiles, groaning in both pleasure and surprise when you surge forward and suckle on his bottom lip, suddenly feeling bold.  As your tongue eagerly licks into his mouth Hoseok can’t help but put the mess you made of his hand to good use. He coats himself with your slick, palm wrapped tight around his length and hips rocking back and forth in an attempt to provide some of the relief he so desperately needs.

The kiss breaks, your eyes closed and his head bent low to lean his forehead on yours.  

“Lie with me,” you whisper huskily, batting your eyelashes up at him, and as the words pass your lips Hoseok could very nearly sing with joy.  With no further delay he scoops you up, legs wrapped around his waist, and as you shriek and giggle - clinging on for dear life - Hoseok laughs along, kissing your neck all the way to his bed.  

You look a vision lay amongst his pillows; your flushed chest rising and falling heavily with excitement as he climbs on top of you, bracing his weight on one forearm.  

“You’re beautiful.”  He brushes your hair back from your face, awestruck by the captivating smile that spreads across it at his praise.  “My sweetest summer blossom…” You exhale a happy sigh when he leans in to join his lips across yours with affection, your hands settling on his shoulder blades.  Gently, he coaxes apart your legs, and he takes the arching of your back as he nestles the tip of his length between your folds as your willingness to continue on.  

You feel better than he ever could have imagined as he begins to push inside; your warm, wet walls squeezing tight at the intrusion.  With his lips melded to yours, he steadily sinks into you, only stopping when a pained whimper meets his ears. He intends to pull away for fear of hurting you but you won’t let him, clinging on tight.  

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg of him, lifting your head off the pillow to kiss him once more, and though his mind is full of worry his body seems to care not, slowly pressing forward anew.  As he reaches his end, buried deep within, your body shakes.

“Are you alright, my dove?” he asks, just as breathless as you with the will it takes him to hold back and not begin to move right away.  

“Y-yes,” you answer after a time, wriggling your hips beneath him to grow accustomed to the feeling.  A strangled moan bursts forth from his lungs unbidden at the feel of it, gripping onto the pillow tight.  

“Careful,” he warns once he manages to re-open his eyes, looking down on where you lay with a playful smile upon your face, “I may be a Knight but I am still a man; as lustful and wicked as the rest.”  A vixen in disguise, Hoseok nearly comes apart when you clench your silken heat around him in reply.

“I trust you.”  Your voice is soft and so is your gaze, your touch gentle as your fingertips stroke down the length of his back.  “Show me?” How is he ever meant to resist such a plea from one so sweet?

Seizing your lips in a bruising kiss, Hoseok begins to move; a slow and steady pace that gradually builds with every moan you release until the two of you are moving together in earnest - your hips tilting upward to meet his every thrust.   You cry out when he sucks your nipple into his mouth; whimper when his fingers tangle in your hair.

“Faster, Hoseok,” you plead, tilting your head back into his palm and digging your nails into his shoulders with a look of ecstasy written on your face. “Please, Lord!”  

He’s powerless to resist.  He redoubles his efforts, a bead of sweat trickling its way down his temple as his pelvis meets yours again and again and his weight presses you into the mattress.  Deeper and deeper he drives into you, groaning your name into the curve of your throat.

“God,” he moans lustfully, “You’ll be my end, dove - my ruin.  You-” Hoseok can no longer speak, all coherent thought stole away as your own pleasures builds and your inner muscles start to contract and pulse around him, driving him towards release.  

There’s never been a more exquisite sound than the cry of pleasure you release when you finally unravel beneath him, grabbing at his neck and pulling him down into a desperate kiss as it washes over you.  It very nearly makes Hoseok lose all control, barely a second passing between him withdrawing from you and spilling his release all over your stomach with a strangled groan. Even in the throes of rapture, he’s transfixed by the sight of his seed decorating your skin in droplets of creamy white.  

He shudders as even the touch of his own hand becomes too much; loosening his grip and sitting back on his heels to catch his breath as you do the same, thighs clenched together and one hand pressed to your brow.  You don’t seem too concerned about the mess he’s made across your stomach but courtesy demands he come to your aid.

“One moment.”  On shaking legs he climbs from the bed and finds his undergarments where they’d been left strewn upon the floor, still damp from his bath.  “It’s a little cold,” he warns, chuckling as you jump when the fabric meets your skin. He casts it aside once you’re both suitably clean, contentment settling over him like a warm blanket when he comes to lay beside you.  

You turn your head on the pillow, your eyes flickering back and forth between his own.  It seems as though you’re gathering the courage to say something and Hoseok gives you a smile in encouragement, rolling onto his side to face you.

“Was that… satisfactory?” Hoseok’s powerless to resist the urge to hold you in his arms, pulling you close and tucking your head under his chin as you return his embrace with a soft and breathy sigh.  

“More than,” he reassures you, gently kissing your crown.

The two of you lay entwined for some time, warmed by the fire that still crackles in the hearth.  Sleep calls to him in his state of tranquillity, almost pulling him under before he feels you shift, rousing him from his near-slumber.  

“I should attend to my duties,” you say regretfully, attempting to sit up and finding it quite impossible with Hoseok pulling you in the opposite direction, dragging your mouth onto his.  He kisses you until your body becomes lax again, too happy in his arms to continue the fight.

“Stay,” he bids you, smiling when you tunefully laugh.  

“You can’t keep me here forever.”  It’s the truth that you speak, but Hoseok can’t abide the thought of releasing you.  Again he kisses you again and again and again, his heart somehow thrice the size where it beats inside his chest.  

“Come away with me, dove.”  His words are impulsive but he means them nonetheless, true in his convictions.  “When I leave this place, stay by my side.”

You pull away before he can kiss you again, an incredulous look on your face.  

“I… It’s a generous offer - one I wish I could accept,” you begin, unable to hide the disappointment you feel.  “But… my duties; my father’s debt. My Lord would never allow-”

“Is that a yes?” he interrupts.  

“Well… yes, but I-”  This time, Hoseok silences you with a kiss; one he’s in no hurry to end.  

“Leave Taehyung to me, my little dove.”  

**

It takes some time for Hoseok to eventually relinquish you from his bed, begrudgingly parting ways so he may finish his bath and you can assist with preparing dinner.  

He’d intended to not make it too obvious what had come to pass between you, planning to ignore your presence as much as he was able until having spoken to the young Lord in a more private setting.

It proves impossible, though.  The moment you step foot into the dining room later that evening Hoseok’s eyes are drawn to you, an irresistible smile tugging at his lips and butterflies in his stomach at the coy smile you try to hide by looking down at the floor on your approach.  His voice is just a little too husky when he thanks you for filling his mug - his gaze lingering on your just a little too long - and by the time you’ve left the room and released his attention, Hoseok’s already been found out.

His friend is staring at him from across the table with a smirk on his face and one eyebrow raised, drink in hand.

“Is there something you wish to tell me, dear friend?”  Hoseok takes a large gulp of his ale before answering, mischief in his eyes as he stares over the rim at the man sat opposite in colourful robes, head tilted expectantly to the side.  

“Do you recall earlier this day,” he smiles, placing down his mug, “When you said the words ‘what’s mine is yours?’”  

“Aye, I remember,” Taehyung answers, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table in curiosity. “Why do you ask?  Is there something you need?”

Hoseok’s eyes meet yours from across the room, his heart thudding at the sight of your soft, bewitching smile.    

“I have a favour to ask of you, my Lord.” 

[fromthedeskofelizabeththird]

thērepōdos (II)

I heard ya’ll like Dimileths~

FE3H | Dimileth | Gen

~~

“You’re doing it wrong, come here...look.”

Dimitri frowns, watching as Sylvain lifts Alexei into his arms.

“The head goes here, look, like this!”

The protocol for a royal baby is clear, even if Alexei himself doesn’t know it yet. Now that a week has passed since his birth and both he and his mother are in good health, the time has arrived for him to be properly introduced to not only the nobles of the realm, but the people of Fhirdiad.

Some traditions are meant to be broken, though.

While the newly established heads of houses Gautier and Fraldarius were first through the gates, they were not the only ones to receive an invitation. So too did an innkeeper, four professors from the monastery, an opera starlet recently turned noble, two mercenaries and a mysterious hooded figure bearing the emblem of the knights of Seiros.

The ceremony to welcome Prince Alexei is two days from now, leaving every corner of Fhirdiad rife with anticipation. The last time they welcomed a prince was after Dimitri took control of the capital en route to Enbarr, an infamously bittersweet moment for all involved. For years the idea of welcoming a healthy heir to the throne in a time of relative peace remained little more than a wish whispered into the night. The people of Faerghus have become skeptical, hearts hardened by war and disaster. No one is quite so aware of this as the King.

Dimitri remembers his throne being stolen with far more clarity than he does reclaiming it. He was well read long before his arrival at Garreg Mach, devouring any text he could find that discussed the qualities of an ideal ruler. He spent nights poring over philosophy and proverbs- prepared for the crown of his country to weigh on his head and heart.

The crown was deceptively light in the end, though. He turned his head too quickly the first time he wore it and fell into shocked silence as it clattered on the ground at his feet. His instinct was to laugh and crack a joke; he has never been the gentle type, after all. He’s broken more lances than anyone could reasonably count, snapped Mercedes’ sewing needle in half; dented both his armour and crown. Somehow he even managed to headbutt Byleth during their first kiss.

Tradition calls for him to stand on the balcony of their grand palace with his child in his arms, telling Faerghus the name of their future ruler. He has both dreamed of and dreaded this moment, for reasons all too clear to those who know him best.

It’s been a week now and he has yet to hold the baby, convinced beyond all rational doubt that something awful will happen. Perhaps he will bend the baby in two; perhaps he will lift him with far too much force. Byleth has told him more than once that it’s unlikely, but the idea of landing any scratches or scrapes on his legacy is too much to bear. He only ever watches the baby from a safe distance; only dares to touch him by stroking his hair.

He knows Byleth wishes he would hold him and today he has little choice in the matter. It is the King’s job to introduce the world to his legacy and in doing so reassure the people of stability. Even so, his hands shake at the very idea and he can scarcely look his friends in the eye.

Of the Blue Lions, Sylvain was the first to have children-a red haired girl named Isolde, who’s spent the past half an hour peering into the cot with a grave expression. She’s too young to understand the more complicated issues at hand and Dimitri almost envies her ignorance.

Sylvain, who spent so much time with Isolde in his arms that she now gets incredibly upset at being parted from him, was horrified by the prospect of Dimitri being so distanced from his own child. His own scars are different in size and shape. He doesn’t fear holding his child too tightly, but giving them any inkling of rejection. Isolde bears no crest, yet he still calls her ‘princess’.

As per tradition, Sylvain arrived with gifts from House Gautier, among them a gaudy vase that no one in the room has pretended to like. Perhaps most importantly, it is almost exactly the same size and weight as a human child.

“Like this,” says Sylvain, shuffling the vase in his arms. “Look, you need to support the head.”

“This is, without a doubt, the most ridiculous thing either of you have ever done,” yawns Felix from his spot by the window.

Dimitri glances from the vase wrapped in furs in Sylvain’s arms to the sleeping baby and clenches his hands into fists.

“You can do it,” adds Dedue with a nod.

Dimitri rubs his hands together, taking a deep breath and reaching for the vase. His hands are trembling, his stomach churning. He knows it’s a vase and not the real thing, but it’s difficult to think of anything but either of them shattering on the floor.

He takes the vase into his arms, back straight and shoulders rigid. He can feel it slipping even though it sits stock still. Sylvain takes a couple of steps back, grinning triumphantly at his own success.

“There it is, perfect,” he says, “though...maybe you could relax...a bit?”

“You look like you’re taking a shit,” adds Felix.

Dimitri sighs and passes the vase back to Sylvain. Why was he cursed with such clumsy hands? Why couldn’t he be as skilled with delicate work as he is on the battlefield?

“Don’t worry so much about it,” laughs Ashe, no doubt sensing his tension. “Babies were built to survive new parents!”

“That’s right, that’s right,” says Sylvain, taking the vase from him with little to no effort. “Soon you’ll be bouncing them around and-“

SMASH

Everyone reacts at exactly the same instant.

Sylvain, who tossed the vase up into the air for emphasis, falls into shocked silence. Felix, who took a second to roll his eyes, squeezes them shut altogether. Dimitri takes two steps back, having tried and failed to catch the vase. Ashe flinches. Both Alexei and Isolde cry.

“This...this doesn’t mean anything!” Sylvain drops to his knees to gather the parts of the vase left intact. “Look...see-ow!”

“This is how it’s going to be, isn’t it?” Dimitri murmurs as Sylvain examines his bloodied fingers. “For the rest of my life…”

“No, no,” Sylvain exclaims, “this is just an accident...don’t think too much about it! It was fine until I took it, honestly!”

Dimitri sucks in a deep breath and storms out of the room, away from the chaos. Sylvain flops down onto the floor with a sigh, dropping the shard of ceramic that sliced open his fingers.

“Do you think we should go after him?”

“And say what?”

Felix’s words are sharp, though betrayed by his tone.

“I dunno,” says Sylvain, “that feeling scared is normal when you first have a kid.”

“Did you hesitate to hold Isolde?”

At that, Sylvain’s eyes drop to the floor. Everyone knows that he didn’t.

“Speaking of Isolde,” pipes up Ashe, “where is she?”

~~~~~~

It’s been a while since all of the Blue Lions have gathered at once. Byleth sees Mercedes and Annette at the monastery fairly frequently, while Dimitri, Sylvain and Felix remain in touch via council meetings and the day to day running of the kingdom, but the only time they all seem to be in one place at the same time is at a wedding or a baptism.

Byleth has missed the idle chatter of her students and it’s plain to see that they have missed one another’s company. She acquired a fragrant tea and lemon cakes for the reunion, only for them to lay forgotten in the excitement of updates on one another’s lives. Hours have passed and conversation has barely halted, leaving only Byleth to sit in relative silence. She’s always been something of an introvert and at present there’s a lot on her mind.

Today her son will be tested for a crest and then presented to the people of Fhirdiad. She knows that it shouldn’t have come as a surprise considering how often crests and their holders have changed the course of history, yet somehow the reality of it is only just hitting her.

Since Dimitri’s ascension to the throne, the topic of crests has been hotly debated. Where before it was a cornerstone of life as a noble, now it is considered outdated at best. It’s certainly true that noble families have continued to have their children’s blood tested, though the results are rarely-if ever-made public knowledge. The practise itself might not have survived were it not for the consequences of using a relic without its proper crest, leaving it as a safety measure and little more. Even so, Byleth feels anything but safe.

She does not want anyone to break the skin on her son’s finger, no matter how gently it is done. She brought in Hannemann for the task in the hopes that she would feel better about it, but her stomach still churns with anxiety. She did not know she had a crest herself until adulthood and that knowledge gnaws at her heart. Would it really matter if none of them knew if Alexei had one either?

She only half listens as Dorothea and Manuela frantically exchange notes on the newer compositions they heard in taverns on the journey to Fhirdiad. Enough time has passed that the war of the three houses has fallen mostly into legend, with travelling bards the world over composing tales of the noble chivalry and grand deeds of the Blue Lions and their allies. One particular ongoing theme (and consequently, ongoing joke) is the valour and strength of Ingrid of house Galatea and her incredible modesty on the matter. Ingrid has never truly known how to respond to the stories comparing her strength and beauty to that of the goddess. Naturally, her blushes only inspire Manuela and Dorothea to repeat them with gusto and their current tale involves a certain knight falling from the sky.

“...and next, next the beautiful stranger opened her eyes….”

“Oooh!”

Annette leans in closer, as if she’s listening to a secret. Ingrid blushes furiously, though tries to hide it from view.

“...she asked the innkeeper to listen closely and he crouched at her side to hear her whispers…”

Byleth has heard this story before. During a raid on a number of bandits, Ingrid fell from her horse, crashing through the roof of the inn. Somewhat miraculously, she escaped relatively unscathed from the impact, far more dazed than bruised. She stayed in the inn for a couple of days at Mercedes’ insistence and, while the true sequence of events was rather dull, the retellings grow increasingly dramatic with each passing year.

Everyone in the room knows this story, yet still wait with bated breath. As such, when Dorothea opens her mouth to whisper the request of the grand lady knight, only to be drowned out by the chaos of the door crashing open, everyone is startled.

The shock is only temporary, though, and quickly transforms into curiosity when it’s Isolde who rushes into the room. It’s certainly true that some present know Isolde better than others, but everyone in the room is acutely aware of two things.

One, that Isolde is nothing if not intelligent. She knows exactly how to manipulate her father into giving her extra dessert or a later bedtime, much to the ire of her mother.

Secondly, that while her loyalties certainly fall with Sylvain, who is easily the softer of the two, she will run to her mother whenever she is truly frightened.

“Momma,” she calls out, cheeks as rosy red as her hair, “Momma! Papa dropped the baby! It broke on the floor!”

~~~~~

By now, Alexei has fallen silent, sleeping soundly in the crook of Dedue’s arm. Sylvain disappeared in search of Isolde, leaving Felix and Ashe to sweep up the broken vase.

“Stupid idiot,” mutters Felix, “leaving us to clean up his mess…”

Ashe can’t contain his laughter. Felix, after all, was the first to grab a broom.

“Don’t you find it nostalgic?”

“Nostalgic?”

“Mhmm,” says Ashe. “It might sound silly, but it sort of reminds me of when we started to restore the monastery.”

Felix presses his lips together and continues to sweep, albeit in completely the wrong direction. It is nostalgic even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Back then, Byleth added restoring the monastery to their list of after school chores. It was difficult to retain morale with enormous gaps in the ceiling. Many of the Blue Lions and their allies continued to clear the rubble long into the night. Felix complained the loudest, but more often than not stayed until dawn.

Ashe can’t keep the smile from his face, even as the door flies open and the Professor rushes in, the remaining Blue Lions and Isolde in tow. Byleth has never been easy to read, but it’s all too clear what’s running through her mind as she crosses the room and stands up on her tiptoes to peer into Alexei’s sleeping face.

“Is that...a vase ?”  Annette crouches on the floor and picks up one of the shards, holding it up to the light. “Why is it in a blanket?”

“Baby,” says Isolde, pointing at the mess.

Byleth peers around the room, taking note of every guilty face with two significant exceptions.

“Where’s Dimitri?” she asks.

~~~~~

There are very few paintings of King Lambert in Fhirdiad, though not through any sort of misfortune. In truth, he was far more interested in practising his sword arm than sitting down for a portrait, and as a consequence his likeness was captured only once.

The portrait of King Lambert sits pride of place on the wall of the heroes gallery, one singular floor of the palace dedicated to preserving the legacy of notable citizens of Faerghus. There are statues of Loog in every corner, portraits of long dead and largely forgotten kings, dusty tomes detailing the history of the land. To be placed in the gallery is one of the greatest honours in the country and Lambert’s portrait is the brightest of all. The artist captured him perfectly, from the sharpness of his jawline to his gleaming armour. He appears dignified, noble…

...and not at all as Dimitri remembers.

Dimitri remembers only his final moments, an image that so often drowns out the rest. When he tries to remember his father’s booming laughter, he recalls the sound of his final gurgles. When he thinks of his proud form, his mind immediately drifts to the moment it fell still.

He made peace years ago with the knowledge that Lambert was never coming back, but he wishes more than anything that he could remember more of him than the moment of his death.

Dimitri very often visits the painting of his father and it’s there that Byleth eventually finds him. His arms are folded, his back straight as an arrow, staring into the eyes of the painting so deeply that he doesn’t notice Byleth approach until she’s standing beside him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says.

“With what?”

“The silence.”

She stays quiet, as is so often her way, eyes drifting from him to the portrait. She, of all people, should understand. They’ve both been numb for as long as they remember and this past year has brought wave after wave of emotions to the surface.

Today they are duty bound to present their son to the kingdom and promise the very thing neither of them remember. Who are they now that there’s no battles to fight?

In the end, Byleth says nothing at all and instead links her fingers through his.

She doesn’t let go, not even as Hanneman pricks their boy’s finger and casts his blood into the flames, revealing the Blaiddyd crest.

She doesn’t let go as they stand on the balcony, waving to their subjects and declaring the arrival of an heir to the throne. As far as the people of Faerghus are concerned, the baby’s mere existence is a victory.

They don’t need to know how badly their king’s hands are shaking; they don’t need to know about the tears in their queen’s eyes as Hanneman’s needle broke his skin.

From this distance they can’t see the dents in his crown, nor can they tell that the bundle nestled in the crook of Dimitri’s arm contains nothing more than one of Isolde’s dolls.

The real heir to the throne is fast asleep in his nursery, as blissfully ignorant of the celebrations in his name as he is the battles that won him his birthright.

That, in itself, is the true victory.

[ithinkthingsaboutstuff]

Going Rogue:The Crow’s Nest

This is a fic series, that looks at the ecosystem of Arkham asylum, How the rogues interactions with one another and how therapy is or is not administered. The partnerships, the connections, the feud’s and the all the madness that rest inside the padded walls.

Going Rogue:

part 3: The Crow’s Nest

There is a saying in Arkham. first floor for the mad, seconded floor for the crazy and the third floor for the insane. Now obviously, this is semantics, but the inclination is rather important here. The mortals with the ailment of men are kept on the ground floor as to give the illusion to any haply soul that enters that this could pass as a simple house of nightmares. The seconded floor is the maze of madness, the corridors to the crazy, that gives the doctors more than enough reason to question whatever deity or deities they may believe in. The third floor however is where all hope of humanity leaves you, not just for the patients but for anyone who comes across it.

The third floor was filled with the more ‘experimental’ therapy's or ancient practices depending on who you ask, the politicians who are the same people who still classify Arkham as a ‘mental health facility’ will tell you that this is all a part of new cutting edge techniques and therapy's that help the poor inhabitants of Akrham. If you ask the first and second floor patients, its where monsters go to lose their fangs and claws, so that they can be tamed by lesser men. The doctors at Akrham would like to pretend that this is a last resort, that its only used on the hopeless cases and that they are beyond any other kind of help, but mostly each doctor in their quiet moments, still and clam when the screams fall silent and the eyes of men and women haunt their closed eye lids, they have one creeping, sinking thought,

This is madness.

But thoughts like that must be pushed down lest you let them take you. But that’s not to say all doctors at Arkham feel that way, but then again not all the doctors in Arkham are in-front of the glass are they. Dr Jonathon Crane was once a honoured and respected doctor, or that’s what people say now anyway, about Dr Crane’s earlier years in medicine and teaching, truth is if you had asked these same people back then what they thought of him they would all give to roughly the same answer. ‘He’s a quiet but an odd man,’ ‘there’s something not quite right about him.’ ‘little obsessive isn’t he.’ ‘Who?’

Not that any of their opinions are remotely of consequence, not back then and defiantly not now. Jonathon has been sent to the third floor for treatment on and off for years now, he never talks about what happens there, no one ever dose but Jonathon shows a particulate disdain when it comes to talking about anything that involves himself. Besides, Jonathon was not like the other patients on the third floor, unlike all the others in his unfortunate position, that position being that one is at any given moment an airs breath way from being a grotesqueness shell of human facilities, the difference is,

Jonathon enjoyed it.

The third floor had the thickest cells in all of Arkham. Unlike the second floor this layout was not a maze, it is much more straight forward but what it lacked it terrainle confusion it made up for it in being a hallway of horrors hellscape. The people sent here are jacketed and chained to their wall, and that’s how stay until a doctor tells them otherwise. Spending their days desperately trying not to piss themselves as they wait for their scheduled bathroom times, mind you at this point most of the occupants that make it to the third circle of this Halloween themed death-hole are more than willing to defecate themselves like zoo animals then most folks. The staff spends the bathroom times simply cleaning the zoo cages.  

In one of these cells, thick and padded. Jonathan sat on his bed, the walls were ripped exposing the wool that had become yellow with decay. The window was no bigger than a sheet of paper, the bars on them were thin and had rusted to the point that they had holes making it look like it had a termite infestation. Jonathon was not in a straight-jacket anymore but his right leg was still chained to the back wall. He sat on his bed or buck or canvas lined poles, Jonathon found the bed comforting, he often slept in his scarecrow mask and this bed made him feel like he was wrapped in it.

He was not in the best of places when he was brought in this time, not that he ever was in his right mind when he was brought in here, but this was different. This time the bat didn’t drag him in, this time he came willingly. October was not a good month for him with all the temptation about, the autumn air so sweet in his nose but bitter on his brain. Every crunch of the leaves and the air that sent a chill down his spine and vibrated through his very soul, all of it was getting to much, he felt himself slipping or rather he felt the scarecrow creeping up the back of his mind and skulking behind his eyelids. He then went to arkham of his own accord as to not find himself wrapped in burlap for at least one Halloween night. Jonathon was at this point in his treatment allowed some writing implements, this made his focus clearer and allowed him to make his notes.        

Medical log 29: Dr. Jonathon Crane.

Time, 1700 hours.

Date, October 29th,

Year, ...who the fuck cares anymore.

The screams coming from the north wall started at about 1130 hours and ceased at approximately 1450 hours.

As to what ‘therapy' was being administered in that time is up of speculation, however I have it on good authority and judging on the volume and intensity of the screams for such a period, they are most likely being caused by electroshock mixed with a high Diazepam concentrate.

As to the effectiveness of this treatment remains to be seen, the north wall has been having these sessions by my approximation for about 19 days now, with about 5 patients, four male and one female.

four of the screams are unfamiliar to me, but the fifths I am all too familiar with, well not screams so much, as this creature does not know fear at least not in a traditional sense.  

and I would know that ass-clowns giggles anywhere.

Most likely this treatment was done on him by the direction of his new doctor. They never learn, that his mind cannot be reasoned with, and most certainly cannot be saved. But youth is often unpractised in the ways of disappointment. They will continue the trials for the next two days ending it on three weeks. As to what will come from this, I will monitor for any overall behaviour changes in the third floor, but have not other means of conducting further analysed at this present time.

As for my own treatment, I am becoming more loseit by the day, I expect to be returned to the second floor by the weeks end. My doctor has been most helpful, in making the transition this time around, I will be having a session with them in a tomorrow morning. They do have some skill unlike most of the so called doctors in the hellhouse,

however their naivety is most troubling.

What will become of them in a place like this remains to be seem, I will monitor they decline for future reference.    

Log 29, End.

Jonathon then moved to the window. The tiny thing would have been at the top of most people’s heads, but Jonathon was a tall man. His body towered over most peoples, his body was lean and skinny, like his skin was a thin cloth that covered his skeleton to keep himself together. His hands where rough and callus from all those years of swing a large heavy scythe, his face sunken with dark bags under his eyes. His glasses were slightly cracked on the left side frame, on his right temple down to his neck was a thin but jagged scar as if someone slide the knife down his face before trying to slit his throat.

Jonathon was able to pier out the window and see outside into the grounds of Arkham. Not much out there at the moment as you could imagine, mostly just over grow weeds and underbrush. But the courtyard was filled with birds or rather crows. They would squawk and cry for all to hear, it was the only thing in Arkham that was more constant then the screams. One of the crows landed on the windows ledge and squawked in Jonathon’s face. Jonathon stared at it for a moment before it squawked at him again, he then let a smile slowly creep onto his face.

‘Alright, alright, easy now, I get the picture.’

His voice was low just about a whisper, is southern accent rumbled as he tried to use a hushing tone.

‘How was your day today little birdy.’        

The crow pecked at the concrete as Jon reached into his pocket. He then pulled out his hand and held it to the window, sprinkling out crumbs of food on the ledge. The crow pecked at the food and Jon moved his fingers to slowly stroke the birds feathers.

‘You had a hard day huh, me too, but its not so bad, is it little birdy, you got big sky's and lots of places to go, but here you are, sitten with little old me, not that I don’t like when you come to visit, just seems like you’d have better places to be is all. You came he to have rest before going off to do what you need do, I get that, why you stick around me I’m not so sure though. But to each there own I suppose.’

The bird bobbed its head and Jonathon continued to pet it.

‘You such a pretty bird aren't you, and smart bird, you got anything for me?’

The bird flapped its wings and flew off, a few moments pasted and the bird returned holding something shinny in its beck.

‘Well, what’s this now?’

Jonathon took the object out of the birds beck and examined it, it was a thin metal rod it looks like it broke off an old lighting fixture,

‘A little rusted by I can file it down some. Thank you little birdy.’

Jonathon petted the bird again as it happily cried. A noise came from the hallway, footsteps came closer to his door.    

‘You should be on you way now, Little birdy.’

Jonathon then shooed the bird away it bounced on the ledge a few times before flapping its wings and flying away. Jonathon then weaved the metal rod inside one of the holes in one of the padded walls, he moves the fabric to hide the shape of the rod sticking through the wall with the padding. Jonathon then moved slowly as to not rattle his chain, he sat back on his bed and made it look like he was still taking notes.

The footsteps made it to his door and the big heavy door began to unlock and with one strong push it came open.

‘Evening.’

The voice called from the door frame.

‘I must admit I was not expecting you.’

Jonathon said as they then shut the door behind them.

‘And why’s that?’

Jonathon looked behind the one in front of him eyes darting back and forth.

‘Here all by yourself aren't you? no guards, no back up. You might get into some trouble for that.’

‘Doubt it,’

They answered smugly.

‘Fair point, so what brings you here?’

‘What else, you.’

‘You came all the way up here to see little old me, all by yourself huh, not to bright.’

‘Well you are chained to the wall so I would like to see what you could do.’

They let out a soft quiet laugh. Jonathon then shuffled jostling his leg.

‘I’m only chained to the wall at your recommendation, Doctor Quinzell,’

The young women could not hide her smile at that one. She tried not to see her patients after hours but Jonathon was one of the few she could make lenience for on that front.

‘Now Jonathon that’s for your safely as well as mine.’

‘That’s Bullshit, and you know it.’

She moved over to a chair that was on the opposite of the bed.

‘No need for that language, Jonathon.’

‘No need for a god damn chain on my leg neither.’

Doctor Quinzell then pulled out a note pad from her bag.

‘Now, How have you been Jonathon.’

He looked at her for a moment and put his own note pad to his side and looked her in the eye again.

‘Fine.’

Doctor Quinzell tapped her pen to her pad.

‘Well, you’ve been fine, the last 28 times we’ve meet up, most be an in house record.’

‘Don’t sass me child.’

‘Jonathon, if you want to leave the third floor your going to have to work with me here.’

Jonathon let out a sigh.

‘Fine...I’m feeling things again, so that’s something.’

‘What things?’

‘Sensations...my face...the air.... beating of my heart, the screams on the walls.’

‘That good, better then last time, how dose that make you feel.’

‘Cold mostly.’

‘Right, anything else.’

‘I have been sleeping better,’

‘Good, why do you think that is?’

‘The birds maybe?’

‘Ok, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Like what.’

‘Like the incident that got you moved up here from the seconded floor, about three weeks ago.’

‘I’m not sorry and you can tell Jervis that I said so.’

‘So you remember what happened now.’

‘Kind of, I remember the screams and Bolton flying across the room but not much else.’

‘Well better then nothing, is there anything else you want to talk about.’

‘Not really, how about you?’

Doctor Qiunzell moved in her chair. Jonathon tapped his glasses.

‘You seem to be looking and forgive my me, rather brunt out as it were.’

Doctor Qiunzell bit her lip for a split second.

‘Now Jonathon, let us keep this about you,’

Jonathon put his hands together and leaned forward.

‘Very well, do you remember, back in the day when I was still teaching and you sat in the back row taking notes like a bat out of hell, you wrote down just about every word I said no matter how unimportant it was.’

‘Yes, ok, um why do you mention that,’

‘You see when you and I first started having are sessions, It seemed to me you kept that habit, but as of the last oh, year or so you seemed to have lost that habit. In fact you have not written a single thing down since you came in here.’

‘Things change and its just was not necessary anymore,’

‘Necessary, interesting that you use that word Doctor Quinzell, wouldn’t you say.’

‘I think, its more about understanding what information I do and don’t need.’

‘But you said necessary, a need is done out of purpose outside of our own judgement, when we feel something is or is not necessary it speaks more of our own personal biases, the fact you no longer see it to be necessary suggest you have had a shift in your priorities.’

‘And what might that be Professor Crane.’

‘Well, what do think, what have you been up to lately.’

‘Well, I have been working on more patients lately. And I think I’m losing track of then,’  

Doctor Crane then took the note pad from his side and opened it.

‘such as,’

‘I had Victor Freeze the other day and I just could not listen to anything he had to say, he talks about his wife his, feelings and all I could do is look at my watch the whole time.’

Doctor Crane took down a note.

‘I see, why do you think that is.’

‘I had my other patient to get to,’

‘Which one.’

‘Joker.’

Doctor Crane took another note and underlined it.

‘I see do you have this problem with him?’

‘No, if anything I go over time. That’s why I missed my session with Nygma, yesterday.’

‘Edwards back, huh,  good to know, Is there a reason why you are spending so much time with Joker as opposed to you other patients, Harley.’

Harley Stated to play with her hair taking it down from a bun,

‘He’s just so open with me you know.’

Doctor Crane tapped his glasses and took another note.

‘Open, open how?’

Harley played with her hair more patting it down and straightening it out the best she could but to no avail.

‘Oh I can’t tell you that, can’t break the rules’

Doctor Crane took down another note underlining it twice.

‘Hmm,very well, so you do have him on a new treatment though, don’t you Harley.’

Harley looked surprised.

‘How do you know that.’

‘I may not always be in the best of mind, but my ears work perfectly. I can hear the laugh through the walls’

‘Oh, I see that makes senses. silly me, oops ’

‘That’s ok, I there any improvement in any of them so far.’

‘No not really Professor Crane, and honestly I don’t think we should continue...but.’

‘But what? Harley.’

She took a deep breath and leaned back with a wishful sigh.

‘He has such a beautiful laugh and its the only thing that makes him smile right now.’

Doctor Crane kept quietly taking notes.

‘I see, well Harley...’

Footsteps where making there way down the hall.

‘I think it be best if you were on you way now,’

Harley straighten like she had just been sobered up.

‘Yes, your right Professor Crane.’

She then started to tie her hair up again. The footsteps came closer and Harley had grabbed all her things and made her way to the door, she waited a moment as she heard the footsteps walk past the door. She then pulled the door open and she opened it wide enough for herself to push herself out, as she went into the hallway she was meet with a man, she yelped.

‘Oh, Mr Bolton, you scared me.’

‘Sorry about that Doc, what are you doing up here this late?’

‘Just catching up with my patients, goodnight Mr Bolton.’

Harley tried to fix her hair as she went down the hall, rushing to the elevator. Bolton then waited for her to be out of sight before opening the heavy door again. Jonathon was still sitting on his bed making notes and Bolton slammed the door shut behind him.

‘I am very popular today aren’t I.’

Jonathon said without lifting his head.

‘What did you do to that Doctor Crane.’

Jonathon snapped his book shut and looked to Bolton eyes over his glasses.

‘I assure you it is strictly professional.’

‘Is that right. Well then I assure you from professional to another, This is going to hurt.’        

‘What are you going on about Bolton.’

Bolton looked at the chain that connected Jonathon to the wall.

‘No where to run Crane,’

‘No where to hide neither Bolton.’

Bolton moved closer to him slowly as he prepared his fists.

‘Let’s see if I can get the scarecrow to be afraid,’

‘How much time you got.’

‘All night.’

Jonathon looked at Bolton unfazed by his actions knowing what is to come.The Crows outside squawked as they flew in circles outside, one of which landed on the window.

‘I guess I can pencil you in.’

‘I’m going to make sure you never get the chance to throw me around again, your staying in lockup.’

‘Haroo,Hraa.’

The crows cried the courtyard was empty, the screams where loud but tonight the crows where louder.

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

Famous Flame - Peter Parker

Demi Lovato Prompt #5 Listen Here: La La Land

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Word Count: 1,673 Synopsis: Reader is an actress studying Peter’s high school for an upcoming movie. They both have secret identities, but they’re keeping an entirely different secret about their feelings from each other.

No Endgame spoilers, either!

“What kind of high school aged person has to study a high school to know how to act like a high schooler?” Peter asked as MJ shoved her books in her locker.

“I have no idea. It’s supposed to be kept quiet, too. Once the movie is out, she’s supposed to become one of the biggest teen stars, but right now we have to keep it under wraps.”

“Okay, but how do you know all of this?”

“I’m class president. She’s coming here as a new student, and I’m in charge of showing her around. But since I’m too busy,” she said, closing her locker, “I’m passing that duty on to my best friend.”

“What makes you think I’m not busy?” She squinted her eyes at him, making Peter sigh. “Fine.”

“Great. She’s meeting us at lunch. Try not to embarrass-”

“I’m not going to embarrass you.”

“I was gonna say yourself, but good, don’t embarrass me either,” she said, patting his shoulder as she walked off towards class.

Three hours later, Peter walked into the cafeteria and found MJ and Ned sitting at their regular table with a new person. As Peter walked over, you looked up at him with a smile that made Peter forget even his name.

“Hi,” you said.

“Y/N, this is Peter,” MJ said, glaring at Peter. “Peter!”

“Hi! Sorry, sorry.” He held out his hand and you shook it with a smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you too.”

“Peter, sit. Stop being weird,” MJ said. You laughed softly, and it was a good thing that Peter was already sitting next to you because his knees were about to give out. 

“MJ says you’ll be showing me around the school,” you said, looking over at him.

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“I appreciate it. I know it seems silly, but the Netflix people want to make sure I know a genuine high school experience.”

“What kind of high school do you go to now?” Ned asked.

“I mostly get tutors to come in because I’ve been traveling around so much.”

“Have you been in anything we would have seen?”

“I’ve only had a couple of guest starring spots on a couple of TV shows but this movie with Netflix is the first thing I’ve been the lead in.”

“That’s awesome!” Ned exclaimed.

“Thanks!” you said, giggling softly. “So, what are your after school plans, Peter?”

“Oh, uh, nothing much.”

“Cool. Mind if I tag along? I have some questions to bounce off of you.” Peter choked on his sandwich as MJ kicked his shoe.

“Sure.”

“Great,” you said, touching his bicep gently. “I’ll meet you after class?”

“Sure,” he said again, his voice cracking just slightly. 

You waited for thirty minutes after school, but eventually, it was clear that either Peter had forgotten or blown you off. Starting school for the first time in the middle of a semester was a stressful experience, so you decided to treat yourself to a milkshake to make this day a little better. 

As you sat down in the nearest McDonald’s with your chocolate milkshake, you saw a flash of red outside the window, and instantly wondered if you had just seen the famous Spider-Man. A few moments later, Peter walked into the McDonalds, panting slightly.

“Y/N, I am so sorry,” he said, sitting across from you in the booth.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to bail on you, just something came up.”

“That’s alright,” you said, setting your milkshake down, letting out a sigh, “I realize it’s stupid that I know nothing about a normal high school, I’ve just lived a very weird life. I’m always flying all over the city, it’s hard to find someone to understand.”

“I understand.”

“No,” you said with a laugh, “You don’t. And it’s okay.”

“I do, though.”

“Do people go around shoving cameras in your face, hoping to catch you in your worst moment?” Peter’s face changed slightly, and for a second you wondered if he did know what you were feeling. “Peter?”

“No, but I also like to come here when I’ve had a bad day.” You smiled and Peter excused himself to go get himself a milkshake as well. “I am surprised to find you here, though.”

“Why?”

“I thought famous people were supposed to be health nuts.” You laughed and took a lengthy sip of your milkshake, making him laugh. 

“Well, I’m not a supermodel. I still eat McDonald's.” Peter smiled at you, making slight butterflies rise in your stomach.

“So that’s your co-star?” Peter asked as you took a seat next to him, watching the man who would be your romantic interest in your upcoming movie greet fans at the door to your cafeteria. The decision to film the movie at this school came two weeks after your first day, so not only did you get to film here, you got to actually study here, too. (Much to the delight of both you and Peter)

“Well, since I’m such a nobody, they wanted someone famous to star with me.”

“You’re not a nobody,” Peter said under his breath. He seemed to be embarrassed by the fact that Ned and MJ were around. Since starting here, you and Peter spent nearly every day together and had developed a new kind of relationship.

“Alright, perk up, he’s coming this way,” you said, nudging his shoulder. 

“Don’t look so nervous,” Peter said, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“I’m confident, but I still have my moments,” you said, standing up shakily as you introduced yourself to your co-star again, and to your group of friends. 

“Are you okay?” MJ whispered as your co-star sat down on the other side of you, shamelessly flirting with you.

“I’m fine,” Peter responded, focusing on his tater tots. MJ raised her eyebrow at him but didn’t question him any more. At the end of lunch, you all stood, and Peter turned towards you, as the two of you often walked to your biology class together. 

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Actually, I was just going to head out early with Noah to get ready for our next scene.”

“Yep, the prom kiss scene,” he said, grinning in a way that made Peter want to web him to the cafeteria floor.

“I’ll text you tonight?” you said as Noah put a hand on your back, leading you out of the cafeteria.

“Yeah, sure.”

It took another month and a half of shooting until you were finally done with filming. It was an exciting and stressful time, particularly because Peter never seemed to want to talk. You had been so close, up until Noah came to film your scenes together. 

It was the night before your first press junket when you finally saw him again. You were panicking about what was going to happen and only wanted to talk to him. You went to his apartment, but May said that he had left an hour or so ago. You called him a few times, but the longer he didn’t answer, the more stressed you got. 

Not wanting to go back home, you walked up to his rooftop, craving some fresh air. You sat on the ledge of the roof, looking out over the city. You loved New York, you didn’t want to move back to LA. Just as you were reaching the climax of your career crisis, you heard a thud behind you.

“Shit,” Spider-Man said, creating a web string to fly off the building.

“Wait!” you called, walking over to him, just as he dropped back onto the roof.

“What can I do for you, citizen?” he said in a deep voice that sounded fake.

“Well, truthfully, I could use some advice.”

“I’m not sure I’m the best-”

“Please,” you said, reaching for his gloved hand. He shrugged and took a seat next to you on the building’s ledge. 

“So, what can I do for you, citizen?”

“Well, I have this problem. It’s always been my dream to be an actress, and I just got to shoot my first movie.”

“That doesn’t sound like a problem.”

“It shouldn’t be, but if I want to continue this career, I’d have to move out to LA. Permanently.”

“Oh,” he said, his voice dropping to its normal octave. “Why don’t you want to move?”

“I don’t think I’ll fit there. I want to wear Converse with all of my dresses, not foot breaking high heels. Plus, I love the city, and there’s someone here that makes me love it even more. Even if he’s been a dick the last few days.”

“Oh? Who is this person.”

“My friend, Peter. He’s a nerd, but a total sweetheart. I really like him, and I think he likes me, too, but he hasn’t spoken to me in weeks.”

“Maybe he felt like your affection lied somewhere else.”

“Well, you said, scooting closer to the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, “If he would just look, he would see that my co-star is a complete bone head and an asshole. He’s not my type at all.”

“Well, I’m not sure I can help you anymore, citizen. Maybe you should just tell your friend how you feel.”

“I just did,” you said, smiling at him. He stuttered over a response as you grabbed the mask at his neck and pulled it off. 

“How did you know?” he asked quietly.

“I know how people live double lives, and you’re horrible at making excuses.” He smiled and took your hand, smiling. “So, Peter, tell me do you feel the way I feel?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. You smiled and leaned in to kiss him, running your hand through his soft hair. When he pulled away, he was grinning so cutely that you had to kiss him again. 

“Did I help you with your problem?” he asked, helping you to stand up.

“I won’t change anything in my life. I’m staying myself, and in New York. For now.”

“Good,” he said, pulling you back into his strong arms.

[waywardrose13]

A Broken Lullaby- Part Three

Previous Part // Series Masterlist // Rose’s Masterlist

Dean x Reader, ??? x Reader

Summary: You and Dean would  find yourself tangled together under the sheets on more than one  occasion. It was causal for him, but something much more to you. When a demon makes a comment that sits with Dean sourly, he makes you take a  pregnancy test, ultimately turning both of your lives upside down.

Warnings: Language, sexual content (very, very mild), Sweet!Sam, kinda flirting, fluffy!!!, angst, Dean’s a bastard... Fair warning.

A/N- Y’all really seemed to like the second chapter and I was really excited to post the third one so... Surprise! Thanks for all the kind words on the first and second chapters. It’s what helps motivate me to write for y’all. Hope you enjoy! Love you guys:)

Tags for the series are open, forever tags are open, angst/fluff bingo tags are open, character tags are open. Send me an ask!

It was early the next morning. The memory of last night was fresh in your brain, a newfound anger towards Dean making its way into your head. The fact that he also had not acknowledged you when you had invited him to your baby’s first appointment pissed you off to no end and you couldn’t believe he would just ignore you like that.

You sighed and slipped out of bed, flitting around the room and getting changed, picking up your discarded clothing from the night before and tossing them in the hamper in the corner of the room. You needed to get a few things done before going to the doctor’s, which included the giant pile of dirty clothes in the corner of your room.

You made your way through the quiet bunker in search of Dean. You had called and made an appointment, wanting to check on your baby’s health and get the first ultrasound and sonogram. You wanted to see if Dean was interested in going to the appointment with you, since he hadn’t let you know the night before. The bastard. Frankly, you didn’t really want to go alone. You hoped he’d want to tag along, see your baby for the first time. But he was nowhere to be found, setting a frown on your face.

You did, however, find Sam. He was sitting at the table in the library, munching on a bag of almonds. You smiled at him, thinking it was probably time to let him know that you were, in fact, pregnant.

 “Hey, Y/N,” Sam greeted cheerfully. He gave you a smile and looked back at his computer, popping another handful of nuts into his mouth.

“Where’s Dean?” You asked, taking a seat.

“He went off on a hunt,” He answered. “Seems like a simple salt and burn. Why? Didn’t he tell you?” You frowned.

“Uh, no… I uh, I made an appointment today,” You said. “I was planning on asking Dean to go with me. I don’t really wanna go alone.”

“Is everything okay?” He asked, his brows furrowing in worry.

“Yeah, it just turns out that the demon was right.” You gave him a small smile, looking down in your hands in your lap.

“You mean… Wait, really?” He asked. You nodded, his hazel eyes filling with confusion. “Are you and Dean… a thing?”

“Well, it was supposed to be a one time thing. But, you know how I feel about him and… It just kept happening. I dunno… I don’t think he feels the same way. I know he doesn’t feel the same way. He also wasn’t too thrilled that I was pregnant either.”

Sam gave you an empathetic smile and reached across the table to grasp your hand. “Look, I know Dean. He’ll warm up eventually.”

“Hopefully, but at first… He wanted to get rid of the baby.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. He said some stuff that really hurt me and proved my worst fear. He doesn’t want a relationship with me, nor does he want our baby. He looks at what we were as just fuck buddies. I know I can’t force feelings onto another person, that’s not what I’m trying to do and I know it’s not fair to talk like this but… It just hurts, Sam,” You said. You let out a breath and ran your free hand through your hair.

“He’s stupid for not wanting to be with you,” Sam said softly. You glanced up at him, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I know he’s my brother and I shouldn’t say this but… You deserve the world and I don’t think Dean would be able to give that to you.”

You blushed, ducking your head, your hair falling in front of your face. Maybe Sam was right, though you couldn’t help what you felt. But what Sam said made a new flutter rise in your chest, one you never felt around him before.

“Thanks, Sam. But I still wish he was here,” You murmured. “I really don’t want to go to my first appointment alone.”

“I’ll go with you!” Sam chirped. “I’d love to see my little niece or nephew.”

You smiled and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Sam.”

“And, Y/N?” He said as you got up from the table. “Congratulations.”

***

The day was cool and hazy. A thick blanket of grey covered the sky, the sweet smell of unfallen rain and the weight of a potential downpour looming in the air. You and Sam walked in a comfortable silence down the sidewalk, your hair pulled into a soft braid that fell over your shoulder. Your brown, heeled boots clacked softly against the pavement with each step you took. You slipped your hands into the pockets of your sweater, the light wind blowing the stray strands of H/C around your face.

“You nervous?” Sam asked after you checked in. Your leg bounced up and down as you glanced around the room, your eyes landing on all the other expectant mothers and their husbands and partners. Your frown grew. You were so grateful that Sam had accompanied you, but you wished Dean was here to see his baby for the first time.

“That obvious?” You asked, giving him a small smile.

“It’ll be fine, Y/N/N,” Sam said. He placed his hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing small circles to help calm you.

“Eliza James?” The nurse called. You stood up at the sound of your cover name, which was also the name on the insurance card, and walked with Sam to follow the tall brunette. “How are you today, Ms. James?”

“Um, nervous,” You said. She sat you down and began to take your blood pressure. She went through each routine check-up painlessly and then led you down blue and pink decorated hallway to your room, holding the door open.

“Doctor Adams should be in soon.” The nurse smiled, her blue eyes twinkling with kindness. You sighed deeply and sat up on the table, fiddling with your fingers.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Y/N,” Sam said. “You’ll be fine.”

“I know but it’s my first baby, Sam,” You said. “And the father isn’t even here.”

“I know,” He murmured.

A light knock sounded on the door. It opened slightly, a face peering inside. “Ms. James?”

“Yes,” You said.

Doctor Adams was a lanky woman with shiny black hair and thick rimmed glasses that sat on a pointed nose. Her slender arms were curled tightly around a clipboard as she walked in, her heels clacking on the tiled floor with each step. “Hello, Ms. James. I’m Doctor Adams and I will be performing your first prenatal exam and ultrasound,” She said. She walked to the side of the bed and seated herself onto the chair. She clicked her pen and looked up at you.

She asked you a series of questions and did a few routine checkup tests, all the while keeping a kind smile on her face. She wasn’t a very graceful woman, bumping your nose a few times with her hand and backing up into her chair, but she was efficient and got right to it.

“Alright, Ms. James, we are going to start your ultrasound,” She said, setting her clipboard down on the sink behind her. She put on a pair of gloves and grabbed a tube, walking back over to you. “Now, this will be cold,” She warned as she squeezed a bit of the gel onto your belly.

She grabbed the wand and spread the gel around before looking up at the screen, her wide smile getting impossibly wider as her brown eyes lit up with excitement. “There’s the little bean!”

You looked up, your anticipation eating at you. As soon as your eyes landed on the screen, you couldn’t help the smile that quickly spread on your face. Your heart instantly felt fuller as it swelled with love for the unborn baby inside you. Your eyes began to water at the intensity of it and you reached out to grab Sam’s hand.

“I say you’re about six weeks along,” Doctor Adams said. “Don’t be frightened if you begin to have morning sickness within the next few days. The six week mark is about when it starts.”

 “Wow,” Sam breathed, his face lit up with awe. He looked on with curiosity and keenness at the tiny bean-like shape on the screen. He was absolutely thrilled that’d he’d have a niece or nephew.

“Daddy’s excited?” Doctor Adams joked, giving Sam a knowing look. Your eyes snapped to his, your head shaking.

“Oh, no, he’s not the father,” You said. “He’s the uncle.”

“Oh, my apologies,” Doctor Adams said. “But you are excited, no?”

“Very!” Sam smiled. Doctor Adams gave him a nod and looked back at the screen.

“Well, your baby looks perfectly fine. It’s right where it’s supposed to be, so far so good. Would you like a copy of the sonogram?” She asked.

“Oh, please,” You answered.

3rd person POV

She stared at the picture all the way back to the bunker, her hand on her still flat belly, thumb tracing small circles. Her heart was filled to the brim with absolute love for the tiny thing inside of her. She couldn’t wait to hold her baby, see its little eyes- which she hoped would be as green as Dean’s- and run her hand over its little head.

Sam watched her, a small smile on his face. He was so happy for her, knowing that she always secretly wanted a family. Y/N had told him before that she hoped Dean would be the father of her children some day. He knew all about her feelings for his older brother. He had pushed for Dean to break through his shell, maybe admit his feelings for her too. But Dean never had said anything.

He sighed deeply, his smile fallen and a frown replacing it. As Y/N and Dean slept together secretly, Sam harbored his own secret. One that no one knew about. But if someone looked hard enough, they’d be able to see the signs. How he gazed at her across the room, or even the table. How he’d take a stance in front of her protectively during any dire situation. How he’d jump at the opportunity to help her with anything and everything. And how when he found out she was pregnant, his heart ached at the thought that it wasn’t his, and it never would be.

Because she was in love with his brother. A womanizing, drinking, ignorant brother that he had to watch throw the woman he loved to the side like she was nothing. Like she was just another bitch from a bar. Dean had been the second person she had given herself to, and he didn’t seem to care.

And no, he didn’t care. As Y/N and Sam drove back to the bunker from the appointment, Dean was drunk and pounding into a chick from the bar he had been to. Their grunts and moans pissing the people in the next room off, their bangs on the wall echoing through the motel room.

Dean rolled off her when they were finished, breathless and sated. He hadn’t given any thought about Y/N or the baby. He just saw an easy lay and took it, bidding her farewell after she got dressed with harsh goodbye and another drink of whisky.

He was alone again. The dark of the motel room swallowing him like a black hole, the alcohol making his head fuzzy. He collapsed onto the bed, the stench of sex still in the air as he drifted off to sleep, unaware of the text message that had come through his phone.

The message containing the first picture of his child.

Part Four

A Broken Lullaby tag list:

@ocholove  

@lovethyname12  

@pisces-cutie  

@maesunshine

@hopplessdreamer  

@destiel-shipper-for-life  

@rach5ive  

@mirandaaustin93

@msun996  

@whatmakesmebeme-tblr  

@polina-93  

@a–1–1–3  

@supernatural-bellawinchester  

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@squirrel-next-door

@deanzeppeloin  

@wayward-gypsy  

@sherlockedtash88  

@mannls  

@lovelyrocker  

@ladywinchester1967

Forever tag list:

@jennalyncarrigan1230  

@mogaruke  

@kittyk26  

@waywardsepticeye  

@luciferslucille  

@cookiecakeslive

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@alexwinchester23  

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@justsomerandomarchangel

SPN tag lists:

@impatient-witch

@sandlee44

@blackcherrywhiskey

@ain-t-bovvered

Dean/Jensen tags:

@aubreystilinski

@whimsicalrobots

@dean-winchesters-bacon  

@polina-93

@mirandaaustin93

@gigglesandwags

[wrckhvck]

         In PORTLAND, ME I found JAX COYNE, a child with the ability of BLOOD MANIPULATION. At first HE came off as IMPETUOUS but they also seemed GREGARIOUS. I was unable to procure the child, as an adult, they should resemble GRANT GUSTIN.  ( c, she/her )

hey hi hello everyone!  i thought my rping days were behind me but i loved TUA and decided to give this a go.  we’ll see how it works out shshshss.  i love yelling about riverdale ( so bad its kinda good ), shadowhunters, broadway, and love cats more than people and i’m super hyped to be here.  for a little more about jax, you can keep reading ~   also this is important !!! there are a lot of trigger warnings re: his past / life so i’m going to list them all here instead of in the tags at the bottom. you have been warned.   

           trigger warnings:  minor child abuse, child abandonment, domestic violence, negative self-talk, lack of self-esteem, suicidal ideation, self harm, self mutilation in the name of science, lack of self-worth, lack of self-preservation, unintentional suicide attempts, warped self image, bloodplay(ish), mentions of violence / self-violence.

        TLDR:  jax has a fucked up sense of self and likes to experiment on himself. proceed with caution i guess ???  

&. basics

full name: jackson ‘jax’ edward coyne

nicknames: jax, jaxxy, jack

age: 29

sexuality: pansexual

relationship status: single

date of birth: october 1

place of birth:  portland, me

gender & species: cismale, enhanced humanoid(?)

current location: unknown.

&. more basic info

languages: english, spanish, french. 

religion: n/a - he’s an atheist. 

education: BS degree in human biology concentration from the university of southern maine & MD from uConn school of medicine. 3 years studying to be a forensic scientist and now completing a one year residency/fellowship before getting board certified. 

occupation: forensic pathologist

drinks, smokes, & drugs: yes, no, yes.

&. personality

zodiac sign: ( references: one, two ) libra

mbti: ( reference link ) istj

likes:  emo music, pasta dishes, cats, supernatural (tv), black nail polish, coffee, true crime podcasts, greek yoghurt. 

dislikes:  socialization, herbal tea, vaping, people who don’t use their turn signals when driving, one way streets, mustard, taylor swift music, and reality tv.  

bad habits: bites his nails, picks scabs when you’re not supposed to, obsesses over getting song lyrics right, poor posture, obsessing over things that can’t be changed. 

secret talent: tattooing. he’s not licensed to do any work on anyone else, but he’s done a lot of the work on his sleeves himself.  he had his in love and death tattoo done when he was 16 and he’s been addicted ever since.  he was too broke to be able to afford constant work so he had to learn how to do it himself with a lot of trial and error.  

hobbies: listening to true crime podcasts, research, drawing/sketching, watching wrestling, boxing, studying, etc.  

fears: isolation, decision making, the future, responsibility, the truth about his origins. 

five positive traits: determined, altruistic, loyal, competitive & vulnerable

five negative traits: impetuous, cowardly, stubborn, blunt, & prone to self-harm in the name of science. 

other mentionable details:   jax has done some Questionable Shit TM in the name of science.  as he can control / manipulate blood, he’s frequently injured himself to test the extent of his abilities.  he’s also caused some health issues by increasing his blood pressure / fucking with the way blood is supposed to work that has landed him in the hospital a few times.  he’s also tried playing operation with himself and has been studying his genetics obsessively to try to figure what the hell is he / who he is.  he grew up thinking he was a monster (bc thats what they told him he was) so he sometimes considers himself more of a science experiment than a person.  

&. appearance

tattoos: he has full sleeves up and down his arms.  i can’t really find anything that suits it but i think the left side would be venom / symbiotes and  maybe some nightmare before christmas elements??? idk.  the other one would be like a graveyard kind of theme with like tombstones, skulls, some wild looking shapes and black roses..  he also has the album artwork from in love and death by the used on the side of his ribcage (x)   he also has the tattoo from supernatural (x) bc he’s a fucking dork and its his favorite show. 

piercings: nipple, septum, tongue. 

faceclaim: grant gustin.

&. family information

parent names:  helen & n/a. 

parent relationship:  he doesn’t have a relationship with his parents.  his mother gave birth to him at 17 - after having  not been pregnant until she went into labor - and always considered him an abomination. helen’s boyfriend broke up with her thinking she’d been unfaithful and wouldn’t believe that she hadn’t broken their agreement. they’d been saving themselves for marriage and were planning to get married the summer after they graduated.  betrayed by her love and judged by her extremely conservative, religious, family, helen found herself looking for love in all of the wrong places.  this love was never shared with her son.  when she abandoned him at a local orphanage, he was only 5 years old.  he never saw her again. 

sibling names:  n/a.  he doesn’t consider himself having any siblings. he bounced out of foster home after foster home and never made any lasting connections. 

sibling relationship: n/a

other relevant relative: none. he had a maternal uncle but he passed away when he was a baby. he never knew him. 

children: n/a

significant other / spouse: n/a

pets: he has a pet snaked named anguis. it means snake in latin. he thinks he’s clever. he’s not. sdkjgsds. 

&. biography

        it was a blustery october day when helen coyne doubled over in the park across the street from her house. she was meeting her boyfriend, edward lovington, and they had plans to get milkshakes and go to the movies.  instead she was rushed to the hospital under suspicion of a burst appendix, only to give birth to a healthy baby boy some minutes later.   this phenomenon would later be known to be the moment that 43 women around the world delivered babies without ever having been pregnant.  each child would have abilities beyond comprehension and some would go on to become students at the umbrella academy.  jax would not enjoy such a fate. 

      helen’s parents were extremely religious.  she and her boyfriend had pledged their chastity under the belief that they would be married come the summer and he believed her to have broken that vow.  he ended things with her and her family turned their backs on her.  only her brother kept in contact, allowing her and the baby to move into his guest house until they could get back onto their feet.  he was named jackson edward, after his maternal grandfather and his mother’s former love.  jax never met either man but had heard the story from his mother as he grew up.  to this day he doesn’t know why helen decided to keep him; why he wasn’t given up for adoption as a baby, or abandoned at the hospital on the day he was born. 

     desperate for love and looking in the wrong places, helen suffered a string of abusive and controlling men.  it was a circle of abuse that she seemed caught in, believing to her core that she deserved it because god had punished her.  this continued until jax was five, when her latest boyfriend scratched her face.  the cuts welled up - the first time a boyfriend had drawn blood in jax’s presence - but to everyone’s dismay, the wound coagulated and the blood disappeared, back where it came from.  her boyfriend would have killed them both - afraid of what he’d seen when jax yelled at him to stop - but his eyes ran red as the blood inside his body boiled and cooked him from the inside out.  the sound of his body hitting the floor was drowned out by helen’s screams.  jax was abandoned at a local orphanage days later, his mother unable to look at him as she believed he was a monster.  

        maine isn’t a big city.  the area they were in was extremely small, so whispers of what had happened to helen’s boyfriend ran rampant.  jax was branded a freak, kept in isolation at the orphanage in fear of what he’d do to the other children.  he didn’t understand his powers yet and believed what his mother said was true; that he was a monster and that he deserved whatever happened to him as a consequence of it.  he withdrew into himself and was selectively mute until his teen years, bouncing from foster home to foster home as he grew.   it was only when he was 13, now exploring his powers with a morbid curiosity he would later attribute to scientific hypothesis, that he started speaking again.  

     jax grew up very isolated and socially awkward.  he doesn’t always know how to talk to people or how to appropriately react in certain situations.  he’s very morbid, has a dark sense of humor, and has a lot of questionable interests.  his music taste is skewed towards screamo / emo music and heavy metal.  he prefers horror movies to essentially every other genre and spends hours listening to true crime podcasts and lives on CSI / Criminal Minds / SVU etc.  his favorite bands are my chemical romance, the used, saosin, underoath, black veil  brides, and disturbed. 

       academically, jax is kind of a genius.  he didn’t really have friends so he spent a lot of time studying.  he finds biology interesting because his own biology fascinates him.  he can control blood; can make it coagulate, raise his own blood pressure, and even create it from his own cells.  it doesn’t make sense.  it doesn’t fit into what he knows about the human condition and that fascinates him.  experimenting on himself has become second nature and he covered up the majority of the scarring with tattoos.  the only friend he ever had showed him how to do some of it himself as a teenager and he’s kept up with the hobby - buying cheap supplies online or cutting corners to keep up with the artwork decorating his body. 

     with two degrees under his bet, jax is swimming in debt.  honestly his checking account is a terrifying place to live.  he’s been low-key indulging in credit card scams for years to keep his head above water.  he has a ledger where he’s written down every card, every loan, and every payment he needs to pay back. it’s locked in a safe so no one can ever find it.  as a forensic pathologist he’ll make good money and hopefully be able to pay it all back before the cops come knocking down his door. 

[icedinsomnia]

UnderMoon Part 7

The castle sat on the top of a cliff, its walls made of stone so ancient it looked like it would fall apart any second. The trees were tall pines, which made it easier to hide from any patrolling guard.

‘Man, I’d say that stone is as ancient as the mountain. Worth more than any of us that’s for sure.’ Muffet exclaimed as Nick maneuvered them past the guards and up to the castle.

‘Wow! That castle is so huuuugggeeeee!’ MK said in awe, his childish voice becoming the most annoying sound in their head.

‘Monster Kid, we must be quiet. Who knows when the battle will erupt.’ Asgore explained to the child, he immediately quieted down.

“Papyrus, you’ve been quiet… is everything ok?” Nick whispered, hiding in the shadows.

‘Oh yes I am fine, just… preparing for the battle…’ he was scared to face the king, they all were… even Chara.

“Look… I have faith in us. I know we will be able to defeat the king. You just have to have faith.” Nick smiled, confident in their abilities.

“Please, everyone, believe in me. I will get us through this.” Nick mumbled. They were at the doors of the castle.

‘I believe in you Nick.’ Frisk chimed in.

‘So do I!’ MK said excitedly.

‘Same here.’ Flowey added.

‘We all believe in you Nick. Now go and kick your father’s ass!’ Undyne laughed, everyone agreeing and supporting Nick as they pushed open the door to the castle.

 Surprisingly there were no guards patrolling the castle. It was too easy.

‘Be cautious Nick.’ Asgore said quietly. Nick nodded and crept along the wall, staying in the shadows.

‘Up ahead is the throne room. He should be there…’ Frisk whispered, even though he didn’t have to. Nick took a deep breath and opened the door to the throne room. Inside sat a monster the size of them, his cloak covering his face. His armor that of the medieval times, skeletal and ghostly flesh and bone jutting out of the armors openings. His crown made from human bones.

“So, you’ve come at last my son.” The king roared, his voice making the windows tremble.

“I’ve come to stop your tyranny! You are not fit to rule this kingdom!” Nick yelled back, his voice matching the intensity of his father’s. His father broke out in hysterical laughter that seemed to shake the whole castle.

“YOU THINK YOU CAN STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME?!” the king laughed, standing upright.

“Hell yeah! We will beat you and bring peace to the kingdoms!” Everyone seemed to yell at once.

“SO BE IT…” The king hissed. And the battle began. Nick automatically recognized the fighting style his father was using. It was a mixture of his, Maddie’s and Mark’s style of fighting.

“This will be a piece of cake!” Nick said, summoning his weapons and entrapping the whole room in Muffet’s webs.

“Is that so?” The king jeered, sending rustic weapons their way for his first attack, which they avoided easily.

‘Nick, those were physical attacks wrapped in magic!’ Flowey exclaimed.

“Yeah and?” Nick said back using his turn to attack back, he missed.

‘What he means is that he can use physical attacks against you since it’s also a magic attack.’ Chara added.

“Well can’t we do that?” Nick asked, sweat pouring down his face at seeing what seemed like millions of swords and knives aimed right at him, all of them cloaked in magic.

‘We don’t know how!’ Papyrus said worried.

‘Nick dodge that!’ Sans yelled, everyone’s screams bouncing around in his head. Nick tried to concentrate on teleporting to the ceiling, but was to slow and was dealt a minor blow to the shoulder of his upper left arm. Nick held onto the webs with his right arms.

“Damn…” Nick mumbled, looking down at the king.

‘Nick you have never been one for fights, let one of us take over.’ Undyne added, pumped up.

“No… no we have to work together. Everyone, we can beat him if we work together!” Nick yelled to them, the king smiling wickedly.

‘Alright!’ Frisk said, the others following suite. Together the ten of them controlled the boss, its stats seeming to increase just by their willpower. With their left arms they summoned their weapon while also using blue magic to keep the king to the ground, the webs working to grab at his soul.

“Blue means stop.” Papyrus said in their voice. The king tried to move, only to get hit by almost all the weapons aimed at him, dropping his health by a fourth.

“Huh, how about that.” The king seemed impressed with their efforts.

“But now it’s my turn.” The king broke free of Muffet’s webs and the blue attack to charge straight at them at high speeds.

“Dodge!” Sans yelled in their voice. The teleported safely to the ground but…

“Hello there!” The king laughed as he seemingly appeared beside them, using shear force throwing them against the far wall, breaking it into pieces. The webs untangling slowly.

“We can’t let the webs untangle!” Muffet said in their voice.

“Why?” Nick asked, looking at their health. They were down by a half.

“The webs are the only leverage we have, we have teleportation but I can feel his movements threw the webs. It would be easier if he couldn’t see us though…” Muffet sighed, they thought for a moment. The king awaiting their attack.

“I have an idea.” MK said excitedly.

“What is it?” Asgore asked. They all listened intently, but never taking their eyes off the king.

“We can use our physical attack this round to kill the light in the room to get an advantage. Then we use blue magic on the king, the only problem is he can cloak physical attacks in magic, we have magic from Nick, Sans, Papyrus and Flowey but dodging attacks like that would fall to-“MK was cut off by the two humans.

“That would fall to us.” Frisk and Chara said simultaneously.

“Ok, then lets put this plan to action!” Nick said, the ten of them putting their plan into action. They started by summoning an exact number of weapons and aiming them at the lights around the room, encasing them in darkness.

“What are you up to?” The king muttered, listening to the sounds of their movements. The webs went silent, the spider like stealth that Muffet contributed serving its purpose.

“Come out, come out where ever you are.” The king sang in an unpleasant tone. He sent rustic arrows upward with the speed and accuracy of a thousand trained assassins. But luckily for them, they were nowhere near the top of the room. It was their turn. They used blue magic to grab the king’s soul, but instead of Papyrus calling the shots, it was Sans.

“This trick again. Seriously. Go ahead and throw more useless weapons at me! They won’t do a thing.” The king taunted. Standing unusually still. They waited for the king to attack, moving very quietly around the base of the room.

“What is he waiting for?” Nick whispered. The third eye they have was from Muffet apparently, because without it they wouldn’t have been able to see in the dark.

“Something’s not right…” Undyne whispered back. The king muttered under his breath, chanting.

“He’s using his dark magic!” Fisk said in a hushed tone, the king’s gaze landing directly on them. In a matter of heartbeats the king shot a bold of dark magic at them, trapping them in burning restraints. They screamed, Nick taking the blow for them.

‘NICK!’ Frisk cried, trying to hold his soul together.

‘DO SOMETHING!’ Frisk wailed, Sans using his magic to hold Nick’s soul together, the cracks getting deeper.

‘Fuck it! I’m taking over!’ Chara, the genocidal, took full control of the body, COURAGE reigning supreme.

“I WILL KILL YOU FOR HURTING OUR LITTLE PASIFIST!” Chara roared, breaking free of the restraints with little effort and charging full speed into enemy fire, avoiding all attacks with ease.

‘Nick! Hang in there!’ Flowey teared up, trying to remain calm. Muffet used her webs to try and stabilize the pieces, but to no avail. The cracks kept getting deeper.

‘Does anyone have healing magic?! Or health items?!’ MK cried, trembling like a leaf. Everyone looked from one to the other.

‘Papyrus, can’t you heal?’ Undyne asked, looking at him with sincere eyes.

‘Y…yes, I do know how to use healing magic… but…’ Everyone looked at Papyrus, either with the expression of sadness or fury.

‘I… since I got this new soul my magic hasn’t been the same… I’m not sure my healing magic will be the same either…’ Papyrus rubbed his arms.

‘P…Pap… I…its ok… don’t…push…yourself…’ Nick muttered, trying to sit up. Frisk pushed him back down.

‘At least try, what’s the worst that can happen?’ Muffet hissed, avoiding Sans’s glare. Papyrus nodded.

‘O…ok…’ Papyrus sat next to Nick, doing his best to heal with the alterations of his new soul.

‘How are things going out there Chara?’ Asgore asked.

“OH JUST DANDY!” Chara reflected the attacks with their weapon, a fresh coat of blood on the blade.

‘You landed a hit on him?!’ Undyne exclaimed, astonished at the human girl.

‘At least she’s on our side…’ Sans mumbled under his breath. Chara didn’t respond to that.

“Yeah I hit him… looks like the blue attack is still in effect, hey Sans, try throwing this guy around like you did with me that one time.” Chara tested her luck against Sans patience. There was a moment of silence.

‘Fine…’ Sans co controlled the body with Chara, together they lifted the king up by his soul and hit him against every pole and wall in the room with all their might.

“I wonder if the blasters still work.” Chara teased, Sans getting more irritated with her. Using their combined magic they summoned spiked bones that jutted out of every corner of the floor and ceiling, blasters surrounding every inch of the walls.

“Let’s end this!” Sans roared, firing all the blasters at once and sending the bones threw their target with precision and clout. The light from all the blasters blinding to them.

‘Did we win?!’ Undyne yelled, everyone else hoping for the same result as her. The bones crumbled away, the blasters disarmed, and standing in the middle of the floor was the king. His health had taken a decent hit, but it wasn’t as affective as everyone had hoped.

‘DAMN IT!’ Undyne yelled.

‘G…guys… we have… to work together… use… all our souls… together…’ Nick coughed, using Frisk to sit up.

‘But… Nick… your soul can’t take another hit like that… you could…’ Papyrus started. They all knew that Nick could turn to dust any second under the right condition.

‘I’ll… be fine… we need to use… all the souls… all our power… at the same time… he has… a fourth health left… we can do it…!’ Nick smiled, determined. Everyone hesitated, but agreed none the less.

“So, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve, Fasgpyrnethk?” The king taunted. They all were so confused at the name the king had called them, like what even was that jumble of letters?!

“What?” Chara asked, weapon at the ready.

“Fasgpyrnethk, the combination of all ten of your names. It took me ages to think of something as complicated as that but what else is there to do other than wage war against inferior species?” The king shrugged in a childlike way.

‘Does something seem different about him?’ Sans asked, the body nodded.

‘Yeah totally, he has never been this relaxed and childish in all the years I’ve known him.’ Frisk responded.

“Yeah same here…” Chara added, glaring at the robed king.

“Hey king Lunic, take of your robe.” Chara challenged. The king became flustered.

“W…why?!” he covered his face like a child, embarrassed.

“That’s… not him…”Nick spoke in a weak voice.

‘What do you mean?’ Flowey inquired, Nick stood, Frisk holding him up.

‘His… personality… is different’ Nick coughed, Frisk trying to get him to sit back down.

‘I… haven’t known… him long, but there… is a clear difference… in… the one we were fighting… and the one… we are facing right now.’ Everyone paused, they looked at the embarrassed figure. Something was off.

“You aren’t the king… are you?” Frisk took over, trying to be kind instead of threatening. The king didn’t say anything for a bit, he was shaking.

“N…no… I’m not the king…” the skeletal hands with rotten flesh on them pulled the hood back to reveal what could only be described as horrific. It was like a skeleton’s face and a little girls face were melted together in a painful experiment, one could only wonder what the rest of them looks like…

“I…I’m Eliza… I was taken from my home and brought here… the king said if I was good… if I helped him… I could see my family again… but it’s been so long… so, so long… and I’m always in pain… the king said that if I stayed out of his way… and only was useful in supplying my  WISDOM… that I wouldn’t be hurt anymore… but… I… just want to go home… I want to see my family again… I WANT TO BE MYSELF AGAIN!” the child half of the face was crying, the skeleton like half… was leaking an ominous black substance…

“Please… please help me… I want this pain to stop… I want this to stop!” the child cried, pleading.

‘I’ll handle this… Asgore announced, no one protested. They all knew they had to end this child’s suffering… one way or another.

“Just… hold still…” Asgore mumbled, summoning a weapon and holding it in their lowest right hand.

“The pain will end soon…” But before Asgore could finish them, they changed.

“NO! I WILL NOT DIE BECAUSE OF YOUR WEAKNESS!” the Litch king shouted, his consciousness resurfacing. He summoned a rustic sword laced in magic.

“I don’t want to kill anymore!” the child shouted back, their consciousness’s fighting each other for control.

“Eliza?!” Asgore had shouted through their voice, but before he could help the suffering child…

“Tell my family…I love them…” Eliza took the sword and broke their own combined soul with it, the sound of it shattering and finally breaking staring a full five minutes of silence. The dust of the Litch king littered the floor, no trace left of Eliza. They, Fasgpyrnethk, left the castle without speaking. The armies of monsters that had surrounded the castle broke away at seeing them. It must have been Sans who took over because before they knew it they were beside the lake again.

“Hey… guys…” Nick said, seeming to have recovered slightly from Papyrus’s healing magic.

“Yeah?” MK responded.

“That girl…Eliza…”Nick started.

“There was nothing we could do for her…” Undyne sighed.

“Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about it…” Chara muttered.

“I knew her…” Nick rejoined, everyone caught off guard.

“I remember… we use to play together as children in an orphanage… one by one the king would take a child… trying to use them for his evil deeds we thought… but when it was my turn… I guess… my soul was given to the son of the king, who was deathly ill… that’s why my memories were so jumbled… because I was remembering my memories… and his…” Nick exhaled, the cold air brushing against their skin.

“Nick… I’m… so sorry…” Papyrus soothed, trying to comfort Nick in these times of distress.

“It’s alright Pap… I’m more upset about Eliza…” A tear rolled down their face.

“What was she to you?” Muffet asked, seeming to be generally curious. There was a pause, a light breeze the only noise that the twilight had to offer.

“She was my sister…” was all Nick could say before grief overtook him.

[welllpthisishappening]

Getting Chirpy

A few weeks ago @distant-rose was like...what if there were fans who were upset about Will’s nickname for Matthew Jones?? Because Dr. J was a very famous basketball player. And I was like that’s actually hysterical. It’s taken some time, but it’s been a day and a half for Ro and she deserves some hockey feelz. So here’s that. In, like, spades. 

“Ok, ok, ok, I know we’re not supposed to look at headlines, but—“

“—Are you looking at headlines, Lucas?”

“Shut up, Cap,” Ruby snapped, slamming the door behind her and marching into the restaurant with a purpose that made Emma sit up a bit straighter. She winced at the movement, the bench unforgiving against the small of her back and several different worried glances shot her direction.

She rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Ariel muttered, leaning over the top of the bar and pointedly ignoring Eric’s rather pitiful attempts to stop her. Her feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. “Here.”

Emma blinked when she realized what was being thrown her direction – a goddamn pillow and she probably should have known, but it was the beginning of the season and maybe things had been a little more hectic this time around because this time around she also had a recently-turned-three-year-old to contend with and a home opener that was a week later than usual and—

“Don’t ask,” Ariel warned, rolling her eyes when Killian tried to object or explain or something. It didn’t really matter one way or another because everyone in that entire restaurant knew Emma was going to covet that pillow like it was made of actual gold.

That had totally been his plan.

Idiot.

“I think he’s got some stashed everywhere,” Robin mumbled knowingly. He didn’t move his eyes towards Emma though, far too preoccupied with that recently-turned-three-year-old. Matt was perched on the edge of the stool, laughter ringing in the air around him and both his hands resting on Robin’s jacket, David hovering a few feet behind to make sure the whole thing didn’t dissolve into disaster.

“Where else would he put them?” Emma asked.

“Think of a place and they’re probably there.”

“That’s insane.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

Emma laughed, squirming again when the pillow seemed to rebel agains the bottom of her spine and she couldn’t figure out where to put her arms. There was just…way too much in front of her and of her and several other ways of expressing the words far too pregnant without actually saying those words because they felt kind of horrible in that particular order.

“This one’s been here for seriously years,” Ariel shrugged. “I think he forgot it was here.”

“You know I’m sitting right here, right?” Killian asked, the words barely audible when he didn’t move his mouth away from the glass in his hand. Water. All water all the time.

It’s the start of the season, Swan.

And probably something about her inability to drink alcohol.

He was the world’s biggest idiot.

Ariel shrugged again. “That doesn’t exactly sound like an objection. How long has this pillow been here?”

“I genuinely do not know.”

“And you don’t think that’s a problem?”

“Why did you know it was there?”

“You do know that this is my restaurant, right, Cap?” Ariel seethed, waving another distracted hand over her shoulder when Eric started to object to that particular point. “Like. I’m letting you hang out here. With your home goods.”

“I legitimately forgot it was there.”

“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” Will muttered, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice while Robin and David made eerily similar noises. “Em, if I get more onion rings, you want to split ‘em with me and Dr. J?”

Emma shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“I’m sorry, what? Are you turning down onion rings? Cap, are you hearing this? Shouldn’t you be going into imminent second child crisis mode?”

Robin mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like shut up, Scarlet, groaning when Matt moved onto his thighs and it took less than a full second for David to pull the kid into his arms – earning several kicks for his efforts. Mary Margaret took a picture. It was even more impressive with her own kid in her arms.

And Killian grinned at Emma.

She was going to throw the pillow straight at his face.

She wasn’t entirely sure she could move enough to do that.

“That’s not what’s happening here,” Killian grinned, moving across the restaurant quickly and easily and it probably wasn’t supposed to be attractive but stupid pregnant was basically Emma’s excuse for everything at this point. He tapped the side of her ankle when he stopped short of the booth, but Emma didn’t move, just twisted her lips and waited for whatever slightly strange game of flirting they were playing to move to the next level.

Or whatever.

She’d lost total control of the metaphor.

God, she wanted onion rings. And like…maybe just straight onions? That was a disgusting thought.

Killian chuckled lightly, hooking his forearm under her calves and lifting her feet up so he could sit down. He couldn’t quite mask his own groan when her heels collided with that one bruise on the side of his thigh, and that probably should have worried her more. She was far too distracted by whatever his thumb was doing against the top of her shin, tracing out absent-minded circles with a smile on his face and a secret stash of pillows across the greater Manhattan area.

“Was anyone going to explain what was happening here, then?” Will demanded. Killian didn’t look at him, didn’t stop moving his thumb either, but his lips twitched slightly and it took a few seconds for him to twist enough that his right hand landed on Emma’s side.

“You are a menace,” she accused, and he hummed in response. She wished he’d stop doing that thing with his mouth. She hoped he didn’t stop doing that thing with his mouth.

“Yes, and I’m pretty sure our kid learned his distinct lack of limb control from you, Swan.”

“Wow, that’s rude.”

“An observation.”

“Still,” Emma argued, and she’d forgotten entirely about the rest of the restaurant and whatever Regina-esque metronome Ruby was tapping out with her heel. “Not exactly positive.”

“His flailing limbs are not inherently negative.”

“Whatever. I refuse to take responsibility for that. You’re the professional athlete. Teach him better and while you’re at all it, deal with the other one.”

She’d done it mostly – entirely – for the reaction and the gasp that swept across the entire restaurant was oddly satisfying, Killian’s eyebrows jumping up his forehead and lips parting slightly and Matt was standing on top of the bar now.

“Doing backflips,” Emma continued, like that wasn’t a huge deal or endearing or several other words she didn’t want to consider when Killian’s entire hand moved over the swell of her stomach. “Or running sprints or something.”

Killian’s head snapped up – eyes bright and smile wide and for one vaguely distracting moment Emma considered jumping him in the booth. That would probably end with the pillow on the floor though, and she didn’t want to challenge her spine like that, and there’d been rumors of possible bed rest at the last doctor’s appointment and—

“Was anyone going to actually get Emma the onion rings she wanted?” Mary Margaret asked, and it shouldn’t have been surprising she knew. It wasn’t really. “Because I think Killian’s kind of forgot and Ruby looks like she wants to kill all of us.”

“Oh, you’re all going to die incredibly gruesome deaths for whatever nonsense I just had to witness,” Ruby announced. She slung an around Roland, muttering words when he tried to pull away and keep playing some form of pick-up hockey with Henry that just looked like them trying to bounce the puck on their stick for prolonged periods of time. “But it did actually kind of segue into the headlines that, just for the record, Cap, it’s my job to know about.”

“Then why did you ask?” David asked archly.

“David, you were the one who told me!”

There was another collective notes – oohs and ahhhhs and the matching sounds of Will and Ariel’s laughter. She’d jumped onto the bar as well at some point, Dylan moving onto her lap and Matt hanging off her back and Ruby was absolutely all going to kill them.

“It’s Scarlet’s fault,” David argued. That got Will to stop laughing.

“Wait, what?”

“You think you’re way too clever.”

“I mean, that’s true,” Killian mumbled, hand still on Emma’s stomach and something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting settling on his face. Again. Or whatever.

“Ruby’s going to kill you first,” Emma chided.

It sounded a bit like Ruby growled. And Roland hissed when her arm apparently tightened too much. “Ah, damn,” she sighed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, Rol. Listen, I need you to blame everyone else on this team for whatever is happening.”

“You haven’t actually said what’s happening, Ru,” Roland reasoned.

“Smart kid.”

“Rubes, you are not doing yourself any favors with this storytelling,” Emma said. “Burying the lede as it were.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes, hooking her chin over Roland’s shoulder and leveling Emma with a stare like she was worried she was going to do something detrimental to her health if she said anything. “It’s really not bad,” she started, eyes flitting towards Killian. “It’s just…kind of absurd.”

“How absurd?”

“Like literally the most absurd thing that’s ever happened to us.”

“Hands down,” David added, Emma and Killian groaning in tandem.

“If this is about playing and Mattie…” Killian said, voice low and slightly captain and Emma moved her fingers towards the back of his neck. She tried, at least. There was just…so much of her.

Ruby waved her hands through the air. “No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s, ok, apparently someone in David’s precinct is, what what would you call it?”

“A super Nets fan,” David finished.

Emma blinked. “The Nets? Like the basketball team?”

“One and the same.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

It took Robin, exactly, one head tilt and a slightly strangled gasp to understand. Emma still didn’t. Killian’s hand didn’t move. “Oh my God,” Robin shouted. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, David is right, Scarlet. This is all your fault.”

“How do you figure?”

“How did anyone find out?” Robin asked, glancing at David. Mary Margaret answered.

“I think it’s actually my fault.”

It couldn’t have been good for Emma’s blood pressure to keep being surprised like that. She hadn’t gotten her onion rings yet. “You guys are all absolute garbage at telling stories. Also, if any of you let my kid fall off that bar, I’m not going to stop Killian from inevitably suffocating you with this pillow.”

“Yeah, he’d do it too,” David mumbled, flashing Emma an apologetic smile. “Ok, so, uh…I had to work a couple days ago when we played the Stars? But Cap scored that goal and Mary Margaret was taking video post game and she showed me the other day while I was still in the office and, uh…”

“Scarlet could be heard calling mini-Jones Dr. J,” Ruby finished. “And, well, that super fan in the precinct complained about it on the internet and—“

“Wait, wait, he complained about it on the internet?” Robin interrupted.

Ruby scowled – clearly biting back several stating retorts and she couldn’t cross her arms when she was still draped over an obviously frustrated Roland. “What part of crazed fan do you not get?”

“But aren't the Nets horrible?”

“Yes. Why do you think that would stop them?”

“Where exactly do the headlines come into it, Lucas?” Killian asked, and Emma knew that tone of voice. Overprotective dad mode, activated.

“We cover the Nets.”

“We?”

“MSG Networks. And they’ve got their own show and Rook was going to be on Arthur’s coaching show and they film right before that and, uh…they were talking about it. On the show.”

“They realize Matt is three years old, right?”

“You don’t have to challenge them to a duel, Cap. I’ve taken care of it.”

Killian opened his mouth, only to close it just as quickly because he was absolutely going to challenge some TV present to some kind of duel and he clicked his tongue when Emma scooted further towards him. “Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. “And maybe move your hand to my shoulder.”

“Which one?”

“I genuinely do not care.”

Ruby made another noise, throwing her head back to the ceiling and Roland didn’t appreciate that other. “I’m not intentionally trying to choke you, Rol. Just…all the adults in this restaurant are idiots.”

“What’s the headline, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asked, a picture of calm that was as much a ruse as anything else. She held her hand out expectantly when Eric moved behind the bar, a plate of steaming onion rings in his hand. “Don’t burn your tongue,” she said, a smile on her face when she slid onto the opposite side of the booth from Emma and Killian.

“Yes, Mom,” Emma muttered. She burned her tongue anyway.

“Guys,” Ruby whined. “Seriously, I did some pretty goddamn fantastic things today and before Scarlet starts coming up with more absurd nicknames for mini-Jones two-point-oh—"

“—Stop insulting my nicknames, Lucas,” Will said. “They’re way better than yours and that kid’s going to get a William in his middle name, I’m sure of it.”

“It’s going to be a girl,” Killian promised, no hint of anything except certainty in his voice and they hadn’t found out this time. They were over competitive weirdos, the both of them.

“Guys,” Ruby shouted. She stamped her foot. “I have headlines!”

Emma waved her hands through the air, nearly smacking Killian in the back of the head in the process. “Sorry, sorry, Rubes. What’s your headline?”

“Julius Erving’s daughter.”

“Excuse me?”

“Julius Erving. Better known as Dr. J, was a very good basketball player who played for the Nets when they weren’t as horrible as they are now, Scarlet thinks he’s hysterical, you guys named your kid the way you did and Nets fans, apparently, didn’t appreciate a hockey star stealing the nickname. There were those internet headlines, the TV show, and I decided to screw them all and went straight to the source.”

“Well, some of the source,” David amended.

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, Julius Erving was unavailable. So we went to his people and—“ She brandished a Post in front of her, expression triumphant and it wasn’t a big story. It didn’t deserve to be a story, but, Emma, supposed, it was kind of nice in the same way the pillow stash was kind of nice, a defense and a family and absurd nicknames and traditions.

The headline was, admittedly, pretty catchy.

Dr. J’s Daughter Promises Blueshirts Nickname A-OK

There were more words, promises that it was honoring my father’s legacy and actually kind of funny and Will was probably going to frame it. Emma was out of onion rings.

And Matt never fell off the bar, but he did move towards Will demanding down, down, down, moving as fast as his legs could carry him until Killian scooped him up and it took, exactly, eight minutes for him to promptly fall asleep.

“So, I’ve saved all of us from being shamed by the Nets,” Ruby said, hours later and more food and a distinct lack of alcohol. It’s the start of the season, Swan. And an incredibly pregnant Emma. “And ensured we can have more ridiculous nicknames. You’re welcome.”

Will saluted. Ruby threw a fry at him.

“I’m telling you, Lucas, something, something, William Jones. It’s happening.”

Killian shook his head. “I wouldn’t hold my breath, Scarlet.”

“You know more than you’re giving up, Cap?”

“Nah, just a feeling.”

“He’s positive,” Emma added, and she couldn’t stop the smile from settling on her face. Will didn’t look convinced.

It didn’t matter, a few months and several weeks of barely-agreed-to bed rest later, and Emma wasn’t sure Killian had stopped smiling once. He kept bobbing on his toes, a distinct glint in his eyes that made it difficult to fall asleep when all Emma wanted to do was fall asleep, but he looked torn between overjoyed and a little overwhelmed and—

“We heard there was a kid in here,” Will said, leaning around the open hospital door with his own smile and Matt hanging off his side. There was a small crowd behind him. “You want to confirm those rumors about a future star defender, Cap?”

Killian shook his head, the bundle he refused to put down making a frustrated noise at the sudden influx of sound. “Margaret Elsa,” he announced, and Emma’s eyes darted up quick enough to see Mary Margaret’s hand fly to her mouth and her shoulders sag a bit and she probably shouldn’t have been able to hear the slight whimper that fell out of her, but it felt like the kind of day for auditory miracles.

“Ah,” Will sighed, not able to shrug when Matt was trying to stand on his shoulders. “She’ll probably dominate the league anyway. We allowed to come in?”

“If you promise to be quiet.”

“Deal.”

Mary Margaret was dangerously close to sobbing, Ruby’s eyeliner a lost cause and both Robin and Regina had their phones out already, one of them undoubtedly FaceTime’ing Colorado. And there weren’t any more headlines, no mention of absurd nicknames or overprotective family members with the cellphone numbers of every member of the New York media.

Matt reached out slowly as soon as he and Will moved in front of Killian, tiny fingers shaking a bit. Will wrapped his hand around his wrist, directing him and holding him back slightly, quiet mumblings of soft, Dr. J, like we talked about and Emma was glad she hadn’t fallen asleep.

“You ok?” she asked, glancing at Mary Margaret perched on the side of the hospital bed.

She nodded. “Better. I…thank you.”

“We think we might call her Peggy.”

“I love it.”

“Here here,” Will muttered, voice shaking a bit and Matt was mumbling introductions to his recently-acquired sister. “Good nickname. You’re just dominating today, aren’t you, Em?”

“Something like that. Did I steal your nickname-creating thunder?”

Will chuckled lightly, hitching Matt further up his side when he started to slide towards the ground. “Nah, I think you get a pass today. Don’t you think, Cap?”

“Decidedly,” Killian answered. He didn’t let go of Peggy when he moved towards Emma, pressing a kiss to her still-slightly sweaty temple.

“Exactly. I’ll wait for the next Jones kid anyway. Surprise you all with my nickname tendencies and middle name honors then.”

“Yeah, sure thing, Scarlet.”

Emma fell asleep eventually, the room cleared out and Matt staying with Will and Belle again and she probably wasn’t supposed to let Killian on the bed with her, but they both hated putting Peggy down and neither one of them could stop smiling. There weren’t any headlines.

[i-kaiwen]

This Is Okay

​BakuDeku Halloween Spoopy Prompts 2018

Day 2: Nightmare/Phobia

AO3 Link

WC: 4,981 | Chapter(s): 1/1 [Complete]

It happened again. Same as it had the last two nights

I tried to stop him. I really did. But it didn't matter, because he leaned forward off the roof.

And he fell.

And I fucking screamed.

And he fucking died.

And I could do nothing but crumple to my knees, sobbing.

He dreams of Deku's death as if it happened. Two nights in a row and he does nothing. But he always heard that if it happened a third, then it would be real... [WARNING: Mentions of Suicide (due to dreaming), BUT NO ONE ACTUALLY DIES.]

The first night it happened, I didn't think anything of it.

I'm a fucking hero! Heroes get nightmares all the time. It comes with the damn job territory. Anyone who tells you differently is either really fucking stupid or just another extra. No one else needed to know about it, though. I wasn't some crybaby like Deku who would try and crawl into bed with me every time he had a damn nightmare.

I didn't need him there to reassure me that he wasn't dead.

----

The world around me was both strange and familiar at the same time.

I knew exactly where I was. I even knew when it was. Looking down at my middle school uniform, I couldn't help but glare at the sight of the black uniform. It had been years since I had seen it, now being so accustomed to the gray jacket of Yuuei. Scowling, I looked up from the fabric – and felt my face drop as I stared in shock at the back of a head, green-curls blowing in the slight breeze from the open air of the rooftop of our junior high.

“Deku -”

“I'm not fit to be a hero... I'm not fit to be anything.”

I could only watch as Deku stepped up and onto the ledge of the roof, staring up at the darkening sky. Tears were falling down his stupid fucking freckled face, causing his cheeks to shine in the last remaining bits of light. I tried to get my feet to move closer from my position at the doorway entrance, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't fucking move.

“Deku... what are you doing? Get the fuck down from there right now before you fall to your death, you stupid shit!”

I could hear him sniffling before he started laughing softly, almost as if he were amused by my shouting. I wanted to run to him – to pull him away from the edge, pull him off the roof and shake him, bring him into my arms and stop him – but it was like my legs were paralyzed and I could only stand and watch as the boy that I had known for my entire life decided to fucking die.

“I'm just... doing what you told me to do. Taking a flying leap and hoping that in the next life I'll actually be born with a quirk... That I won't be just some stupid Deku.”

I shook my head, reaching out my hand to him. “That's not what I meant, you idiot! You don't have to die. You – You've got a quirk now. You've got All Might's quirk. You're on your way to-to becoming number one.” I shook my head, trying to think of anything to say to get him from jumping off the building – from fucking leaving me. “You're on your way to beating me!”

“Kacchan...”

I could feel myself trembling as I tried to fight whatever bound me to the cement of the roof. Tears of frustration were building up in my eyes. “Don't do it, Deku. Don't leave me – Don't leave me behind!”

“Kacchan... I'm sorry.”

I could only watch as Deku took a step closer to his end. And there wasn't a single fucking thing I could do about it.

He turned to me one last time, grinning brightly even as the salty liquid still fell.

“Goodbye, Kacchan. I love you.”

And then he fell.

“No!” And I screamed.

And the world faded to black.

----

I shot up from bed, feeling a cold sweat pouring down my body as the remnants of that fucking nightmare started slowly dragging itself from my conscious. I tried to catch my breath, feeling as if I had just tried to run a mile in weighted shoes against four-eyes.

It had just been a dream.

A fucking really bad one, but a dream either way.

Groaning, I fell back onto my sheets, recognizing the dampness that came from rapidly cooling sweat as I threw an arm over my eyes in an attempt to relax. I could feel my heart racing; beating a fast staccato the threatened to burst from my chest at any given moment. I've had nightmares before. I've had enough of them to only remember vague details of them.

But that dream? That nightmare?

It felt way too fucking real to be anything but.

I grabbed my phone off the table – wincing at the bright light that emitted from it and grumbling to myself as I realized it was 2:09 in the fucking morning – and pulled up my contacts, scrolling through the short list before I landed on the desired target. Tapping the screen to bring up a new message, I hesitated for a second. What if it wasn't a dream? What if all that happened and I'd be texting a random number with no connection to the person I quite possibly may have lost?

“This is fucking stupid, just do it Katsuki,” I muttered to myself, quickly hitting a few keys before sending the message. If that dream – nightmare, fucking hell – wasn't real, there was no real reason for him to respond to me now at ass o'clock in the morning. I sat there for a moment, my thoughts circling around and around before I heard a ping, indicating a new message. Feeling the anxiety currently sitting in the pit of my stomach amplify by about eight million, I paused for a moment before unlocking my screen.

Katsuki (2:11am): You're an asshole.

Deku (2:13am): Kacchan, did you really have to text me at two in the morning to tell me that? >:c

I sighed with relief, not even realizing how tightly I had wound myself up over this until I fell bonelessly back to the bed, throwing my phone across the room and listening as it bounced off the wall with a satisfying thunk. I knew I wouldn't be able to close my eyes and deal with that nightmare again. The feeling that a black pit was about to swallow me whole was there still, lingering in the back of my mind.

Looks like I wasn't sleeping tonight.

----

It was the same dream all over again the next night.

I couldn't stop him from jumping – from spreading his arms and free-falling off the roof to his demise. From leaving me alone like I always fucking told him to. I tried to move. Tried to get my paralyzed legs to unfreeze from the cement of the ceiling. Tried to reach out to him to stop him, to fall with him, to do anything but watch as he took the final step to end his life.

But I failed.

I failed miserably. And I still couldn't save him.

----

“Bakugou, you look like shit,” Kaminari gaped in my direction as he sat next to me. I knew the circles under my eyes were dark. I could practically feel them as if they were bruising my face.

After the second night in a row of having that stupid nightmare, I wasn't able to go back to sleep. As much as I tried to tell myself that it was all just a dream – that none of it was real, just something my shitty head decided to make up – I wasn't able to get over it that simply. I was almost afraid to close my eyes and sleep, a fear that I would take to my fucking grave.

I didn't want to watch him die again while I stood by and watched.

“Shut the fuck up, shitty Pikachu,” I grumbled, having little bite to the insult as I listlessly chewed on an apple. I didn't have the brain capacity at that very moment to try and give him attitude. I needed what little I had functional to focus on breathing air and not walking into walls.

“Dude, seriously,” Kirishima pipped in, plopping down in front of me. “Have you been sleeping, like, at all? You're bags are starting to rival Shinsou's. Are you getting sick?”

I grimaced, turning my face up to glare at him. “Why, you gonna nurse my ass back to health if I were?”

“Bakugou, seriously man. You alright?”

Huffing out an annoyed groan, I leaned back in my seat, trying to ease the tension and exhaustion that permeated me down to my very bone. “I'm fine, asshole.”

I could see out of the corner of my eye as the two looked at each other, twin looks of doubt filling their stupid faces before Kirishima shook his head. “If you say so, Baku.”

“Yeah, I do fucking say so. What are you going to do about it, shitty ha-”

I cut myself off as I heard familiar laughter across the room, turning to look behind me.

Behind us, sitting with his typical followers, was the current bane of my existence. Laughing at some stupid joke while my sleep schedule was currently being wrecked by his dumb face. I couldn't help but stare for a moment, watching as the light from the windows lit up the rosy tint to his cheeks, freckles bright against slightly tanned skin.

All I wanted to do at that moment was to be near him.

Grabbing my bag off the floor, I threw it over my shoulder before grabbing my tray. I ignored the questions of 'Dude, what are you doing?' from the two as I headed closer to the source of my current misery.

Walking towards the table containing my childhood 'friend' and the idiot extras that followed him around, I took a seat directly next to the green-eyed senior without waiting for permission, sitting practically hip-to-hip with him. Dropping my tray on the table with a loud clank, I paid no mind to the fact that the table suddenly went silent with my arrival, three pairs of eyes staring at me in surprise.

“Uh, Kacchan?” Deku questioned, eyes wide as he watched me carefully. I could feel the tension coming from him with the little contact we had, his wiggling giving away any pretense of calm he could have tried to keep. “Can I... help you with something?”

I ignored him, taking a bite of my sandwich as I tried to disregard the eyes staring at me from around the table.

“Did I miss something...?” Uraraka whispered to Iida, clearly trying to discretely ask the question as she leaned in closer to him.

Iida shook his head, eyebrows furrowing together as he watched me with careful eyes. “I wasn't aware you two were suddenly close again.”

Deku frowned thoughtfully – something that got on my nerves at that very moment – before trying to respond. “Neither was I, to be honest-”

I didn't give him the chance to fully speak as I interrupted him with a growl. “All of you shut up and eat your damn lunch!” I could feel my eye beginning to twitch as I fully looked up, taking note of the surprised looks from those around me. As I turned towards Deku, fully intent on giving him a piece of my mind, I froze.

The look on his face... He was so concerned. I've never had a problem reading him and how he felt – damn idiot was like an open book, just ready to be picked up and started – but this emotion was just so... raw. He wasn't even trying to hid it as green-eyes stared back at me.

“Does this... does this have anything to do with the text from the other night?” Deku asked quietly as he put down his fork, seeming to pick up on the fact that I didn't want the other two at the table to know what was going on. They seemed to take the hint, turning away from us slightly as the younger boy leaned in.

Clenching my hand against my knee as I felt it shaking, I nodded shortly.

“Did you want to talk about it? We can go somewhere else, away from the chaos.”

I shook my head minutely. I didn't want to talk about it right then. Talking about it would make it real. And if it were real -

Well, I honestly didn't want to even fucking think of that option.

Deku moved slightly, almost as if he were trying to get closer to me. I felt a hand underneath the table, rough with callouses and scars that hadn't been there when we were younger, settle on top of my own. Flinching, but not moving my hand away, I moved my head to look towards the boy next to me – only to be met with a gentle smile that could melt the hearts of thousands without even trying.

It didn't matter that we had years where we were nothing more than enemies, mostly on my part more than anything. It didn't matter that we were rivals. That I had once been horrible to this... this boy that didn't have a single bad bone in his body. All that mattered in that moment was his hand covering mine as he seemed to understand me better than even I knew myself.

“Okay, Kacchan. But just remember... I'm here if you need me. Okay?” he said sweetly, that million-watt smile lighting up his face.

A small part of me still wanted to push him away; to tell him to fuck off, tell him not to touch me, anything to get him to stop looking at me with such... adoration. But another part of me? The other bigger part of me wanted me to just hold his hand. Wanted me to remind myself that he was still here. That I hadn't pushed him away as my dreams kept trying to tell me.

And that part won out as I turned my hand beneath his, slotting my fingers together with his and ignoring the heat I could feel rushing to my ears. His impossibly wide eyes widened more as he looked down, even though he couldn't see our hands beneath the metal surface. I watched in amusement as the red tint on his face grew, even as he squeezed my hand in return.

“Okay.”

----

It happened again. Same as it had the last two nights

I tried to stop him. I really did. But it didn't matter, because he leaned forward off the roof.

And he fell.

And I fucking screamed.

And he fucking died.

And I could do nothing but crumple to my knees, sobbing.

----

As I woke up for the third time in a row, dredges of the dream still hovering over my head, I was done lying in bed. I couldn't spend another night trying to fall back to sleep, only fearing that I would be shoved back into viewing what I feared the most.

I had heard once that if you had the same dream three nights in a row that it was going to come true. That it was going to be real. I couldn't imagine it being real. Couldn't think of stupid fucking Deku... killing himself because of something I said almost four years ago.

But I couldn't take the risk.

Shoving the comforters off me, I rolled out of the bed with a groan and headed for the door, intending on heading straight towards his room and slamming on his door until he was as awake as I was.

I didn't have to go far.

Standing outside of my door, hand posed as if he were about to knock, was none other than Deku.

Eyes narrowing, I had to stop myself from immediately snapping at him. “What are you doing here, nerd?”

He stared at me in silence for a moment, lowering his hand and letting it hang by his side. He was barefoot, wearing a threadbare hoodie and pajama pants covered in – what a shocker - All Might. “I... honestly don't know. Something just told me that I needed to be here, so... Here I am?”

Snorting, I shook my head at his explanation. Figures. Moving back to the bed, I saw down with a heavy sigh. Raising an eyebrow as I realized he was still in the hallway, I waved a hand at him. “Well... are you going to come in or just stand in my damn doorway all night?”

He squeaked before rushing in, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against the back of, staring me down. “So... why are you awake?”

Blinking tiredly, I mumbled quietly as I reached up to try and rub the exhaustion from my eyes. “Couldn't sleep.”

“That's crap.”

I startled, not expecting that to come out of his mouth. My immediate reaction was to waspishly snap back, “What do you know, shitty nerd?”

“Kacchan... I heard you screaming.”

Now that got my attention. Had the dreams started effecting me so badly that I was now vocalizing out loud? Shit. That was all I needed.

I must have been quiet longer than I thought, because the nerd suddenly spoke out softly as he moved closer to me. “Kacchan, talk to me. What's going on with you lately?”

“Nothing's going on, asshole.”

His brows furrowed together, eyes heavy with concern. “You're lying. Something's going on. Something's keeping you awake. Are you having nightmares?”

“No!”

“Are you still having dreams about when you were kidnapped?”

Still? How did this asshole know I used to have those... “Can we just get as far away from this damn subject as we can? Everything is fucking peachy keen.”

“So you were just screaming in the middle of the night for no apparent reason?”

“Shut up!” I was getting angry, vaguely wondering where this nerd got the balls to talk to me like this. Maybe I was getting softer than I thought.

“Talk to me, Kacchan. I just want to help you!”

“Not possible.”

“Why not?”

“You can't fucking help me!”

“Why not?!” He repeated again, his own voice raising.

And I broke.

“You died, Deku! You fucking jumped off the roof and died because of something stupid I said when we were fucking fourteen! You were gone and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it! There, are you fucking happy?!” I started pacing around the room, trying to keep myself from really shouting at him. This was nothing. If I started getting really angry, actually angry, I wouldn't stop until the entire building was up in flames.

He reached out towards me. “Kacchan, you gotta calm down -”

“No!” I turned, sticking my finger in his face as I got closer to him. “Don't fucking tell me to calm down, you shithead. You don't know what I saw. You didn't see any of it – I saw it all! I saw you die three nights in a row. Three. Fucking. Nights. I saw you fall! And I could do nothing! Nothing but watch it fucking happen! So don't you dare tell me to calm down.”

My anger seemed to

“But I'm still here... I'm right in front of you,” Deku spoke softly, hands wringing anxiously in front of him.

“But you weren't. You weren't there anymore. You were just... gone,” I trailed off, feeling the anger finally leave me as I sat back down on the bed. I could feel my hand shaking as I stared at them for a moment before threading them through my hair, resting my elbows on my bent knees as I tried to gather my bearings -

And failed.

“You disappeared and I couldn't even save you,” my voice unwillingly cracked on the last word, hands digging further into my hair, nails clenching at my scalp.

I felt more than saw him move closer to me, that electric aura of his practically lighting up the room as he came to stand directly in front of me.

“Kacchan...” Deku spoke softly, reaching out with hesitation towards me. He paused for a moment as my eyes turned up towards him, and I could almost hear his thoughts going a mile a minute as he weighed out his options, before settling his scarred hand on my cheek. I shuddered, feeling his thumb running softly along my heated skin – and feeling myself lean into it in turn. “You know... you can talk to me. You didn't have to sit on this. I want to be here for you – whatever it is that you need.”

I could feel the heat build up behind my eyes, a surefire proof that if I didn't get myself under control soon that I was actually going to cry in front of this idiot.

“It was the same day – the same day as the slime villain. That day where I told you that if you tried your fucking hand at jumping off the roof, maybe you'd be born with a quirk in the next life,” I spoke quietly, afraid to break the hush in the room – afraid of him moving his hand. He didn't even flinch at my statement, though, palm instead coming up to disentangle my fingers from the strands.

“I remember that day. What happened?”

Swallowing dryly, I reached up to grab his hand that wasn't currently cradling my face, holding it gently between both of mine. “We were suddenly on the roof... You kept telling me how you couldn't be a hero – how you really were just a Deku. And it didn't matter what I said or how much I struggled. I couldn't stop you. I had to watch you fall. Watch you die. Watch you leave- ”

Pushing my hands aside, he suddenly invaded my space. He stepped into the open area between my knees, drawing me close with arms that were powerful enough to smash an enemy through a brick wall, though with a gentleness that was all Deku. Wrapping himself around me, warm limbs drawing me close, he brought my head to rest against his toned stomach.

I tried not to get too close. Tried to act like this didn't feel as right as it did. But the second my forehead touched the soft material of his hoodie, I practically fucking melted. I could feel the warm, gentle heat radiating from him. Proof that he was alive.

Proof that he was here.| “I'm not going anywhere... doesn't matter what you say,” he muttered into my hair, the feeling of his breath warm and moist on my scalp. “I'm here, Kacchan. I'm here.”

“How can you act like... like I wasn't such a fucking asshole to you when we growing up? How can you pretend I wasn't anything else but horrible when you didn't do anything wrong?” I asked, eyes clenching shut tightly as I tried to stop the tears from building up again, fingers so tightly clenching his hips that they had to be bruising. I was angry at myself. So angry for ever letting everything get as bad as it had. I had been such a complete shithead over something stupid – something that could have lost me my most important person.

It really felt as if he could read my thoughts, hear the self hatred I had for my past stupidity, because next thing I knew I was being drawn even closer to his small, strong body, thick hand running through the hair at the nap of my neck in a soothing gesture. “Because you were a kid. Sure, you were kind of a dick, but you were a kid, Kacchan. And I don't see that kid anymore. Sometimes he pops back up to make a smart ass comment,” he chuckled, grinning slightly at my own snort before continuing, “but he doesn't have control anymore. It's just... It's just you. It's always been you.”

The meaning behind those words were stronger than even I could fathom at that moment, eyes drooping closed as I breathed in Deku's scent – a mix of clean cotton and some sort of musky smell - burying my face into his stomach as the first true sign of tears fell. I wrapped my arms around his midsection, tugging him impossibly near. This was probably the closest I had been to him that had nothing to do with fighting since we were four. I could hear him cooing softly above me, bent over slightly to bury his face in my hair as he held me tight.

It was at that moment I realized that I didn't want to let him go. I couldn't let him go.

“I... I shouldn't even be fucking saying this, but... Can you stay the night?” I asked him quietly, dislodging one hand from around him to try and get rid of the traces of tears with the palm of my hand. I knew rejection was possible. I knew he could easily tell me to fuck off. “I just. I need to know you're here if I have that dream again.”

I felt his lips form a small smile against my hair, his head bobbing up and down once in a single nod. “Yeah.”

I hadn't been expecting that answer. Drawing back – and missing the warmth almost as soon as I did – I gazed up at him in a daze. “What?”

“Yes, Kacchan,” he chuckled lowly, running his hand through my hair. Even with the lights off I could see the red staining his cheeks. He could try to pretend all he wanted that he wasn't affected by this, but I knew differently. I knew him. “I'll stay here with you for the night. Can't promise I won't kick you in my sleep, though.”

Still a bit surprised, I tried to knock myself out of the momentary stupor as I huffed out a laugh in response, moving away from him to get back under the covers. I had had enough emotions for the night. I felt emotionally and mentally drained from it all. “I'll just knock your ass to the floor if your feet come anywhere near me.”

“Kacchan, that's not very nice.”

I snickered. “Who fucking said I was nice?”

“Eh, point.”

“Hey!”

“Kidding, kidding! Now move over so we can go to sleep. I don't want to miss breakfast in the morning. You know what happens if you get there past ten – Asui eats all the Fruit Loops!”

Rolling so that I was closer to the wall, I lifted the blanket to allow Deku to slide under. For some reason, I didn't feel as nervous as I thought I would to have him sleep in the same bed as me. “Psh, you and your Fruit Loop obsession... Do you have any idea how bad those things are for you? It's all fucking sugar!”

“Yeah, but it's delicious sugar,” he chirped happily, quickly slipping in and burrowing quickly within the blankets.

I felt a smile tug at my lips before I quickly extinguished it, tugging the fabric up closer and over both of us. It was almost like we were kids again, having a sleepover after a long day. “Just so you know, if you end up drooling on my pillow, I'm lighting your hair on fire.”

“Wouldn't be a first time.”

“We were six, you asshole!”

“Didn't make it hurt any less, you jerk,” he said with a pout, emerald eyes bright even in the darkness as he looked up at me.

I watched him closely, knowing without a doubt that I probably had some dorky expression on my face because his pout disappeared as he beamed up at as if I were the sun. As if he weren't the brightest thing in this room. The new beacon of hope that this world needed.

He started scooting closer to me. It was almost like he was daring me to push him away. Seriously, when had this little nerd gotten so brave?

“Deku...”

“What?” He grinned up at my impishly, trying to act coy even as the red on his face deepened. “It's the best way to keep the nightmares away. Didn't you ever cuddle with your parents after you had scary dreams as a kid?”

I raised an eyebrow at that one before replying dryly, “I was the scary dream.”

“Hm. This is true.”

“Deku.”

“I'm just kidding, Kacchan,” he giggled, reaching over to pinch my cheek. “Jeez, can't you take a jo-”

Acting on impulse, I reached forward and pulled Deku to my chest, ignoring his startled squawk as he rolled into me with a slight 'omph'. I felt his hands reach up to grasp the singlet covering my chest, eyes wide and surprised. The tension I had been feeling the previous nights seemed to finally be fading out of existence as I held him close to me, one arm reaching around his waist while the other pushed his head into my shoulder, just happy to feel him breathe. Feel the whoosh of air as it left his lungs only to return a moment later.

“Is this okay?” I whispered, trying not to break the fragile hold I had on the situation. I wanted to hold him – needed to have him in arms, something I never thought I would willingly want. But I didn't want him to think that he had to stay here. If he wanted to leave, I would let him. It would hurt; there was no doubt in my mind that it would be painful, but I needed him to want this.

To want me.

I felt him freeze for a moment, almost as if he were expecting me to push him away. Something I would have done had this been three years ago and the same situation was happening. But his nerves of steel decided to show themselves as he moved one arm to wrap around me, slotting a knee between my legs as he shoved his face into the junction of my neck. He grip tightened, moving us so close together I could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

He spoke softly, my shirt clenched tightly between his fingers as he nodded.

“Yeah. This is okay.”

And I knew it would be.