#but it’s not changed much other than to avoid bugs/clipping

[unnerving-presence]

i will never recover from seeing naked flaccid wesker mod /pos

[whimsimille]

VENDETTA

Jeong Jin-Man x Fem! Reader

Chapter 2: VENDETTA.ZIP

“Momma?”

You're roused from your slumber by a peculiar sound that gushes—the way rapids dash against jumbled rocks. Your ear still nuzzles against the pillow plastered with black cat motifs. Unruly strands of your obsidian hair sprawl over the sable felines printed on your comfort.

This might be your final summer snuggling in this kitty patterned pillowcase—a relic better suited for preschoolers. You’ve been contemplating a more sophisticated change—not so much “grown-up” because that phrase seems oddly outmoded to you now. These days, it’s either 'mature’ or 'adult’. A plush silk case endorsing maturity may be owned soon enough, akin to those Jin boasts of from Sonyeo—an opulent Korean label— nonetheless! But till you bring home that plush treasure, it's the humble black-cat print for you—especially given its ability to maintain a coolish touch even when midsummer night's force is nothing besides sticky humidity and trills of katydids.

Yes, the string of sounds filling up your room are those made by katydids. Momma was sure those chirping notes were not lent by cicadas, as they preferred daylight hours over nocturnal ones for their concerts. She referred to these symphonies rather derogatively as 'that racket’ and rarely allowed her own window to be tampered with lest 'that racket' invade her serene sleep haven.

“Momma… Are you close?”

From deep down the hallway comes an array of sounds far louder than mere bugs tapping on exterior walls—they seem uncomfortably domestic. Bugs couldn't pass through barriers, but these incoming clips could—they undeniably belonged within these four walls.

Peering into silhouettes strewn around your bedroom, eyes accustomed to nightpicking details shimmering in monochromatic shades—black stands stark against muted greys in ambient darkness. Occasionally, a faint wave of moonlight filters through the open window, supplemented by the luminescence radiating from your trusty nightlight purchased at some local convenience store—a tiny LED bunny that stood guard near your bedroom entrance. At night, your heavily populated room transformed into a monster land, with forsaken clothes heaped around on the floor, resembling predatory creatures lurking in shadows. Now your token light was placed too far—a seeming hundred miles away—just so you could avoid tumbling over these innocent-looking beasts camouflaged in gloom while scurrying to the door. Not fear—you were far above such childish frights—but maturity guided you, or so you reassured yourself.

Still, it’s quiet enough now that you can hear your own breathing. You frown at that silence. It’s an unfamiliar quiet—the quiet that fills up the bedroom at night when you can’t sleep, the quiet that surrounds you when there have been bad dreams or when you’ve been sent to bed early for some infraction. This kind of quiet is the reason you sleep with your windows open, so you can hear something other than yourself alone.

It wasn’t too dark to see, not with the thin wash of light from outside that made it into the entryway. But it was dimmer than you would have thought for so early in the evening this close to summer. You wondered if a thunderstorm was gathering outside, and you just hadn’t noticed. You strained your ears for the telltale rumble of thunder or the flash of lightning but heard nothing. Just the whooshing sound and the quiet.

“Momma, please answer me.”

No. The silence stretches out, almost becoming a presence in itself. You sit up, the whooshing sound seeming to grow louder as you become more awake. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and hesitate for a moment, your bare feet hovering above the floor.

The hallway doesn't look any different from before—plain white walls, family photos hanging askew on their hooks, old throw rugs scattered here and there for comfort underfoot—but right now it's a dark tunnel with the faintest hint of light at the end. You step onto the floor, the coolness of the wooden boards grounding you. Each step you take is careful, slow. You don’t want to make any noise. You don’t want to disturb whatever might be lurking in the shadows.

You peer into Momma's room, blinking slowly to adjust to the darkness. It smells stale here—like a mix of cigarette smoke and old clothes, the kind that have sat too long in the back of a closet. Momma has been sleeping less lately; it's like she's avoiding her room at night.

Her side of the bed is rumpled, the sheets twisted and wrinkled as if she's been tossing and turning all night long.

You bite your lip. Something feels off about this whole situation, but you can't quite put your finger on it yet. Looking back at your own room, you gulp hard and step in, hesitantly putting one foot in front of the other.

Did she leave? Is she hurt?

You advance. Nothing here, nothing. Just an empty, cold room because today was the day to pay the electricity bill and she must’ve forgotten. A dresser with chipped paint and a missing drawer knob. A wardrobe with the door open, displaying a bunch of hotel hangers—the kind you can't steal. A Bible on a corner table. To the left, the bathroom door, a mirror in its full length reflecting your own pale image. That door was slightly ajar and... You saw your reflection nodding slowly. 

Yes, that was where it was, whatever it was. In there. In the bathroom.

Your reflection advanced, as if it were about to escape from the mirror. It extended a hand, pressing it against yours. Then it disappeared at an angle as the bathroom door opened. You looked inside. A long, old room, like a train car. Small hexagonal tiles on the floor, some of which are cracked and discolored. At the far end, a toilet with the lid up, a roll of toilet paper dangling precariously from its holder. To the right, a sink, and above it another mirror, the kind that hides a medicine cabinet filled with old prescription bottles and half-used tubes of toothpaste. To the left, a huge white clawfoot bathtub with a shower curtain drawn.

"Momma?" you call again, your voice trembling now. 

There was water running.

You entered the bathroom and walked towards the bathtub as if in a dream, as if you were being propelled, as if all this were one of those dreams horror movies brought, as if maybe you were going to see something good when you opened the shower curtain, something you had forgotten or something Momma had lost, something that would make you both happy.

You reached for the curtain, your hand trembling, and drew it back.

-----------

There was nothing but blood and a knife in Jin-Man’s bathtub. No water. No glazy eyes looking up at the ceiling. No body. Just crimson stains streaking down the porcelain, the knife resting at an odd angle, as if someone had dropped it hastily.

Your fist clenches around the curtain as you feel your eyes getting wet, trying to make you feel something. Something that involves anything but crying like a lost little child. You glance around the bathroom, noting the little details that seem to scream at you—the designer shampoo bottles Jin-Man always bragged about, the lavender-scented candles he adored, now splattered with red.

You wanted to say you thought you weren't going to crumble. That you were not tangled in lies and were ready for this. But looking behind you, you saw your hair, shorter now, messier and lifeless, and you saw the woman that you were supposed to be. The woman who didn't run but followed the line she was always meant to follow. Determined. Confident. Someone who has seen grief rears its head countless times and isn’t supposed to cry. But the thing about grief is—it isn't like other emotions; it begs for something so visceral. It induces that gut-churning feeling, even when it isn't directed at you. And just like when you were a child, you do not know what to do with such raw fury, so you swallow it down, until your stomach hurts and you are coughing back up those shards, and suddenly, "I wish you were here.”

You closed the tap. With no sound of water, the house fell into complete silence. The only noise was the steak dropping from the counter onto the floor and a slight scratch on your jeans as you pressed your nails against them, trying to keep yourself together.

Interesting house for an ex-mercenary, you tried to distract yourself with that thought as you scanned the bathroom meticulously, looking for any signs of a struggle. Overturned objects, broken tiles, anything that might suggest there had been a struggle. 

However, the razor blades were neatly aligned in the sink, the aftershave was covered and in place, and even the toothbrush was upright in its holder. Checked the medicine cabinet, hoping to find something—perhaps a hidden compartment or a secret weapons cache. But it was as tidy as the rest of the room. Painkillers, vitamins, and antibiotics—everything perfectly lined up. No clues, no detours.

Quickly, you moved down the narrow corridor, your footsteps echoing off the bare walls. The empty frames hanging seemed to mock you, as if to say that there was nothing left to see, nothing to remember. The walls were a weird white, the kind of white you only find in hospitals or in houses where life has been carefully erased.

In the kitchen, you found an old Italian coffee maker on the stove. Next to it, a can of ground coffee from Starbucks, the brand he insisted on buying despite your complaints about the exorbitant price. Next to the tin, a box of tea, still sealed. Jin-Man never liked tea so it might belong to Ji-An. 

On the counter, a plate of leftover food. Kimchi and rice. Next to it, a half-empty bottle of soju, the lid open. Jin-Man was never much of a drinker, but when he did, it was always soju. He said he remembered the days when he was just a kid, stealing bottles from street stalls in Seoul.

You opened the fridge and found only a few cans of Cass beer, a packet of tofu, and a pot of kimchi. Nothing to indicate that he planned to run away. You closed the fridge with a sigh, the sound of the door echoing through the empty kitchen.

You had to be quick; Ji-An must be getting done with the hospital paperwork by now.

Here comes the worst part: you moved to the bedroom.

You took in the scene as if it were a movie playing before your eyes. The sun's rays escaped through the curtains, dancing around the room like intruders, unable to touch the cool tiles beneath their sharp gaze. The bed was made; no rumpled sheets and blankets fanning out in all directions, resembling waves on a stormy ocean like yours always are. A sense of loss crept into your bones as you almost smell his unique musky perfume lingering in the air, mixing with faint hints of sweat and aftershave. His old army boots were by the corner, cleaned and polished, waiting for him to wear them again someday. 

Over there by the dresser was a framed photo of him and Ji-An at some beach, her dark hair whipping in the wind as she smirked at something he said just out of sight. In another corner stood an oversized clock whose ticking echoed through the silent room like a heartbeat missing its rhythm. Its long hands pointed to 4:15 PM, hours before you arrived here.

Deeper in the room, you noticed a small dresser adorned with trinkets and memorabilia. A delicate porcelain vase sat atop it, filled with dried lavender that exuded a subtle fragrance. Next to it was a collection of novels, and you recognised some of the titles—classics by authors like Kim Young-Ha and Han Kang, stories that Jin-Man had once passionately discussed with you during quiet evenings.

Five minutes and nothing. Just nothing. You frown and ruffle your hair once more. The frustration gnaws at you, a beast with sharp teeth. You start pacing, your eyes flicking from one object to another, trying to read the story they were silently screaming at you. Jin-Man was always meticulous, always one step ahead. He would hide things so well that even the most seasoned detectives would miss them.

"Jin-Man, you clever bastard," you mutter under your breath, looking around the room. Your eyes land on the oversized clock. The ticking is louder now, each second feeling like a hammer hitting an anvil. One of two things: you were either deaf or hearing too much—you responded to this new confusion with a malicious and uncomfortable feeling, with a sigh of resigned satisfaction. To hell with it, you said softly, annihilated.

You walk over to it. Jin-Man always had a thing for old-fashioned things, said they reminded him of a simpler time—an era of wind-up mechanisms and the kind of craftsmanship that required patience and skill. Your fingers trace the edges of the clock, feeling for anything unusual. The wood is smooth, polished to a fine sheen, and the brass accents gleam faintly in the dim light. And then you notice it—a slight indentation on the side, almost imperceptible. It’s a minuscule detail, the kind only someone intimately familiar with the clock would notice. You press it, and the back of the clock slides open with a soft click, revealing a hidden compartment.

Inside, there's a small key and a slip of paper with a note scribbled in Jin-Man's handwriting. "Office," it says. Your heart pounds. You grab the key with fingers that feel like they belong to someone else and head out of the bedroom, your steps quickening as if the floorboards beneath you were on fire.

The office door creaks as you push it open. The room is where his personality shows through—bookshelves lined with volumes on military strategy, psychology, and history. The desk is cluttered with papers, but everything has its place. You move to the desk, pulling open the drawers one by one. They're filled with the usual office supplies—pens, sticky notes, paperclips—but nothing stands out.

Then you remember Jin-Man's favorite hiding spot. Kneeling down, you start feeling around the base of one of the shelves, cursing under your breath when a pencil stub pokes into your hand. With a determined grunt, you keep searching until your fingers brush against something hard hidden behind a row of history textbooks. It's a loose floorboard.

With trembling hands, you pull it open to reveal a small compartment within the wall. Inside is a box, plain yet sturdy. You pick it up slowly, heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you flip open the lid. A letter addressed to you in Jin-Man's neat handwriting sits on top—the sight of it making your throat tighten. Beside it is a USB drive and an old photograph of both of you from years ago; laughing over some forgotten joke while enjoying each other's company under bright sunshine at what seems like paradise now.

Your legs feel weak, and you drop into Jin-Man's office chair, clutching the items.

"My doll,

If you're reading this, it means something has gone terribly wrong. I know you hate me, and I don't blame you. But there's something you need to know, something I couldn't tell you before. The USB drive contains information that could change everything. 

Be careful. Trust no one.

Jeong Jin-Man."

You disguise your anguish and invent a pretext to be weak for a few moments. At the table, you bite the sleeve of your jacket, suffocating the screams threatening your throat. You sink further into the chair, your face buried in your arm, waiting for something to happen and save you. The room filled with Jin-Man's belongings, feels both comforting and suffocating. The scent of his cologne lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the coffee he loved so much.

You start to hate them, all of them—the people who took him away, him, the circumstances that led to this moment. And you wish to abandon them, to flee from this feeling that develops with each passing minute, mixed with unbearable pity for them and for yourself. As if together you were victims of the same irremediable threat. You try to reconstruct the image of Jeong Jin-Man, line by line. His strong jaw, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the sound of his voice when he called you by your nickname. It seems to you that if you recall him clearly, you will have some sort of power over him.

You hold your breath, tense, pressing your lips together. Just a moment... Just a moment more, and you would have him, gesture by gesture... His figure starts to form, nebulous... And finally, little by little, desolate, you perceive it fading away. You have the impression that Jin-Man is escaping from you, smiling.

The blinds moved with the wind, and you could see him in the dim light sitting at the counter staring at you. He didn't look sad, or mad. Jin-Man was scanning you. His eyes darted from your button nose to your lips, from your ears to your sweaty forehead. Every inch of your face was being studied intensely, like it was the last time he'd ever see it. You knew because you did it all the time. You know how the shadows fall under his chin and along his shoulders. You know how his spine showed itself against his back. You know him in all the impossible ways dogs can't know ourselves, even when they drink from a river and stare at the water for seconds.

You didn't want Jeong to look at you like you looked at him, with a compulsion to memorize every part in case it all disappeared tomorrow. You traced every outline of him once, all the places he couldn't see.

You weren't the one who had the tendency to leave suddenly, making the other wonder if the last time would really be the last time.

“Can you stop it? I won’t be able to concentrate on decorating this cake if you’re going to stare the shit out of me like a fucking weirdo.”

You met at night at home that Friday, exhausted and excited; you recounted the day's exploits and planned the next attacks. You didn't delve too deeply into what was happening at Babylon in your house this night; it was enough that all this had the stamp of friendship while you made the blessed chocolate mint cake that he always wanted to try. 

With a deadpan expression, Jin-Man leaned back against the kitchen counter and folded his arms across his broad chest, looking amused at your irritation. "You've got it bad," he said with an eerie calm that made your stomach flip. It was strange how he could remain so unfazed when you felt like you were on fire just from him looking at you like that.

He watched as you slapped the mixing bowl down onto the counter, sending a small splash of batter flying up in the air before it sputtered back down onto the granite surface. You took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand, huffing out a laugh as you pulled out the ingredients for the cake batter. The scent of cocoa and mint wafted through the air, mingling with the faint smell of sweat from both of you as you worked together in silence. You cracked open eggs one by one, letting their yolky goodness drip into the mixture below.

The sound of butter being creamed together with sugar filled the room, along with faint metallic clangs from when you added flour and baking powder to make the batter smooth. It was oddly soothing, almost hypnotic—except for Jin-Man's gaze boring into your back like an anchor tethering you to the spot. They moved down to the collar of your shirt, a faded band tee from an old Metallica concert, then back up to your eyes, locking onto them with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

"Can I taste some of this mix?"

You turned around to face him, surprised by the request. His eyes were narrowed slightly in curiosity as he leaned forward on his forearms on the countertop, his fingers tapping lightly on the granite surface.

"Do you have any idea how many calories are in that mix?" You teased, scooping up a small dollop of the mint frosting with a spoon anyway and holding it out to him. His eyes lit up like a child’s, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips in anticipation.

He took the spoon and you watched as he brought it to his mouth, his lips closing around the metal. His eyes fluttered shut, and you could see the muscles in his jaw working as he tasted the frosting. His tongue played with the minty sweetness, and you could tell he was debating whether to spit it out or swallow it, much like a child chewing on an unfamiliar piece of bubblegum.

“Well?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and raising an eyebrow.

He opened his eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. “It tastes like toothpaste,” he said, his voice muffled by the spoon still in his mouth.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I've seen you handle a sniper rifle with precision. This should be a piece of cake. Plus, you've been bugging me for weeks to make this cake, and now you’re complaining about the frosting? You’re going to eat it whether you like it or not.”

He coughed, pulling the spoon out of his mouth and setting it down on the counter. “I’m not that picky about my alcohol, but cake frosting? That’s a different story,” he said, shaking his head. “This is like brushing my teeth with dessert.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for a bag of powdered sugar from the pantry. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, but there was a hint of a smile on your lips. “Here, let’s try adding more sugar. Maybe that’ll make it less ‘toothpaste-y’” The pantry door creaked as you opened it, revealing an assortment of baking supplies organized in neat rows.

As you reached for the sugar, however, Jin-Man grabbed a handful of cocoa powder and playfully tossed it at you. “Hey!” you exclaimed, laughing as the powder dusted your hair and clothes. “You’re going to pay for that!”

You retaliated by grabbing a handful of green food coloring and flicking it at him. It splattered across his shirt and into his hair, staining it with bright green specks. “Now you look like a Christmas tree,” you teased, unable to stop laughing. 

“Oh, it’s on!”

Before you knew it, the kitchen had turned into a battlefield, with cocoa powder, powdered sugar, and flour flying through the air. Your hands were stained green from the matcha powder, and his hair was speckled with chocolate chips, sticking out like tiny, sweet stars against his dark locks. Every surface in the kitchen bore marks of your playful war—cabinets smeared with butter, the floor dotted with floury footprints, and the stainless steel fridge now sporting a streak of vanilla extract.

“You're the worst baker!”

"You're going to regret this," you laughed, grabbing a handful of chocolate chips and throwing them his way. They bounced off his chest, leaving tiny smudges on his black t-shirt, before he grabbed your wrist and pinned you against the counter. Chest against chest.

You were laughing so hard, you couldn't do anything but shake your head as you wiped the chocolate smudge off his shirt with the hem of your own. His dark eyes sparkled with mischief, and for a moment, it felt like time stopped. His skin was warm under your fingertips, the soft fabric of his shirt clinging to the hard muscles beneath. You could still taste the mint frosting from earlier on your tongue, and the cocoa powder on your lips mixed with it, making everything just a little bit sweeter. You looked at him in the dim light of the kitchen, taking in the playful glint in his eyes as he leaned down closer to yours.

"I shouldn't have started this." His nose brushed against yours as he spoke.

Butterflies danced frantically in your stomach as you both stayed still, eyes locked onto each other. Even worse, their wings started to scratch the walls of your guts, and they danced a folklore song around your heart as his fingers trailed softly along your jawline before cupping your cheek gently.

"You always start things you can't finish.”

He smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly in that way that always made your heart skip a beat. "Oh, you think so?" he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly against your lower lip. "Maybe I just need the right motivation."

"And what would that be?" 

Jin-Man's eyes flicked down to your lips, and he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across your skin. "You," he said simply, his voice low and husky. "You are my motivation."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft at first, almost hesitant, but then he deepened it, his hand sliding around to the back of your neck to pull you closer. You complied,  clinging into him without thinking, pressing up against his strong frame as you tasted him fully now: mint frosting mixed with high-quality coffee, a hint of mint leaf extract, rich dark chocolate, and something so uniquely Jin-Man that made your mind swirl with confusion and want. 

Still, there’s this gross thing inside of you that can’t help but make you think that it would've been a kinder fate if he had stolen the words out of your brain, if he had beaten you up until you became a litter of teeth and limbs than holding you like this. This, this touch of your tongues intertwining was horrible. It meant being engraved in your brain, just like the feeling of these cold tiles beneath your bare feet until you were put seven feet in the ground.

Before him, you thought it was impossible to keep your heart but give your skin, and you never got to know the difference between love or obsession. 

Jeong? He was the kind of person who would light a cigarette and watch it burn down to the filter, never taking a single drag, just mesmerized by the way the flame consumed the paper and tobacco, turning it to ash. He was fascinated by destruction, by the way things fell apart, but he was too afraid to consume himself. He'd leave the door ajar, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his vulnerability but never enough to let you step inside fully. He'd leave his boots by the entrance, yet his heart remained a no-go zone.

And you don't know how to love without bleeding. Your love wasn't a soft, pastel-hued glow but a crimson torrent. The kind of love that left stains—on your white cotton sheets, on the hardwood floors of your apartment, even on the porcelain of your shared bathroom sink. It was a love that demanded sacrifices—late-night hospital visits from knife wounds barely stitched up, bottles of antiseptic, and gauze pads hidden in the medicine cabinet among tubes of Colgate toothpaste and Dior Sauvage aftershave.

Perhaps you like how it feels when someone depletes you of your own blood. And deep down, you contemplate if he never let you in because he doesn't want to be responsible for the blood on his fingertips. All he might want is to feel your skin but never get to know what's beneath it.

Maybe he wanted to trace your figure, but never long enough to question about the same tattoo that he was caressing now, or the scars from the missions that marred your skin like battle relics. He might never have noticed the way you always cleaned your weapons in a precise, almost ritualistic manner or how you preferred to read military strategy books late into the night. He probably didn't pay attention to the way you meticulously organized your gear by functionality or how you always carried a first-aid kit, even when you were off duty. Perhaps he never realized how you preferred to sit with your back to the wall in a restaurant or how you always needed a cup of black coffee before starting your day to stay alert.

On the other hand, you wanted to know him. Wanted to know him before touching his skin, wanted to question the bruises on his back before leaving bite marks on his neck.

But the sound of keys jangling came before your question mark, and you both jumped apart like startled animals. Pinpricks of color stained your cheeks as you quickly wiped away any remaining powdered sugar from your face, trying to compose yourself while Jeong took a step back, his face flushed and eyes locked onto yours.

“Here. I brought the green sprinkles for the cake,” Pasin announced as he entered the kitchen, his eyes half-closed and a smirk playing on his lips. He tossed the bag of sprinkles onto the counter, narrowly missing the pile of powdered sugar. 

“Hey! Good night to you too, dude,” you said, using your hair for coverage while pretending to wash something out of your nails under the sink. The faucet gurgled as water splashed onto the stainless steel basin, masking the awkward silence that followed. Your hands trembled slightly, the cold water biting into your skin like tiny needles before you turned off the tap and dried your hands with a dish towel as you turned around to look at him.

Pasin seemed to ignore your trembling voice and how Jin-Man almost drowned in a cup of water and grimaced at the state of the kitchen before even starting to speak, tying his hair back into his usual ponytail. "Don’t mess with me. An old lady spilt milk on me at the grocery store," he continued, his tone half-amused, half-exasperated, his Thai accent becoming more pronounced. "Can you believe that? I tried to help her pick up her groceries, and she upended a whole carton of milk on me. Smells like a dairy farm now. I’m going to take a shower; try not to set the kitchen on fire or make babies on the stove while I’m gone."

You glance at Jin-Man, who is now coughing, trying to get the water out of his windpipe. His face turns a shade of red that matches the color of crimson stains. You can see the frustration in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches, and you wonder how much longer he can keep it together.

"We’re not—"

The Thai immigrant gave a smile, shaking his head as he fetched a can of beer from the fridge. "Yes, yes, sorry, I forgot. 'We are just colleagues. She is the one who uses the knives; I'm the shooter. Plans, gunshots, blah blah blah,'" Pasin mimicked Jin-Man, closing the fridge with his foot before rolling his eyes dramatically and straightening his back, squaring his shoulders. "You two are impossible. And speaking of which, who's going to clean up this mess in the kitchen? Because it won't be me. And if you find my body lying in a pool of chocolate, at least give me a decent eulogy."

Jin-Man smirked, shaking his head. "You always have a flair for the dramatic, Pasin. Maybe you should have been an actor instead of a soldier."

Pasin laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "And miss out on all the fun of dodging bullets and cleaning up after you two? No thanks. But seriously, what’s with the cake? Are we celebrating something, or is this just another one of your midnight baking sprees?"

You rolled your eyes, scooping another dollop of frosting onto the cake. "Jin-Man has been nagging me to make this chocolate mint cake for ages. Figured I’d finally give it a shot. Besides, it’s been a while since we had something sweet around here."

Pasin raised an eyebrow, leaning against the counter. "Chocolate and mint, huh? Sounds fancy. You know, back in Thailand, we had this dessert called Khanom Chan. It’s a layered cake made of rice flour, coconut milk, and pandanus leaves. My grandma used to make it for special occasions. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you guys sometime. Show you what real dessert tastes like."

Jin-Man chuckled, shaking his head. "I’ll hold you to that, Pasin. But for now, let’s see if this cake lives up to its hype. And maybe, just maybe, we can avoid burning down the kitchen in the process."

Pasin clapped Jin-Man on the shoulder, grinning. "Deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to scrub the smell of dairy farms off me. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone."

The sound of gravel beneath tires makes you startle back to reality. It's a motorcycle. The low hum of the engine cuts through the evening silence, and you can hear the faint squeak of brakes as it comes to a halt. Ji-An arrived. You can hear her fidgeting with her pockets, can see her expecting to hear the jingle of keys mixing with the distant chirping of crickets, and see the crunch of her nose when she finds nothing. The smell of gasoline and dust lingers in the air, mingling with the scent of pine from the trees surrounding the house.

You stash the letter and USB drive into the inner pocket of your jacket, feeling the cool metal press against your ribcage. There’s no time to be delicate; you have 2 minutes before she gives up and bends down to pick the spare key beneath the worn-out welcome mat. You need to leave before she sees that the weird doctor from the morgue is in her fucking house

"Where the hell is that key?" Ji-An mutters under her breath, frustration evident in her voice. She pats down her black leather jacket, and the sound of metal on metal grows louder as she digs deeper into her pockets. Her boots crunch on the gravel. "Come on, come on," she grumbles, her voice rising slightly in pitch. Her hair falls into her eyes. She blows a stray strand away impatiently, her breath visible in the cool night air.

You barely have time to hide the loose floorboard and close the office door before you hear her footsteps approaching the front door. Your heart races, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You slip out of Jin-Man's office, moving swiftly but silently through the hallway, your breaths shallow and controlled. You navigate through the dimly lit house, your senses heightened, every creak of the floorboards sounding like a thunderclap in your ears.

You reach the back door and gently push it open, the cool night air hitting your face like a splash of water. You step outside, careful not to let the door slam behind you. The moon casts long shadows across the backyard, and you stick to the darkest corners, moving quickly towards the side gate. You glance back once, making sure Ji-An hasn’t noticed your escape.

You slip through the gate and duck behind a row of hedges, your motorcycle hidden just a few feet away. The sleek, black machine is your lifeline now. You move with purpose, straddling the seat and inserting the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and you cringe at the noise, glancing back towards the house. But there's no sign of Ji-An. You twist the throttle and take off, the wind whipping through your hair as you speed down the gravel path.

The bike's headlight cuts through the darkness like a knife, illuminating patches of yellow grass and muddy puddles on the sides of the road. Every now and then, a bat flaps its wings close to your face, causing you to swerve reflexively, and a small stream hums to your left, its water glimmering silver in the light. There are narrow streets lined with old wooden houses, their eaves heavy with age and darkness. The smell of rotten fish wafts from one open window as you pass by; another house has a young family gathered around a TV set, laughing at some ancient sitcom that blares from within. A group of teenagers huddle together on a corner, passing around a cigarette and talking loudly about sports or the new porn edition. 

As you approach the main road, however, you hear the voices of an old couple. They’re coming up the road, carrying bags of food in their hands. You slow down, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible.

The old man, Mr. Park, as a name tag from the local market says on his chest, adjusts his glasses and squints at you, trying to make out your face in the dim light. He's wearing a faded blue cap that looks like it's seen better days, and his clothes are practical—heavy-duty work pants and a checkered flannel shirt, the kind you'd wear for a day of hard labor. He has a sturdy build, with broad shoulders that hint at a lifetime of physical work. On the other hand, his wife’s silver hair is tied back in a neat bun, and she clutches a small purse under her arm, its clasp shaped like a tiny bird. She’s wearing a floral apron over her coat, the kind with deep pockets that always seem to have a piece of candy or a spare coin for the neighbourhood kids. 

"Ji-An, is that you?" Mr. Park calls out, his voice trembling slightly with age. He shifts the bags in his hands, the labels from different brands of local produce peeking out—fresh vegetables, a loaf of bread from the bakery, and a carton of milk. "Where are you going at this hour, girl? We just saw you come up the road!"

Mrs. Park nods vigorously. "Yes, yes, darling. Something happened? Poor thing, you look like you've seen a ghost.”

You quickly put your helmet on, hoping it will obscure your features. You pull up beside them, pretending to be Ji-An. "Oh, just running an errand, harabeoji and halmeoni!" you say, your voice muffled by the helmet. "What do you have there?"

Mrs. Park smiles, her dentures slightly slipping as she does, and hands you a bag filled with homemade kimchi and rice cakes. "We brought some food for you. This kimchi is from the last batch we made, and these rice cakes are fresh. We know it’s been a tough time since Jin-Man’s passing. Our condolences, dear. We’ll be at the funeral."

Mr. Park places a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you need anything, anything at all, you just let us know, alright? Jin-Man was a different one, detached from the countryside, yes, but he had a good heart. He helped us a lot, especially with the summer crops. Those tomatoes wouldn’t have grown half as well without his help. He was a master with that old tractor of his, always fixing it up so it could run just a little longer."

You nod as you clutch the bag tighter, feeling the warmth of the rice cakes through the plastic. "Thank you. He was a good uncle. Always knew how to lend a hand." You shift uncomfortably on the hard seat, feeling the cold leather bite into your skin through your thin jeans.

Mrs. Park's wrinkles deepen as she places a wrinkled hand over her husband's. "Take care, dear. Sleep and eat well. Do you need any help with the funeral, or is your auntie going to help you with it?"

Auntie? Jin-Man had… he had another woman? That’s why he left you behind? That’s why he didn’t have anything related to you in his house? Did you really sit there teaching him how to love and how to let someone in, knowing damn well it wouldn't be you?

“Auntie?” you repeated, the word tasting bitter on your tongue like rotten fruit. Your mind raced, trying to piece together this new fragment of information. You imagined a woman, perhaps in her late thirties, with a kind face and warm eyes, someone who had shared Jin-Man’s life in a way a younger girl like you never could. Someone who knew his secret laughter and his midnight snack cravings, who had nursed him through illnesses and comforted him during sleepless nights. Someone who had grown old with him, watched their garden wither and grow beside each other, their hands aged from hard work and time. The thought of it made your stomach turn, and you couldn't help but wonder what kind of person she was—did she know about you? Has Jin-Man ever mentioned your existence? Were they happy together?

You waited for a response, and in expectation, with all your senses heightened, you wished to immobilize the entire universe, fearing that a leaf might move, that someone might interrupt, that your breath, any gesture, might break the spell of the moment and make you fall again into the distance and void of words. Blood throbbed dully in your wrists, chest, and forehead. Your hands were cold and damp, almost numb. Your anxiety left you in extreme tension, as if ready to throw yourself into a whirlpool, as if ready to go mad.

Mr. Park widens his eyes slightly, a flicker of realization crossing his face. He stammers, his words faltering. "Ah, y-yes, your auntie. I suppose you might not know about her..."

The taste of bitterness lingers on your tongue, and your hands tremble slightly as you grip the handlebars of the motorcycle. “Oh, no, no! I know who you are talking about, yes. But I’m not actually in contact with her, so I don't know if she will... appear," you say, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably as your voice wavers. You can feel the cold sweat forming on your back, drenching your shirt and making the fabric stick uncomfortably to your skin.

The elderly couple exchanged a worried look but did not insist. "Well, if you need help, dear, we are here," said Mrs. Park, the compassion in her eyes making her lips tremble slightly. She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders, shielding herself from the cold night wind. 

“Thank you, I really appreciate it," you replied, your voice almost a whisper as you started the motorcycle's engine again. The Yamaha roared to life, the sound reverberating off the brick walls around you. “Thank you for the food again, really.” You bowed your head to them in deep gratitude, the weight of your helmet making the gesture slightly awkward. “Good night!”

"Good night!" Mrs. Park added, her voice a touch higher, betraying her worry. She reached out, as if to touch your arm, but stopped short, her hand hovering in the air before she let it fall to her side.

You speed through the empty roads leading out of town, passing by fields that seem to stretch endlessly into oblivion—their crops swaying gently under the moonlight like they have stories to tell if only someone would listen. The darkness swallows everything beyond them; it feels like there is no end or beginning to this world where secrets are buried deep within hearts and closets alike. The wind bites at your cheeks and fingers numb from cold; yet still, adrenaline keeps pumping through your veins like an unrelenting beast demanding acknowledgment.  You glance into your side mirror occasionally, making sure no one is following you, but for now, it seems like they've all gone inside for the night. You smile grimly in response to their absence—alone time is what you need right now more than anything else.

You want to scream, to break things, but instead, all that comes out is a hollow smile.

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

“Mrs. Lee? Can you wait just a second?”

Halting your steps, you look back to see the attendant from the shady motel you were staying in. Her name tag read "Mina," and the bubblegum she chewed snapped between her teeth, a pink bubble forming and popping every few seconds. She had a bored expression on her face, her dark eyeliner smudged slightly as if she'd been rubbing her eyes. Beside her, Yumi sat on the counter with her legs crossed, her skirt riding up just enough to almost show her panties. She glanced at you from under her eyelashes as she painted her nails a bright crimson, the color matching the cherry-red lipstick she wore. If she were off duty and you weren’t that urgent to look at this USB, it wouldn't hurt to have a quickie with her in some spare room. It wouldn't hurt to have some hot flesh in your cold hands.

“What is it?”

“Two men, twins, came here looking for you,” Mina said, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and fear. Her fingers drummed nervously on the counter, each tap echoing like a heartbeat. “Both had a cold expression and were filled with scars. They looked like they just walked out of a warzone.”

You raised an eyebrow, your grip tightening around the bag of food in your hands. “Twins? What did they look like?”

Mina chewed her gum thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she recounted the details. “They were tall, maybe about six feet. Both had buzz cuts and wore black leather jackets—looked like something straight out of a biker gang. One had a scar running down his left cheek, and the other had a tattoo peeking out from under his collar—a snake or a dragon, couldn’t tell for sure.”

Yumi glanced up from her nails, her smirk widening as she blew on them. “They were packing heat too. Saw the outline of a gun under one of their jackets. Made me think they were either cops or criminals.”

“Did they say what they wanted?” 

Mina shook her head, her oversized, retro glasses slipping down her nose as she did. “No, but they didn’t look like the talking type. More like the ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ kind.”

You sighed, recognizing the description. Dad always knew how to find you, no matter where you went. It seemed that your short-lived escape was over. Probably checking if you already knew about Jin-Man’s death. He isn’t stupid and you have a tendency to do things without thinking through the consequences. Now, the consequences were there, floating in your mind, and you couldn't keep them shoved back the way you shove dirty laundry into a closet instead of washing it.

Yumi hopped off the counter, her Converse sneakers squeaking slightly against the tiled floor. She started to circle you, her eyes scanning your face and clothes with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. “They scared the living daylights out of us,” she said in a childlike voice, her eyes wide with faux innocence, the kind you'd see on a doll in a horror movie. “I thought they’d hurt us if we didn’t tell them where you were staying. But we’re such loyal attendants, we never told them a thing.”

Mina’s gaze lingered hungrily on the homemade kimchi and rice cakes you carried before she glanced sideways at Yumi, who was now biting her lips and touching your arm like you were a lamb, although it was pretty clear you were the wolf in this scenario. “We just thought… maybe we could use some reinforcements. Just in case they show up next time.”

Yumi nodded vigorously, her pigtails bobbing with each movement. “Yeah, like, maybe we should call in some favors.”

You understood what she was hinting at. 

With another sigh, you handed her the bag of food and fished a couple of wons from your pocket, handing them to her. Yumi's eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as she took the money, giving you a glimpse of her cleavage as she tucked the wons into her bra. Her fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary, a calculated move from her days working the streets, using every trick in the book to get what she wanted. But you knew the game too well to be swayed by her flirtations.

“Thank you, Mrs. Lee!”

“Good night. I’m going to my room now.”

The stairs were narrow and steep, each step creaking ominously under your weight. The walls were lined with faded, water-stained wallpaper that might have been green once but now looked like a sickly shade of brown. The smell of stale cigarettes and cheap cologne grew stronger as you approached the fourth floor, mingling with the faint odor of mold and dampness. You passed by room 304, where the sounds of drunken laughter and a woman's exaggerated moans spilt out into the hallway. Some businessman letting off steam with a prostitute, you guessed. You were glad you didn’t have to settle for such shallow pleasures.

You reached your room, number 402, and slid the key card into the lock. The door opened with a reluctant groan, and you pushed it open with your fingertips since your hands were full of takeout from a restaurant near the port that was still open late. The fries were steaming hot and sour, and you savored the taste as you closed the door behind you, setting down the bag of food next to your laptop on the cheap wooden desk.

You took off your jacket and threw it on the bed before reaching for the lighter and cigarette that lay on the nightstand. Your hands were shaking slightly as you lit up; the smoke filled your lungs, and you exhaled slowly, trying to calm your nerves as you thought about what to do.

The room was small and dingy, with peeling wallpaper and a stained mattress on the bed. A small, portable fan whirred loudly on the nightstand next to it, doing nothing but pushing hot air around the room. There was a dirty sink and an equally filthy mirror above it, making it hard for you to look at yourself in the eyes. But it was more than enough for what you needed right now. You dropped onto the bed, feeling its springs groan under your weight, and stared at the empty bottle of soju next to an ashtray filled with butts and cigarette filters.  It seemed like forever since anyone had bothered to clean this place.

You finished smoking before tossing the cigarette butt into the ashtray carelessly and stood up again, pacing restlessly across the room. The squeaky floorboards beneath your feet only added to your agitation as thoughts raced through your head like wild horses. Your father would be here soon enough; there was no avoiding him this time. He always found you eventually; he always knew just where to look or who to ask for information about his wayward daughter. You rubbed at your face wearily before walking to your laptop.

You slide into the creaky chair, the legs scraping against the worn linoleum floor as you open your laptop. The screen flickers to life, casting a faint blue glow across your tired features. You plug the USB drive into the port, your fingers trembling slightly as you wait for the device to be recognized. The familiar chime of the computer acknowledging the new hardware is almost comforting in its routine normalcy.

The folder opens, revealing a series of files with cryptic names. Your eyes scan the list, searching for something that stands out, something that might give you a clue as to why Jin-Man had kept this hidden. The filenames are a mix of alphanumeric codes and odd words—"Dossier_003," "ProjectKX," "Confidential_12/21." 

You scroll, scroll through packs of photos and zips of files until one calls you out.

“VENDETTA.ZIP”

[leprosycock]

been putting some thought into things and with some tinhatting from joan and sea, i'm settled in the offbrand debacle theory hinging either mostly or entirely on the combined debacle of jrma's soft retirement and the streaming bubble popping along with the offbrand xmas party . follow this with me if you will:

jrma announces his soft retirement early last year. it's springtime. post-str3amer awards, pre-house fIipper. it's set to happen in 2024, but who are we kidding, he made his decision right then and there. 2023 was soft and unremarkable and the biggest streams he did were house fIipper and the shuffle stream. not very remarkable for a sendoff, but it was a sendoff nonetheless.

Iudwig hires jrma to be part of offbrand. he says it's the coolest thing about working there. jrma has always said he's wanted to retire in production and creative direction. it seems like an eventual happy ending for the time being.

Iudwig is extremely volatile, bitter, mean, standoffish, jealous, and snippy during house fIipper 1. he softens only when he gets to talk to j, who showers him in endless praise in turn. it's a fairly normal dynamic for them with lud just being especially pissy when jrma divides his time simply due to the nature of the game.

jrma and Iudwig are close enough over the summer where Iudwig races ahead of the group in qt's twitchcon vlog to hug jrma when they meet up for dinner, borrows jrma's con pass to give to qt when she loses hers, and offers jrma's setup to spu/uky to use at his leisure. things are going remarkably well.

2023 is sparse for collabs and the next biggest stream we get between them is the shuffle stream, where jrma puts on his typical self-fellating charade with costume changes and an elaborate performance and he and lud gaybait and play around with each other for hours. lud beams and glows and he and j are ecstatic just to be in close proximity to one another, touching each other whenever they can. they seem to adore each other.

the next stream we get is house fIipper 2. lud is noticeably weird and overly sentimental, full of stilted, out-of-character praise, petting jrma whenever he can and cooing at him, telling him how good he looks. it's rife with tension and it's easy to tell that something is amiss just from Iudwig's attitude.

next we have the offbrand christmas party that qt was forcibly absent from. she asked when it was, Iudwig said they weren't having one. she bugs him and bugs him and he dismisses her at every turn. he lies and says he's just gonna go out for the night and qt finds out that he was at the offbrand party via shakedrizzIe posting about it on instagram. she has a breakdown about it on stream and lud offers no real excuses, avoiding the subject instead. jrma was present. qt was not. on purpose. for reasons unknown.

this coincides with a very steady and rapid decline of streaming numbers. twitch is falling apart and youtube isn't fairing much better. especially when you've been maligned as a react andy and the public has turned against your bread and butter.

almost immediately after this party, dodgeball takes place and lud is mysteriously absent from all credits despite this being an offbrand project. st4nz is less than friendly towards him. afterwards, lud sharply and shortly mentions on stream that he had nothing to do with the production of the project at all.

sure enough, his name is largely removed from the company website and references to him being the founder and owner.

after this, lud lashes out at a small streamer who remarks that she's only familiar with him because of dollhouse and he has a mental breakdown rife with bitterness and indignation, wondering furiously if he's only ever going to be known for that stream, if that's all he'll ever be.

he and jrma are not seated together at the 2024 awards. jrma gets a vague passing mention in the offbrand ad that plays a few times and one more mention during a clip comp. that's all, compared to last year's insane tribute montage narrated by lud, the two of them sitting together, tweets, etc etc. he is also mysteriously absent from the name your pr1ce photoset posted by austin and will despite being a highly anticipated guest at the con show.

very odd timeline with a very sudden turn of events. it makes you think. it also makes one consider how Iudwig, in all his former trauma kid and personality disorder glory, links money to affection and affection to money. his love language is buying gifts. his love language is being gifted to, being showered with riches and glory, and i believe that something like that being revoked from him is akin to outright abandonment. abandonment is a terminal disease and one that becomes necrotized over time and rots from within and Iudwig is a devastating victim to it. his daddy dies and leaves him for dead to fend for himself and then, decades later, his second daddy dies and leaves him for dead to fend for himself once again.

i believe that once he realized that jrma was not going to be able to singlehandedly finance their fake fucking company where they scribble in lisa frank coloring books all day and poke st4nz with a cattle prod for fun, lud assumed he was in yet another state of abandonment and this didn't truly hit until lud either came to terms with this suddenly or he discussed it with jrma during the christmas party. jrma cannot keep offbrand afloat, he can't keep Iudwig afloat. by being unable to keep Iudwig afloat, he is no longer loyal. he no longer adores him. he is no longer Iudwig's teacher/mentor/father/crush and he is instead a selfish, unloving predator looking to take advantage of Iudwig and offer nothing in return—the offer that was always meant to be given was his body and his money and his time and his work.

because Iudwig is an insane person, i believe he took this as a personal jab and thinks that this was a long con in order to undermine Iudwig and the plan that he had for them to retire together. after everything that Iudwig has done for him and offered him, it's thrown back in lud's face. dollhouse was a scheme. replacement was a scheme. bro v bro was a scheme. everything that jrma has done is for the sake of entrapping Iudwig, making him soft and pliable, working his way into lud's heart in ways that no other person has managed to do before. and that's terrifying to Iudwig. compliments mean nothing to him, except when they come from jrma. it makes his chest feel warm. jrma gives and jrma takes and this time he took too much. and it hurts.

[zylian]

I’m watching Ls vods and things are just so comical

Like for someone to spew hatred and leave the server only for the same members of the server to welcome him back in open arms after he said that is just hilarious

It’s nonsensical but than you realize they’ve been pissing each other off consistently for years and have said way worse back than too, it was ego and genuine feelings boiled up

Yet they all just let the other simmer down and move on, always, there was never praise nor acknowledgment of either side being good, only when correcting a chatter really

Now the guy who called em snakes disappeared and his name was still being thrown around in that time, literally still treated with so much air and life, nothing he could have said or done worse would of changed their reactions

Still watching his clips, laughing and crazily enough praising his play style, they even said they missed him, the fondness, sarcasm, comparisons- he had become an unconscious standard in their minds

Insanity

But than you take one look at the vods and whatever the hell went on for those years prior and yeah it makes sense

It just does, from early stream sniping, provoking fights, burning and destroying, dragging along, animosity and than noticing his wariness like a wild animal yet they all repeatedly approached him and had biases towards him

You could say his reaction was warranted and you could also say you hate him for being crude, it’s not wrong

Though he matched what that server was and the members acknowledged it

Finding bugs, abusing tiny exploits, finding fun in the littlest of things, killing his hate to control chatters, hating pvp but always engaging, putting himself at risk for the others content, his confusion in liking building, avoiding getting too close

An all rounder you can say, if you saw his pov its really someone who lived in their own bubble and when it was pierced he matched the energy

A terrible hater who was susceptead to constant berating, being thrown around, used as support, known for loyalty but at the same time was never loyal at all, never hesitated and to be someone who felt alive dancing with death consistently, always the first to step forward when death called their name

For him to be back makes it so laughable, not knowing how to approach someone so familiar yet so distant, like always, resorting to the core and fighting him head on

Also early s4 & s5 of his storyline (not dragged into others) he was free and spiteful to his teammates he wasn’t bound to by any means, for red to come back to him a 3rd time but as his s3 brutal self- I wonder what route he’ll end up in since all he’s said was what the person who talked to him wanted to hear, never his own opinion to be said yet

Ls sure is twisted and corrupt, after all that they still tried to coax him back and once back be aggressively told that what he said is retconned and that he’s not allowed to leave again-

Evil, all of em are such twisted characters

that’s why they fit so well on that server

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

Can I ask for Ingo and Emmet for that newest ask game? :3

you most certainly can!! (send me a character ask game)

First impression: i actually had skipped the battle subway in bw so when i played pla, my first impression on meeting ingo was "this guy is coded like a cameo from another game. not sure which one tho. anyway he looks like a stuffed animal that went through the washing machine by accident and i just know there is a certain sect of lesbians on tumblr who are going to want to put him in a bug jar." and i was right on all counts. i'm ngl my first emmet impression was probably largely based on fan content before i actually went back to see the canon stuff so it was mostly "damn, giratina (arceus?) should Not have separated these two"

Impression now: DAMN, THEY SHOULD NOT HAVE SEPARATED THESE TWO. ingo is my special lil guy who is duty oriented until it kills him and very competent and unreasonably polite which are all character traits that do in fact make me, personally, wanna put a dude in a bug jar. emmet is. my guy my man he's me he's my everything i'm incapable of talking coherently about him.

Favorite moment: gotta be the only time i have ever bothered to go through the hassle of exporting a whole video clip from my switch when ingo loses to the protag in your first battle. he is so happy about it... when else does he smile that genuinely... waaaahh...

Idea for a story: uh hmm the problem here is all my story ideas are in my pinned or my pitches tag lmfao. i guess one thing i've been rotating is it would be fun to do something else with the oop-canon thing where neither of them fully remember each other but also don't have a ton of spare time to interrogate the situation, bc i think it's a fun take. some other scenario where emmet doesn't even remember that they're twins, they're just both like, "alright, you look exactly like me, that's goddamn weird, but fuck it, we've got bigger problems so let's just work together for now." i like how quickly they fall into lockstep without knowing why. i think it's fun

Unpopular opinion: i know i've said it before but LET THEM KICK ASS! for real! they are hypercompetent pokemon trainers who also manage the cat herding business that is a subway system that doubles as legal wrestling tournaments. they're probably stronger than most gym leaders, if not the elite 4, just by virtue of how much battling they're constantly doing against such a variety of opponents. they're clever and capable of very quick thinking in a wide range of situations and very capable of both reading/understanding and guiding/managing others. they should not be losing to FUCKING WILD POKEMON in basically any scenario. they should be so hard for anyone in hisui to rattle bc none of this is NEW to them. they're just built different. also let emmet specifically be a competent adult i am on my knees begging you

Favorite relationship: can i say each other, is that cheating. i feel like that's a given. it's just good. they are on the same wavelength and ready to back each other up basically all the time and not even getting smote by god itself can change that. OTHER than that i'm a big fan of them w/ the surveyfam. lav and cyllene specifically i think they would all make a fun squad together. fuck, this is what i shoulda said for the story idea section. i want to expand on that like, 5 sentence thing from a while back where they were both in jubilife together along with the protag in a similar situation, bc i think that's a fun idea. kamado's headache is never going away ever again

Favorite headcanon: hmmmmm shit i have too many to choose. does asj qualify as a single headcanon or is that too expansive. oh, this is a random thing, but i still really like the idea that they're like, roxie's uncles or cousins once removed or something, through their birth family that they largely avoid interacting with other than a few people who are mostly chill. they're VERY different wrt personality but roxie's got this unexpected responsible streak when she's arguing with her dad, i think it makes for a fun connection.

[callialire]

A Comprehensive (But Not Exhaustive) Lists of All My Flaws

It's like there has always been too much of me.

I have too many clothes that I definitely don't wear, but how can anybody expect to give up my sophomore yearbook shirt, it's a fundamental part of my history, it's fibers have practically molded themselves to my bones. No, I don't care that I haven't worn it since 2019, what if I wake up in 2025 and that t-shirt is the only thing I want to wear, but instead, it's rotting in a Goodwill bin, because nobody else cares that much about high school year book t-shirts. What do I wear then?

I talk too much and too loud about things that people don't care about but if I don't say it right now, I'll choke on it, I swear. What if I die and those words are stuck in my throat and I can never change your mind and you never think of me when somebody tells that same joke? (Also I'm one of literally 40 people that crush and bend and fold ourselves into a single dining room every major holiday, if I don't yell, I may as well not speak, and as previously mentioned, that would do some serious damage to my ego.)

And speaking of ego, it's just another thing in me that has overgrown and like my front lawn, I have neglected to cut away the dead parts. So, it's wild and untamed and untended, probably full of bugs and weeds. I am the most important, I am the smartest in the room, I am the funniest, the best dressed. (False.) I do try the hardest, I can't stop, God knows I've tried. I care about other people and I tell myself it's for them, but I know the truth of it all. It's for me, I have to water the grass, I don't care that it's reaching my knees and the HOA keeps sending letters threatening to fine me over it. I don't care that it's dying and it's starting to smell like death too.

Moving away from the metaphorical (and incredibly tangled) ball of yarn I have become, I cannot stop buying things I don't need. I tell myself I will get organized, I just need another clear plastic bin to place on another bookshelf. If my dresser matches the frame of my mirror, I'm more likely to put my clothes away, right? If my desk has little porcelain cups for all my pens and paper clips, I'm definitely not going to avoid working for 6 days straight. I don't fold my laundry right away so I lose my socks all the time, and I don't even wear socks like 9 months out of the year, but I definitely need more before it's winter because the ones I wore last year all have holes in them because I wear shoes less than I wear socks and I'm outside all the time. If there's a special event, I need a pair of high heels, perhaps a dress to go with them, because all of the dresses I buy eventually end up in a bag that sits in the back of my car because I never wear dresses except when there's somewhere to go, and these tend to be one off occasions so I really don't need that pastel mini dress or the bright pink heels I bought to go with it, until I do and it turns out, I sold the dress at a garage sale last summer and I only made 6 bucks off it, even though it cost me 50.

Which brings us back into the metaphor of it all, because Net Loss of 44 Dollars Made with Good Intentions should really be the title of my autobiography. I won't elaborate on that right now, but you should know that it makes perfect sense.

It's never quiet enough, but in the same breath, it's too quiet and I'm too nervous that something is wrong. I have forgotten how to exist outside of myself and I am worried, deeply, that something in me is fundamentally wrong. Because there has always been too much of me and it has never been enough.

[rinsdevil]

JEALOUSY

You and Kaeya have a casual relationship, with both sides saying they want nothing more. However, one day, Kaeya ends up getting jealous and things don't turn out so well...

CW: kaeya jealous (possessive??), orgasm denial, spanking, unprotected sex (dont do it. protect yourself!!) Dom!kaeya x sub reader, dacryphilia, choking, AFBA reader She Her pronouns.

count: 4.8K

-18 DNI

Hii this os not my first time writing something but is my first posting here and I dont know very well how Tumblr works (I hope learn soon) problaby I will post others imagines with characters of genshin, jujutsu kaisen... anyway I already spoke too much have a good reading :)

“What do you think of sticky honey roast? It's one of Sara's specialties,” Amber says, sipping her orange and lemon juice.

She's helping me decide what I'm going to make for my dad's birthday dinner. Well, I'm not going to do it myself since I'm a disaster in the kitchen, but what can I take and pretend I've managed - for once in my life - to cook. Daddy may well see my trick, but he'll still smile gratefully and say what a good daughter I am. It's an unspoken tradition that during Dad's birthday the family gets together and everyone brings a dish of their choice. It's the only date of the year when everyone gets together and no one misses.

“Thank you Amber, I think I'll take this one.” I answer adjusting my rose-shaped clip in my hair that insists on going into my eye. “Oh, and you want to go with me? I love my dad but it's pretty boring just having relatives all night,” I beg, doing my best abandoned puppy look.

Amber rolls her eyes and smiles looking like a sunshine.

“Sure! Just tell me where and…” Amber keeps talking, but I can't hear. I try to pay attention to her words and all I hear is my heart pounding.

All because of him.

Kaeya enters the tavern and my entire body responds just to her appearance. He smiles and winks when he realizes my gaze is on him, which only makes me clench my hands trying to control the sweat that starts to break out on them. His outfit is as impeccable and his blouse is open to show a chunk of his muscular chest. I look away feeling my cheeks flush remembering the feeling of touching his body, of his big hands exploring every bit of my skin, while his lips left bruises and marked me...

“Really, [name]?” Amber's irritated voice snaps me out of my reverie. I instantly stare at her as if I've been caught doing something wrong. “So many people for you to be interested in and it had to be just this guy?”

I shake my head and clear my throat, doing my best innocent look.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I retort, taking a sip of dandelion wine in hopes she'll change the subject.

But of course that doesn't happen.

There are few things that can bring out Amber's worst side and one of those is Kaeya. It's no secret that she loathes him and makes it clear. I still don't know where this contempt for him came from, but I prefer not to ask and let her tell me whenever she wants. Maybe this is a mystery we will never know.

“You may have a crush on him, but I sincerely hope you don't fall under this bastard's spell for your own good.”

I end up choking on the wine and slapping my hand on my leg, pretending to scare myself with an invisible insect trying not to give away that I've not only fallen into the spell of the “bastard” but more than once. I set my glass on the counter, running a hand over my red skin avoiding looking at Amber, hoping she doesn't notice my cheap trick.

“Hey! It's everything okay?” she asks, watching me coughing after choking.

I notice that Kaeya is looking at me with a mocking smile.

“Yeah I'm fine” I clear my throat. “I think there was a bug on my thigh” I grumble. damn! I hit harder than I should have and now it hurts.

“What happened [name]?” I hear Diluc's voice and move my gaze to his body behind the counter. His red hair is tied back as usual and I can see a little dark circles under his eyes. “Your face looks weird.”

I shake my head in negative.

“It's nothing Senpai, only an insect bothered me. Where were you? It's been a while since Amber and I arrived, but we've only seen you now.”

He shrugs taking my glass of wine without me having a chance to protest. It's only my second glass, but he doesn't look like he's going to give in even if I say so. Even though he owns Dawn Winery, he hates alcohol. We've been friends long enough that he takes the alcohol off my hands when he thinks it's time. But of course it ends up happening sometimes that he takes the alcohol from me, without me even taking advantage of it. It's not like he forces me not to drink, but he also doesn't approve when there's some celebration where I drink more than my limit and end up with a hangover.

“I was working over some paperwork on the suppliers.”

“You should rest” this time it's Amber who speaks and even points to the dark circles on Diluc's face.

“Amber is right,” I agree. “You'll soon be looking 40 before you even hit 30.”

Diluc rolls his eyes.

“I'm fine, I don't need the worry of two brats.”

I bring my hand to my chest pretending to be offended while Amber sticks out her tongue.

“Then don't say we didn't warn you,” Amber snaps and her head moves to the person tapping her shoulder. It's Master Cyrus. He whispers something in her ear that makes Amber get up from the bench in a hurry.

“Something happened?” I ask worried by his reaction.

“It's no big deal, but I need to sort out something about the guild.” She smiles and kisses my cheek before leaving. "Bye [name], see you tomorrow."

“Later”

I turn my face away to continue talking to Diluc, but a familiar voice catches my attention.

“Miss [name], good to see you,” Huffman greets me, pausing a few inches in front of me and smiling. He still wears his uniform and looks a little tired.

“Hi Sir.Huffman,” I say with a smile. “Needing something?”

He shakes his head.

“No, it's actually been quiet lately. Thanks to your help, we didn't have any more problems with slimes.”

I smile proudly and move my hand to my forehead with a salute.

“At your service, Sir.”

He smiles and I feel his hand touching my shoulder. I can see in my peripheral vision that Kaeya is watching me and he doesn't look happy at all about this contact. I look away and try to move Huffman's hand gently away from my shoulder, but my hair ends up coming out of my clip and he runs his hand through my hair, pinning it back in place. I smile awkwardly, feeling discomfort and the feeling that something is not going to end well.

My back tingles when I feel someone behind me and I know very well who it is.

“Good night.” Kaeya's voice is deep as he glares at Huffman who instantly takes his hand away from me. I notice his lip curl slightly in satisfaction. "[name], I need you to do me a favor, can you come with me?"

There is no question in his voice.

It's an order.

I nod.

“Of course, Captain.” I get up from the bench. "See you later Senpai." I smile at Diluc who looks at me as if trying to understand what's going on, but doesn't comment anything, just waves goodbye. “Sir Huffman.”

Before he has a chance to say anything, I feel Kaeya's hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the exit. The cold wind makes me shiver as soon as we leave the tavern.

“What do you need my help with?” I ask, confused, feeling his hand circle my waist in a possessive way as we go up the stairs towards the square.

He never touches me like that when we're in public. Our deal was so that no one would know about us, because we don't have anything serious. It's just a casual fuck. He knocks on my door when he needs to and I knock on his when I need to.

Only that.

So why does he seem angry if I haven't done anything wrong?

“Kaeya?” I call again when he doesn't answer. I huff angrily and roll my eyes as he remains silent.

If he keeps ignoring me then I'd better leave him alone and talk when he's not acting like a spoiled brat. I try to pull away from his body, but his hand just holds me tighter against his side.

"Can you let me go? If you don't want to talk to me then…” My words are interrupted by his mouth covering mine and his sweet-tasting tongue invading my mouth. If it was any other time I would reciprocate in the same way, but he's only doing this to make me keep quiet. I push his chest hard. “What the hell Kaeya?” I whisper loudly as our lips part. "What if someone saw us?" I look around but the staircase is empty. Luckily it's late and most people are already in their homes or drinking in the tavern or on the Cat's Tail.

“I don't care.” His voice makes my legs go weak and I swallow hard. He notices and smiles evilly, his face approaching mine. His breath tickles when I feel his breath in my ear. “Now be a good girl and follow me.”

I can not speak. The words seem to disappear every time he calls me that. I offer no resistance and simply nod with my head down, unable to speak. Kaeya cups my chin, making me stare at him star-shaped blue orb.

“That's my girl,” he compliments me and lightly kisses my chin. I feel like a thousand butterflies are fluttering in my stomach and my heart is pounding hard in my chest.

He walks back holding the side of my waist and I don't protest or say anything. I just enjoy the touch of his hand and rest my head on his arm. A yawn escapes my lips and my legs ache a little from the exertion of climbing so many steps after working all day on the expedition with Amber. It doesn't take long until we're in front of the door to the knights of favonius headquarters.

“Good night.” The two knights on guard at the door greet us. They look at us curiously, but don't say anything.

I'm so tired of going up all these stairs that I just nod at length without saying anything. My throat is dry and my legs hurt.

“Good night knights, don't mind with [name], she's had a few drinks today,” Kaeya says, as if that's an explanation for my not talking and his hand touching me in an informal way.

The youngest of the knights approaches me in concern.

"Are you all right, Miss [name]?" he asks and I nod, but I can't answer because at the same time, Kaeya starts walking, guiding my body along with his.

"Don't worry Milles, I'll take good care of her."

I swallow hard knowing that phrase had a double meaning. It makes me anxious and scared at the same time. Kaeya until recently looked angry and I know all too well how hard he is on me when he's in that state. I whimper up the stairs to the second floor. Why here have to be so full of stairs? A few more steps until Kaeya opened the door to his office and ushered me in, finally breaking free of his grip. I waste no time and walk over to his desk, sitting on it to rest my legs. I breathe a sigh of relief to get at least some rest.

"Why am I here Kaeya?" I ask, feeling my throat scratch from lack of water.

I hear the door click shut and Kaeya leans against it, facing me.

“I need to talk to you,” he replies and his eyes don't leave me for a single moment. I nod for him to continue. “You let that man touch you… what were you thinking?”

So that was why he looked so mad.

I'm about to say it wasn't my fault, that Huffman was the one who approached me and I didn't want to, but I don't say that. Even because he has no right to be jealous since I always see him flirting with other women and he always made it clear that we would never be exclusive — or that we could have anything other than sex. I knew from the start that I couldn't get anything from him, that he would never reciprocate my feelings if I fell in love.

"Really, Kaeya? Look, I'm tired and I'm not in the mood to discuss such nonsense so…”

A sound of indignation leaves his lips.

"Are you making fun of me?" His feet start to move and he comes towards me. My chest rises and falls just like every time he's too close. “You should be more careful, [name].” The way he says my name makes my stomach churn. His hand grips my exposed thigh, making me gasp. "Think about it, who do you belong to?" I don't answer his question, I just look away, refusing to give the answer he wants to hear. He knows. He knows very well that I belong to him even though I never said so. Is obvious. Even though we're not exclusive, Kaeya is the only person I go to when I need to relax and the only one who can turn me on with just a touch or word. That's not fair. Not at all fair to the fact that he still flirts with other women, while I can't seem to do the same or even relieve myself. His fingers firmly grip my chin, guiding my gaze to his serious face. “My thoughts are all about you, all the time you're on my mind.”

I blink, stunned by his last sentence and shake my head in negative.

“You're lying,” I whisper, feeling his hand tighten even more on my thigh. For sure your fingers will be scarred, just like every other time.

“If you can't understand, then I'll show you straight to your body.” His lips kiss my neck hard enough to leave a mark. “Please don't resist.”

“As if I could,” I end up saying instead of just saying it in my head. I feel his smile against my skin before he pulls away and releases my thighs from his grip.

“Stand up,” he orders, but I don't get up yet feeling my legs are still tired.

"Kaeya, my legs..."

“I'm not asking [name].”

I swallow hard knowing I have no escape. I get down from the table doing what he ordered. My legs shake a little, but I manage to stand. His body moves closer to mine, our faces inches apart. For a moment I think he's going to kiss me, but I'm turned around sharply and his hand pushes my face and chest against the cold table. The skirt of my dress is lifted and his gloved fingers caressing my exposed ass hard. I bite my lip to keep from screaming at the feel of his hand slamming against my ass, the sting spreading across my skin and the metallic taste of blood on my tongue.

“One for letting another man touch you,” slap. “One for being insolent,” slap. "And this one for not obeying me at first." Another slap echoes and I can't hold back the moan that escapes me. I try to close my shaky legs, but he puts his knee against my intimacy. I grip the edge of the table tightly, feeling the friction of his pants against my damp panties.

“Kaeya please…” I plead, feeling the uncontrollable heat every time his knee brushes against my panties.

I need more.

I need his fingers.

I need him inside me.

He stops moving his knee and I feel his hard cock against my aching ass as he leans down to bite my earlobe.

“Impatient princess? This is the beginning of your punishment.” His hand grips my neck, lifting my face close to his chest. “If you're a good girl I might think about rewarding you.” I feel his knee being replaced by his fingers, which move my panties to the side, brushing lightly against my wet hole. I move my hips for any stronger contact with his fingers, but his grip on my neck tightens in a clear warning to be quiet. They enter me and I tip my head back, feeling them move in and out. I groan in frustration as I feel his fingers leave where I need them to touch me. I don't have time to beg as two of his fingers enter my mouth. “Suck it.” I don't hesitate as I move my tongue and suck on his fingers. A grunt of satisfaction rises in his throat. “Good girl,” he whispers against my ear, taking his fingers out of my mouth.

The tightness around my neck disappears and I'm turned to face Kaeya's body. I lift my head feeling my neck hurt a little. A wicked smile graces his lips as he sees the drool running down the side of my lip and down my chin. I make a move to clean it up, but he holds my hand tightly above my head.

“The other.” I lift my arm and he holds my wrists above my head with one hand. “Stay like this.” He lets go of my wrists and starts playing with the hem of my dress, taking the opportunity to squeeze the inside of my thighs. Kaeya never tries to hide that my thighs are his favorite part and sometimes even asks me to wear one of my garter tights. I close my eyes feeling the dress pass over my head and then it's lying on the office floor. “Beautiful,” he compliments me, seeing my body in just my bra and panties, but his fingers don't take long to rip off the remaining pieces of clothing leaving me completely naked.

I squeeze my legs tightly trying to relieve the pressure at least a little. Without thinking about anything else, I just tug Kaeya by the collar of his shirt, looking like a lost puppy in his eye with shaking hands.

“Please, Kaeya…” I whisper, barely able to speak. My throat is dry and all this isn't helping one bit.

“What? Use words princess,” he teases, cupping my breasts with his big hand, his fingers pinching my hard nipples.

“I need you. I need you to fuck me, captain.”

His eye darkens and I can see lust taking over his gaze when I call him by that title. I hold back a smug smile as I feel his hand brush the crook of my knees, sitting me down on the table. But any hope of him touching me is gone as he pulls out his chair and sits a few inches away from me. I open my mouth to protest, but his words are faster.

“Touch yourself,” he says, simply looking at me, waiting for me to obey. Bastard. He knows damn well I can't get there alone since we started hang out. Every time I tried it always ended up with me frustrated and knocking on his door practically begging him to help me. “The faster you obey me, the faster you'll get what you want."

I glare at him, but I start moving my hands, grazing my breasts and squeezing them. If he wants a show then this is what I'm going to give him. As I play with my right breast, I spread my legs, giving him full view of my soaked pussy. My left hand moves down my belly, stopping over my clit. I rub in circular motions feeling the waves of pleasure wash over my body. Little tremors spread through my legs and I feel the wetness building even more. Kaeya watches me without looking away and I see his hand caressing his cock through his pants.

I thrust two fingers inside myself, letting out a low moan, holding my voice. I know he hates when I do that. My fingers go in and out at the same speed he strokes his cock, slow and torturous. It feels good, but it's still not enough. I can't reach deep enough as his fingers can. Frustration starts to make my eyes water and as much as I try to reach my climax, but I can't. I give up trying to cum and just rest my hands on my thigh, feeling the wetness wet my skin.

“Kaeya…please,” I beg in a sly voice, feeling my tears wet my cheek. “I can't do it alone.”

A few seconds that feel like an eternity pass before he gets up from his chair and stands in front of me.

“So needy,” he says, wiping my tears away with his thumb. “Save your tears for when I'm inside you princess.”

I don't have time to think because his lips stick to mine and his tongue invades my mouth. I sigh against his mouth, moving my hand to the back of his neck, trying to deepen our kiss even further. The clatter of the belt falling to the floor makes my insides tighten and anxiety makes my heart pound against my chest. His hand slides up my thigh, moving up between my legs where he finally touches my sore spot, giving me the attention I've craved. A husky moan escapes against Kaeya's lips as I feel two of his fingers entering me. He pulls his lips away and moves down my neck, biting my shoulder. I hold his shirt tightly and close my eyes feeling him hit that right spot inside me. I try to move my hips desperately, but he grips my waist tightly, keeping me in place.

“Kaeya… I'm close, im-…” I moan, feeling my legs start to shake. My moans come out more uncontrollably as I feel my climax approaching. I'm almost there. I feel like it's not long before this hellish knot leaves my stomach, but Kaeya pulls his fingers away before I have the chance "You bastard, I hate you." My voice is a mix of frustration and anger, feeling the tears come back. rolling down my cheek. “I hate you,” I whisper weakly, resting my forehead on his shoulder.

His hand pulls my hair back, hard.

“I told you it was just the beginning of your punishment princess.” His muscles flex as he takes off his shirt, along with his gloves and then his pants along with his underwear. “This is what you want?” He asks, putting his hand on my back, as he pulls my body close, his chest pressed against mine, I can feel his heart beating along with mine. My body sits right on the edge of the table. I can feel his hard cock rubbing against my entrance and moving up, circling my clit. I nodded obediently. “Beg.”

The head of his cock enters very lightly and I grip his shoulder hard, trying to hold on to the last bit of sanity I have left.

“Please Kaeya… I beg you,” I plead with the few words I can manage.

He seems satisfied with my answer and pushes some more.

“Do you want me to hold you against this table or against the wall? Which do you prefer?”

My mind is blank and I honestly can't think of anything anymore, so I just answer with the last word I heard right. “Wall.”

Kaeya instantly pushes into me. I shudder to feel his cock touching deep inside me and filling me completely. Pain and pleasure mix as I try to get used to his big size.

“Wrong answer,” he scoffs, starting to move with slow but strong thrusts. I bring my hand to my mouth, stifling my moans. Kaeya stops moving and I whimper, moving my hips for any contact.

“Don't hold your voice [name] or I'll get rougher if I don't hear your moans.” Kaeya lunges hard once more, trying to get my moan back. I shake my head in the negative. His hand takes mine and pulls it away from my mouth forcefully, and joins it with both my wrists. “Or maybe that's what you want?”

His thrusts increase the pace being brutal and strong. I can't hold back the moans that get louder and louder. The pressure in my stomach builds each time his cock touches my sweet spot with his circular motions on my clit.

“Kaeya…” I moan against his shoulder, trying to free my hands from his grip, but he just squeezes harder. The knot in my stomach tightens more and more and I feel closer and closer. “I'll c-cum…

“Come on my cock princess,” he orders, stimulating me until I'm shivering and moaning against his body. His hand grips my waist keeping me in place as he continues thrusting and circling my sensitive spot.

“Kaeya… too m-much.” I feel tears of pleasure form in my eyes from overstimulation. I can already feel a second orgasm building. My head is dizzy and I can't think of anything but coming again. “Please… don't…” My words come out slurred and I don't even know what I'm trying to say.

“I'm going to fuck you until you're begging me to stop.” His voice is rough and without a hint of gentleness.

He will destroy me.

His hand releases my wrists only to slam into my chest and make me groan in pain as I tighten around his cock. Kaeya has no mercy and knocks again, smiling sadistically. I know he's close too as his thrusts get more and more sloppy. I can no longer feel my legs, all I feel are the violent spasms feeling my orgasm come stronger than the first time, screaming your name. kaeya ​​comes almost at the same time and I feel his cum filling me and his cock pulsing inside me. My chest rises and falls uncontrollably as I try to catch my breath. I watch a few droplets of sweat trickle down Kaeya's forehead, making his brown skin glow in the light streaming through her office window.

He is so beautiful…

"I'm tired, Kaeya…" I mumble feeling his member leave me only to be replaced by 3 of his fingers. “Please… don't…” but it's too late and his fingers are already twitching inside me.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" he asks, hitting my spot, making me close my eyes tightly. I bring my hands up to his back and dig my nails into his skin, holding on to anything to save my life. "So now hold on until you can't walk."

All I hear are the wet sounds of his fingers moving in and out, along with my moans that scratch my throat. This time the feeling in my stomach is different, the pressure is different. It's stronger and my stomach hurts a little as it goes up and down too fast.

But it's fucking good.

Shortness of breath hits me as the spiral in my stomach unravels and my third orgasm of the night explodes. My eyes widen seeing my squirt that I wasn't even able to do. Kaeya holds me as my body twitches in spasms.

“Shh It's okay, I got you,” he whispers, stroking my back, slowly calming me down. For a few minutes we were silent with Kaeya stroking my back and me making imaginary circles on his skin. “Can you get up?” he asks and I shake my head. Your laugh makes my heart skip a beat. “And sitting? Can you keep up?” I nod and he lets go of me, looking to make sure I can hold myself in place.

I whimper, missing his heat and the cold that hits my body. I watch Kaeya dress without saying anything. As soon as he finishes his hand takes my dress and comes to me. “Can you lift your arm?” I smile, seeing him treat me like a child. I nod and raise my arms. He is agile in getting the dress over my body.

"And my lingerie? There's also the mess…” His arms catch me like a bride, preventing me from talking.

“Don't worry princess, no one will enter here. I'll fix it tomorrow,” he snaps and walks to the door unlocking it and exiting the office.

I lean my head against his chest, feeling my eyes starting to feel heavy with tiredness. I close my eyes and as if by magic I feel my back against something soft. I open my eyes ever so slightly and recognize Kaeya's room. I'm so tired that I don't even have the strength to retort and ask to go to my room. I've never slept here before. I always made a point of waiting for him to sleep before leaving.

But this time it's different.

I feel his chest pressed against my back and his hands wrap around my waist, caressing my skin affectionately.

“Stay for the night,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on my shoulder.

I want to give a smart answer, say that even if I wanted to, I couldn't go.

But I just keep my mouth shut and lean even closer against his body, wanting to stay like this forever.

I will regret this decision when I wake up. I'm sure of that, but for now I'll just focus on the feel of his hands and the heat of his body holding me in the false hope that one day this will happen every day.

[love-and-monsters]

Fake Dating pt. 2

M Faerie X F human reader, 6,405 words

This is a part two to this story. Elwain and his human are safely in the human world, dealing with things far more mundane than an assassination attempt. Both of them are adjusting to the new life and to each other. Very fluffy, with some caretaking. I was in a very romantic mood while writing this and I think you can tell.

Content notes: mentions of parents trying to kill their child, descriptions of minor illness.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. Why do humans like this?”

You repressed a snicker. “You’re watching it.”

Elwain didn’t even look away from the screen to reply. “You put it on.”

“I just turned on the TV. You’re the one who started watching.” Elwain made a noncommittal noise. You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile. “I can change the channel, if you want. There’s a documentary on that I wanted to-”

“No, this is fine,” Elwain said. He hopped onto the couch next to you and curled up. “Ugh. These people know that expensive doesn’t mean good, right?”

You covered your mouth with a hand. Elwain actually, legitimately enjoying trashy reality shows was by far the best thing you’d learned about his personality since you’d started living together. The worst thing was probably that he’d grown up with servants and had no comprehension of household chores. It had taken a few weeks to get him to put his food back in the refrigerator when he was done with it, and you weren’t sure he was ever going to get the hang of doing dishes. Still. He was getting better.

“You’re still going to need to vacuum later tonight,” you reminded him. Elwain groaned.

“I spent all day at work!” he said. “I should get a day off.”

“You only had a five hour shift today. I worked seven. Plus, I have school. You don’t get breaks on household chores. Doesn’t matter how much you worked, they still have to be done.” Elwain looked away sulkily. That was an expression you were getting uncomfortably familiar with. “And you’re not allowed to do magic for it, either.”

“What? Just because you can’t use magic, there is no reason for me to be forbidden!” Elwain said.

“Yeah, sure. You remember what happened last time you used magic to clean the apartment?” Bright pink spots appeared on Elwain’s cheeks. He glared down at the couch, expression screwed up in irritation.

“I fixed that.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You fixed the apartment. What you’re never going to fix is my trauma from walking into my apartment and finding everything covered in spiders!”

“I apologized!”

“Look, the next time you decide to enchant a bunch of bugs into doing household chores, just. Don’t.”

Elwain huffed. “They weren’t even venomous to humans! All of you are so easily frightened. They weren’t going to hurt you.”

“I think the heart attack I had upon entering my own apartment could be considered as hurting me,” you muttered. Elwain looked sour, but didn’t respond, apparently returning to his TV show. Elwain’s adjustment to the human world had been… difficult. He had no real understanding of conventional social norms and obviously still expected everyone to treat him like a noble, despite working a minimum wage job at a fast-food restaurant. Not to mention that he seemed to have very loose morals when it came to enchanting mortals. As far as you were aware, he’d never done it to you, but he didn’t seem to have any sort of restraint when it came to anyone else. Before he’d gotten his job in customer service, he’d made all of his money by charming random people off the street into handing over their wallets.

Admittedly, his skills had come in handy. You didn’t feel particularly good about it, but he had charmed the landlord into giving you the apartment for significantly less than the going rate. In your defense, there hadn’t been many options. You couldn’t stay in your parent’s house with a Fae hanging around, and even with both of you working, there was no way to afford an apartment otherwise.

It did not help that Elwain apparently found your moral crisis very funny.

“You all live by such dumb rules all the time. If you really wanted, I could probably charm someone into giving us their house, or just letting us stay there.”

“That feels morally dubious,” you said.

“Ugh. You won’t let me steal anything, you won’t let me charm people into letting us use their things without stealing them, you won’t even let me charm people into handing some things over!” Elwain flopped across the couch. “So now we’re living in a garbage apartment and I have to work at a greasy food place where customers yell all the time and-”

“It’s a nice apartment, especially considering what we’re paying for it,” you interrupted. “And if you use magic too often, people might start figuring out that something weird is going on.”

“I doubt it. Mortals are stupid.” But Elwain didn’t protest, and went to his job as usual, and didn’t steal, which was more respect for your rules than you were worried he’d show. And, really, you were glad you’d instated the ‘no magic’ rule at large, given how unpredictable the results could be.

Elwain sprawled across the couch. He had a tendency to take up ridiculous amounts of space, pushing you to the edges of the couch to avoid contact. Eventually, you got up.

“Where are you going?” Elwain asked as you walked out of the room.

“I’m going to study for a bit before bed,” you called back. “Enjoy your show.”

He stared after you until your door clicked shut. Weird. He’d seemed almost annoyed about you leaving, even though it meant he could watch his shows for longer and you would stop bugging him about vacuuming. Whatever. He’d been acting weird recently, though. Maybe you should talk to him about it. He’d seemed fine for the first month or so after leaving his home and his parents trying to kill him, but maybe he was having some sort of delayed reaction.

You buried yourself in your textbooks for the next few hours, trying to get a solid start on one of your papers. The back of your mind seemed to be focused on the little noises in the apartment, though. Every sound of footsteps or things being moved pulled your attention back to the rest of the house. Eventually, you heard the sound of the vacuum running for a while before Elwain headed into his room.

He never went back into the main area of your apartment and, buried in work, you were soon thoroughly distracted. Gradually, as you worked, your mind grew less and less focused until you were face down in your books, dead asleep.

“Wake up!”

You bolted upright. There was a piece of paper sticking to your cheek from a stream of drool. You hurriedly pulled it off. “What? What’s going on?” You blinked, focusing on Elwain’s fine face in front of you. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Your alarm was going off. I can’t believe you didn’t hear it. It woke me up.” Sure enough, your phone, which was still sitting across the room from you, on its charger, was ringing furiously. You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t noticed it, though. Your head felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton.

“Oh. Sorry.” You rose a little unsteadily and turned the alarm off. “Thanks for waking me. Probably would have slept right through it if you hadn’t.”

“Uh huh,” Elwain said. “Did someone curse you?”

You blinked at him. He seemed dead serious. “Uh, no. I doubt it. Unless you know something I don’t.”

“If you’re asking about my parents, I would assume they are no longer concerned about me,” Elwain said. His voice was clipped, like it always was when he talked about his parents. “I don’t think they would bother to curse a mortal. If they had the means to lay a curse on someone, it would be far easier and more effective to just curse me.” He paused. “I was only asking because you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled.

“You do. Why didn’t you sleep in your actual bed last night?” he asked.

“Because I fell asleep at my desk by accident. Are you going to stand here and just insult me or-” You broke off into a round of thick, hacking coughs. Elwain took a step back, alarm crossing his face.

“What is happening to you?” He lifted his arms in front of him, like he was trying to ward off some kind of evil spirit.

“It’s a cough,” you said. “Have you never seen a cough before?”

Elwain lowered his arms, still looking at me like he thought you would start convulsing at any moment. “Fae don’t do that.”

“They don’t cough?” You rubbed at your chest. A significant amount of phlegm had settled there. God, your body really had to pick the worst time to get sick.

“Not like that,” he said. “What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick,” you told him.

He nodded slowly. “I’ve heard of that. A mortal thing. Your forms are weak, so you occasionally fall ill. It is a sign of your small, failing lifespans.”

You considered correcting him, but decided that you had better ways to spend your morning than trying to explain germ theory to a Faerie. “Yeah. Sure. Well. I’m sick. So that’s why I’m coughing. It’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.”

Elwain narrowed his eyes. “Hmph. Well. I have work. Don’t die while I’m out.”

“I’m not in any danger of dying,” you told him. “Go head to work. Have fun.”

“That’s unlikely,” he muttered, but he left your room without protest. You closed your door after him and set about getting ready for your day.

The cold had settled into your head and chest and you could tell it was going to be bad already, even before it had come on fully. God. You could not afford to get sick.

Elwain was eating breakfast when you shuffled into the kitchen. You’d needed to absolutely cake your face in makeup to look presentable, and you saw his brows rise as he looked at you. Fortunately, the Fae at least knew how to keep their mouths shut. He just looked back at the frozen waffles he was toasting.

You snagged a granola bar and headed for the door. “Have a good day at work!” you called over your shoulder. Elwain grunted in response. The door swung shut behind you.

Work was exhausting, as per usual. It was better than Elwain’s job by a long shot, since you were working in a local candy store run by a sweet older couple, but between keeping an eye on any batches of candy being produced, sorting out customers, and having to deal with the requisite child-throwing-a-fit-for-not-getting-sweets, it was tiring. Trying to look bright and perky while being weighted down with a cold was awful.

As soon as work was off, you had class. Dragging yourself through it was a slow, painful slog. By the end, your head was fuzzy and you felt dead on your feet. Slowly, you hauled yourself on the bus and fell asleep.

Naturally, you missed your stop.

About an hour after you were supposed to be home, you dragged yourself in through the door. Elwain practically slammed into you. His hands clapped on either side of his face and he peered intently at you. “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you! I thought you were dead!”

You pushed him off you and bent to one side to cough heavily until you were nearly sagging to the floor. Elwain stared at you. “Sorry,” you rasped when you’d stopped. “I fell asleep. And then my phone was on low battery and I wanted to make sure I had enough battery to use my GPS to get home.”

“You couldn’t have texted me?” Elwain drew himself up, hands on his hips. The entire situation reminded you, ridiculously, of your mom when you came home after a night out. “I was worried! I didn’t know where you were, and mortals are so ridiculously fragile-”

“Aw, you’d have been fine,” you said. “If anything, you’d be able to do more without my stupid mortal morals.”

Elwain’s expression went strange for a moment. “Are you feeling well? You seem… off.”

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to lie down, actually.” You coughed again. “That okay with you?” Elwain was still frowning, but he stepped aside, allowing you down the hall and into your room.

You went down into your bed face-first. Almost as soon as you hit the pillows, your mind faded into sleep. Sleep came to you in fitful waves. You kept waking, coughing, rolling over and falling asleep again. When your alarm pulled you back to full consciousness, you felt thoroughly awful. The cold had settled firmly into your chest and head, gumming everything up. Your chest rasped every time you breathed in, prompting heavy coughing fits, you shivered even when you were wrapped in blankets, and your head felt full, achy, and cloudy.

The cold had apparently decided to upgrade to a full-blown illness. Slowly, you shoved yourself upright. It was hard to breathe through your nose and your mouth. Your throat stung with every inhale. Every cell of your body just wanted to pop some of the cold medicine that made you sleep and hopefully you’d wake up when it was all over.

Just as you were standing up, someone knocked on your door.

Well, you knew who. There was only one person who it could be. Grimacing, you walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Elwain. What?”

He stared at you. “I was- are you okay?”

“I’m sick. You remember the discussion was had yesterday?” you said. “Anyway. You needed something?”

Elwain looked you over. You hadn’t looking into a mirror, but given his expression, you probably looked terrible. He seemed to think you were five seconds from crumbling into a pile of ash, like a vampire exposed to sunlight. “Do I need to call 911?” he asked.

“Uh, no. It’s a cold. I don’t need an ambulance. I need to sleep for a while. Why are you knocking on my door?” you asked. Elwain’s mouth moved wordlessly. Whatever he had wanted to talk to you about, it seemed to have been completely derailed.

“I… er.” Elwain’s gaze flicked over you again. “Well. I wanted to see how you were doing. You went to bed right after you got home last night and I never saw you again. And you seem to be doing… poorly.”

“Yeah. I’m not doing great. I really just want to go back to bed.” You rubbed your hand over your head. “I feel like shit.”

Elwain hesitated. “Do you need me to do something?”

“Just go about your day. I’ll try to keep my gross self out of your way.” You slouched across your room to your bed. “If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to try to get a little more sleep.”

Elwain lingered in the doorway for a few moments longer. Finally, he turned and headed into the kitchen. The door remained open behind him, and you couldn’t be bothered to get up and close it again. Instead, you buried your head in your pillow. Sleep claimed you again within moments.

Less than an hour later, your alarm went off again. You slapped at it balefully until it shut off. Somehow, it felt like you gotten negative sleep, like sleeping had made you even more tired. Slowly, painfully, you pushed yourself upright. Shivers wracked your frame. How had sleep made everything worse?

You threw on the first clothes that you could get your hands on and shuffled into the kitchen. Elwain looked up from his breakfast. His mouth opened slightly. “Good lord. Maybe you have been cursed.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “I don’t look that bad.” You did, but you’d slathered enough makeup on your face to cover most of it. Then again, maybe that wasn’t enough to hide from Fae eyes.

“You look like a walking corpse,” Elwain said. You collapsed in the seat next to him and coughed into your fist. The force of the motion made your head throb. Elwain curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace. “Are you certain you don’t need me to call 911?”

“No. It’s a cold. I’m-” You dissolved into a fit of coughing so severe it was difficult to catch your breath. Elwain stared at you, eyes wide. “I’m fine,” you croaked.

Elwain narrowed his eyes, but returned to his phone. You didn’t know where he’d gotten it from, because he certainly hadn’t purchased it, but you’d decided you weren’t going to ask. You ate slowly, mostly because your stomach felt tender, and you couldn’t finish even half of your normal portion. After a while of picking at your food, you dumped your dishes in the sink and started gathering your items to head out.

“Where are you going?” You startled. Elwain had appeared at your shoulder, completely silent. You might have chalked up not noticing him to your cold-dulled senses, but he could sneak up on you no matter how well you were feeling.

“Work,” you said.

Elwain looked back down at his phone. “You are not supposed to leave the house if you’re sick.”

“It’s a cold. I’ll be fine,” you said.

Elwain kept looking at his phone. “If you are sick, you are supposed to stay home, both so you can avoid infecting others and so you can recover.”

“Are you reading that off a website? Where are you reading that from?” You tried to grab his phone, but he gracefully slipped out of your reach.

“I searched about human illnesses on the internet,” he said. “Your symptoms are consistent with the common cold, but they are also consistent with pneumonia. It says you should sleep and drink water until you are recovered.”

“Look,” you said. “I’m fine. It’s a cold. I’ve had them before. I will have them after this one. I know how to handle them. I’ll pop some cold medicine and I’ll be fine.” Elwain stared at you. His expression was hard to read. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll live.” You sniffed and blotted at your face with a tissue. “I’m going to leave now. I’ll see you later.”

You swept out the door, giving Elwain a wave. He stared after you, not moving until you slammed the door shut.

It was a long, slow, awful day. You could barely keep your head together. By the time you got home, your limbs were heavy with exhaustion and your mind was swimming.

You dragged yourself through the door. Your body felt like you were wrapped in a massive, thick blanket. Everything was warm and it was hard to move, like everything was stiff.

Elwain stared at you as you pulled yourself into the kitchen. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “’m fine.” You slouched over the counter and leaned against it. Elwain stood, stepping closer to you. “I’m good. I… I’m good. Just… Tired. Tired. Need to nap.”

“Perhaps you should nap in your room,” Elwain said. “Not on the counter.”

“I’m fine here.” Your words were getting mushy. Why weren’t your lips moving correctly? “I’m good. I just, um. Need. Something…”

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Here, hold onto me. I’ll-” Elwian’s hands were on your waist, on your back. You felt boneless, mushy. Your limbs weren’t moving the way you wanted them to. The only thing you could feel were Elwain’s hands supporting you. Was he carrying you? Maybe. You felt like you were floating. Your head was disconnected from your body, floating. Someone was speaking to you from far away, a soothing voice. It was so soothing. Maybe you could just sleep for a bit. Just sleep. It would be nice to just sleep.

Dimly, you came back to yourself. You blinked your eyes open. The ceiling was unfamiliar, at least as ceilings went. Not that you were familiar with many ceilings, really. Looking down at yourself revealed why the ceiling was so unfamiliar. The bed was covered in heavy, dark blue sheets. Elwain’s sheets. You were in his bed.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright. You still felt bad, but less bad than you had been feeling. A raking cough escaped your chest, thick with phlegm.

“You’re up!” Elwain appeared in the doorway. He looked… frazzled? You weren’t sure the Fae could look as frazzled and unkempt as a human could, but he didn’t look as ethereally beautiful as he usually did. He looked sort of ruffled. “I was considering dragging you to the hospital, but the internet said that maybe ginger tea would actually be better, so I got you some of that.” He indicated the cup in his hands.

“You have got to stop getting all your information from the internet. Or at least I need to give you a media literacy course on identifying good sources,” you croaked. Your voice sounded bad, but it no longer hurt to speak. It just felt uncomfortable.

Elwain gave you a bewildered look and held the cup out toward you. “Drink it.” You took it obligingly and took a sip. Elwain must have dumped half a bottle of honey in it, because it was so sweet you almost couldn’t taste the ginger. You swallowed it carefully.

“Thank you,” you said when you’d finished the cup. “What, uh. What exactly happened to me?”

Elwain sat on the end of your bed. He was wearing his old cloak, the one he’d taken with him when he’d fled from Faerie. He tucked it tighter around him, fingers fidgeting at the hem. “I was hoping you could inform me of that, actually. I was quite frightened when you collapsed like that.”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. Vaguely, you remembered passing out. “How long was I out?”

Elwain glanced at the clock. “Mn. Less than an hour? You were in and out for the first ten minutes, mumbling a lot.” You had vague memories of Elwain leaning over you, expression panicked. Must have been from then. “Once I got you into bed, you fell asleep. I wasn’t sure if I should wake you or not.”

“It is,” you said. “Probably a good idea to let me sleep. Though if I ever do collapse again, please call 911.” You considered. “Well, I guess don’t call 911 unless I’m actually dying. I can’t afford the ambulance.”

Elwain nodded, even though he looked politely confused. “Is your illness getting worse?”

“Maybe,” you said. “It’s hard to tell. I think I have a fever now, so that sucks.”

With absolutely no warning, Elwain leaned forward. His face was abruptly so close to yours, close enough to feel his cool breath tickling your skin. The hairs on the back of your neck lifted. Suddenly the only thoughts in your head had to do with his lips pressing to yours, his cool mouth meandering along your skin-

His forehead touched yours. His eyes closed, a little furrow appearing in his brow. “You’re warm,” he said. “Very warm.” He sat back.

You blinked. “Uh. You can do that with your hand, you know.”

“Oh? I saw the forehead one on the internet,” Elwain said, but he reached up and cradled your face in his hands. With a soft, delicate touch, the back of his hand brushed against your forehead and down your cheek. The touch made something in your chest tighten and your breath catch. “You still feel warm.”

You moved your mouth, trying to get your brain back in gear. “Uh, yeah. Fever! That’s, uh. Bad. I need, um. You remember that pill bottle in the bathroom I showed you? The one with the little red pills?” Elwain nodded. “Get those and a glass of water. They’ll bring the fever down.”

Elwain vanished for a moment and returned with a tall glass water and the bottle of pills. He watched as you downed them and sank back into bed. His sheets were softer than yours, his bed even more luxuriously plush. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the sheets from, or if maybe they were the sheets you’d bought him, just augmented with magic. “Why did you put me in your bed, anyway?” you asked. “My bed’s not that much further away.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” Elwain said. “And you do not like me coming in your room.”

“I don’t like you just walking into my room whenever you feel like it, but you can come into my room,” you said. But you were pretty glad he’d put you in his bed. Everything in his room smelled faintly floral and herbal, a smell that relaxed you. Everything was cozy.

“I am not familiar with how to deal with sick mortals,” Elwain said. “Do you need anything else?”

“No. I just need to rest.” You paused, looking toward the window. “I should probably head back to my own room, actually. You’ll probably want to sleep here tonight, right?”

Elwain shook his head. “Stay. You need to rest. I will sleep elsewhere.” He swept out of the room, cloak fluttering behind him. You stared after him for a moment before sinking back into bed. Despite just waking up, your head was already muddy again. Maybe Elwain had gotten you the pills with the sleeping medicine in them. Your eyes closed. Within moments, you were drifting away, fast asleep.

You dreamed of strange things, of hands on your face, cupping your cheek, of soft lips pressed to your neck, of kind eyes and strong arms carrying you around. When you opened your eyes to see the same kind eyes staring down at you, you were half-convinced you were still dreaming.

“Hello,” Elwain said. “You have been asleep for a while.”

You blinked. Your body did have that foggy heaviness that came when you’d been sleeping deeply. Even your discomfort from the illness seemed far away and dim. “Elwain.”

“Yes. I’m right here.” He said it more gently than a simple statement of fact, almost like a reassurance.

“How long was I out?” There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window and across the bed. You lifted a hand to clumsily shield your eyes.

“Over twelve hours. I thought you should probably sleep. That’s what the internet said.”

“Oh, man, we are going to need to get you some better resources than just ‘the internet,’” you said. “But you were right. Thanks for letting me sleep.” Slowly, you shoved yourself up into a sitting position. “What’s that?”

Elwain held a bowl out to you. “I was told that soup was good for mortal illnesses.”

You took the bowl of vegetable broth. Elwain’s cooking was usually pretty hit or miss- he could follow recipes just fine, but he also had a habit of deciding that he had a better idea than the recipe and going completely off the rails. The soup just seemed to be broth, though. You took a cautious sip. It was watery, but tolerable.

“Are you feeling better?” Elwain asked. You nodded, glancing over at the clock.

“It’s past nine,” you noticed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I called in sick. I wanted to stay home to make sure you were all right.” Elwain looked completely serious.

“It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”

Elwain’s eyes narrowed. “You collapsed.”

“Well, yeah, but…” You trailed off. There wasn’t much you could say in response to that. “Fine. But if you get fired for this, I’m going to be pissed.”

“I will not be fired. My boss loves me.” Elwain gave a superior little sniff, nose stuck up in the air. You laughed into your bowl of broth.

When you were finished, Elwain took your bowl back into the kitchen, returning only a few moments later. “Do you need anything else?”

“I think I’m okay,” you said. “You really didn’t have to stay home to take care of me. There’s not going to be a lot to do. I think I’m mostly going to sleep.”

“Regardless. I think it is better to be safe.” Elwain looked at you from the doorway for a moment longer. “I need you.”

He left the doorway. You could hear his footsteps retreating into your apartment, perfectly steady, like what he said hadn’t made your chest tighten intensely. You sank back into his bed. His scent wreathed around you, gentle and reassuring. Oh, god. Warm feelings were fluttering up in your stomach, swelling through chest and trembling in your lungs. Worse than that, they felt familiar. How long had these feelings been lingering in the background of your mind? And now they had surfaced and you didn’t know what to do with them. Naturally, you would have some kind of emotional crisis when you were sick.

You faded in and out of dreams where Elwain’s scent wreathed around you and his gentle hands stroked your forehead and cheeks. You woke up feeling oddly melancholy.

The sounds of the TV drifted through the open door. Shaking some feeling back into your heavy limbs, you hauled a blanket over your shoulders and headed into the living room.

Elwain was draped over the couch, staring at the TV. There was some soap opera on with a woman and a man hysterically throwing themselves at each other. Elwain looked up as you padded into the room. “Is it okay for you to be out of bed?” he asked.

“Yeah. I feel better, actually.” The sleep had helped quite a bit. You still felt foggy, but the pain in your head and chest had faded. Elwain sat up, drawing his limbs in closer to himself so you could sit next to him.

“You look less… corpse-like,” he said. Before you realized what he was doing, he took hold of your face in both hands and pulled you closer to him. “You are still warm.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m getting better.” You reached up and carefully pried his fingers off your face. You were overly aware of how your fingers lingered together. “How’s your day off going?”

“Human TV is still strange,” Elwain said, turning back toward the screen. “I can’t imagine any humans really behave like this. I have never seen it.”

“No, it’s a soap opera. It’s supposed to be deliberately over-the-top and crazy. That’s why they’re fun to watch.” Elwain rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in his expression.

“Is there anything you want to watch?” he asked.

“No, this is fine.” You settled into the soft cushions, staring at the TV. As much as you were looking in the direction of the TV, most of your attention was focused on Elwain. His gaze kept flicking toward you, as if he was unable to focus on the show either. After a moment, he reached out toward you.

One of his hands settled on your head, the other on your shoulder. Before you realized what had happened, he pushed you so your head was resting in his lap. You stared up at him as he, apparently unconcerned, started weaving his fingers through your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“You did this for me when I first came here,” Elwain said. “It was soothing. I thought you might like it as well.” He paused. “Was I incorrect?”

You considered for a moment. His fingers were still carding through your hair, twining strands around his fingers. “No. I don’t mind.”

Elwain continued to stroke your hair. His nails scratched lightly at your scalp. The feeling of being touched made something tremulous swell in your chest. It was a pleasant feeling, but one so sharp and overwhelming that it almost made you cry.

You lay with Elwain for a while, his hands absently playing with your hair and trailing along your head and neck. He seemed to be paying far more attention to you than to the TV. “You should take better care of yourself,” he said, stroking your bangs back from your forehead. “If you were to die, I would be alone in the mortal world.”

“You’d manage,” you said.

“Perhaps.” Elwain removed his hands from your hair and hesitated for a moment. He seemed to be struggling to speak. Then he sighed. “But I would prefer it if you were with me.”

You looked up at him. He was staring deliberately to one side. There was a faint pinkish color to his cheeks and his eyes were narrowed. “You could have left, once our deal was up. I only asked you to stay with me for the night. And yet, you helped me. There was no reason to. I no longer have my connections or any particular Faerie skills. Even the few powers that remain with me, you don’t like me using. You have gained nothing from this deal and you help me regardless.”

“Of course, I did.” Thinking about that night only brought one image to your mind. Elwain, who had nearly been killed by his own parents, looking lost and confused and abandoned. He had been cocky before, but in that moment, he had just looked forlorn and upset. He had just looked scared. “I wasn’t going to just leave you on your own.”

“You could have,” Elwain pressed on. “Easily, you could have. You could have justified it, even by mortal morals. There’s not a lot here that could kill me. As you have pointed out, I would be fairly fine on my own. But you stayed with me regardless, for no other reason than just helping me.”

“You’d just almost been assassinated. I couldn’t leave you,” you said.

“You could have. But you didn’t. And, at least so far, you have asked for nothing from me in return. To be quite honest, you’ve been almost annoying with how little you allow me to do.”

“I try,” you said. Elwain snorted. It was an inelegant noise, but somehow also incredibly attractive. “Where are you going with this?”

“I’m trying to explain to you that I care about you. I want you to be well and safe and healthy because you saved me and you didn’t have to and I appreciate it.” Elwain’s cheeks flamed red. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

You reached up slowly and let your hand cradle the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing. “It’s strange. I’m not used to this,” he said. “My parents loved me as far as they could use me. It’s how Faeries are. But you have used me for nothing, gained precious little advantage from having a Faerie living with you. And I wasn’t used to it. I still think I’m not used to it. But I am so… so… happy. For this. For you.” He blinked his eyes open. They were hazy with emotion. “Thank you.”

It was an impulse maybe you could have resisted if you were feeling better, but you were overwhelmed with feeling and not in the mood to fight with yourself. The hand on his cheek shifted position toward the back of his neck and pulled him down on top of you. His mouth pressed into yours, tense and unyielding, then softening as he realized what was happening.

There was a moment of fumbling, while Elwain registered that you were kissing. You broke away from his mouth, but he was pressing into you again, pulling you close to him and meeting your lips over and over with his own. His tongue brushed your lower lip and his moan sounded against your mouth.

You weren’t aware of how it happened, but suddenly you were lying back on the couch with Elwain on top of you. He was kissing you furiously, his hips flush to yours. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him as close to you as you could get.

One of your gasping breaths caught in your chest, triggering a coughing fit. You rolled over, trying not to cough right into Elwain’s face. He sat back. His lips were already slightly kiss-swollen and he looked a bit rumpled. “Right,” he said, trying to finger-comb his hair back into a presentable state. “You’re still not feeling well.”

“Hold on. Give me a minute, we can keep going,” you said between coughs. Elwain pressed his lips together, but they were twitching toward a smile.

“You are admirably determined, but I think it would be better for you to rest,” he said. There was a pause. Elwain tugged on a few of the longer strands of his hair. “I take that to mean you feel the same way?”

“That I like you? Yeah.” You pulled him down so he was laying across your chest. He looked at you, eyes surprisingly wide and innocent. “When I first met you, I thought you were kind of an asshole. And you are kind of an asshole. But you’re also charming and endearing and you try to follow my rules even when you totally don’t have to. And you’re willing to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“You took care of me when I had lost everything,” Elwain said. “I only wished to return the favor.” His fingers wandered over your stomach, tracing absent patterns on your shirt. You could feel his warmth against your skin. “Usually, that’s how it works, with Faeries. Favors are given because giving means you can get something in return, and you’re always trying to leverage the deal to get more than what you’re giving.” He closed his eyes for a moment, brows furrowing. “But when I saw you were sick, I wasn’t thinking that I needed to pay you back. I was only thinking that I wanted to help you.”

You stroked your fingers through his hair. “That’s what love is.”

“Mortal love,” he sighed. “I always thought it was flimsy and weak and short-lived.” His eyes opened again and he nestled into you. “It’s much stronger than I thought. So much more than I believed. It almost hurts, but it’s a good hurt.”

You started coughing again. Elwain swung himself up and gathered you into his arms. “I’ll take you back to bed,” he said. “You need to get better. I want to continue this.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes. His heartbeat thudded against you, slow and steady. The feeling of him holding you swelled and ached inside you, a pleasant ache. You clung to him as he eased you into bed and settled in next to you. Your illness was all but forgotten. Everything was soft and pleasant under a heady wave of love.

[marvelyningreen]

Linger

[Summary: You’d always struggled with your mutant abilities. Now, as doubts and frustrations weigh on your mind, you find encouragement from both a friend, and from a mentor.

Warnings: mild language

Notes: Peter Maximoff x reader, featuring Professor Xavier for platonic reassurance (because the world can always use more platonic fluff.) Set in a corner of the multiverse where the X-Men reboot timeline is happening largely as in canon, but the Dark Phoenix storyline isn’t. ]

You shut your eyes tightly. Focus, focus…

           With every fiber of your being tensed in concentration, you have to remind yourself to breathe. You should be able to do this.

           For a moment – for the briefest instant - you think you feel a lightening in your heels. But that realization breaks your concentration. With a sudden jerk – like the falling sensation that comes when you’re about to fall asleep – your heels thud back into the ground.

           You swear quietly under your breath, grateful that everyone else is busy with class at the moment, meaning they won’t see you out in the gardens. It’s enough of an embarrassment to be struggling like this without the added pressure of an audience. You’d better take a break, though, before you burst a blood vessel or something.

           You don’t even have a chance to register the impossibly fast breeze that shoots by you before you hear a familiar voice say:

           “Whatcha doin’?”

           And it nearly makes you jump out of your skin, just like every time.

           “Cripes, Peter!” you gasp, “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

           Peter’s grin turns a little sheepish, and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

           “Sorry,” he says. “Hang on, let me try again.”

           And then he’s disappeared, and you hear the measured sound of footsteps on the paved pathway. A few seconds later, Peter strolls casually into view around the corner of the hedgerow. He pauses, spreading his arms and tilting his head slightly.

           “That better?”

           You can’t help but laugh. Somehow, even his sarcasm seems cheerful. You feel bad for being short with him, even if you were startled.

           “I’m sorry,” you say, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was just lost in thought, and you caught me off-guard.”

           “I’ll say. But my original question stands. What are you doing out here?���

           Even when he’s intentionally slowing himself down, Peter still talks quite fast. When you’d first met him, it’d take you a second to process what he’d said. These days, it’s easier for you to keep pace – at least with his conversation.

           “You’re asking me, the groundskeeper, what I’m doing out on the grounds?”

           You give him a wry smile, hoping the answer will throw him off track. You’re not sure you want to discuss your current state of mind with anyone, and especially not Peter Maximoff. You blink, and he’s standing much closer than before.

           “That’d be a fair answer,” he says, “Except for the fact that you forgot to turn the lights off in the cottage before you left, and you only do that when something’s bugging you.”

           Your brows furrow. “Did you just-?”

           “Nah.” Peter shakes his head. “I didn’t know where you were, so I swung by the cottage first. And you weren’t there, and you weren’t in the mansion, so I came looking for you out here.”

           You immediately seize on the opportunity to change the subject.

           “You were looking for me? Why, do you need something?”

           “Nope. I was just bored. But you’re out here looking like somebody took a hedge-trimmer to your rosebushes. What’s got you so frustrated?”

           He’s looking keenly at you with those big dark eyes of his, and you feel your resolve start to weaken. You turn away, trying not to make it obvious that you’re avoiding his gaze.

           “Don’t worry about it,” you say. “It’s nothing.”

           He’s right beside you now, and he nudges your shoulder teasingly.

           “Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

           “Peter…”

           He nudges you again. “You’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

           His wheedling is unfairly effective.

           “I was trying to-”

But then you clam up. It’ll sound silly to say it out loud, especially considering your lack of success. Peter waits a moment, watching you expectantly.

“You were trying to…?” he repeats, when it becomes clear that you aren’t going to continue.

You know you can trust Peter. He might be inclined to use his powers for pranks, but he’s not the sort of person who’d mock you for your shortcomings. And he wouldn’t keep asking if he didn’t actually care to hear the answer. You sigh, gritting your teeth.

“I was trying to levitate,” you mutter.

Peter lets out an impressed whistle. “Levitation, huh? You’re swinging for the fences.”

“I’m telekinetic,” you say. “Logically speaking, if I telekinetically push against the ground, it should push me into the air. I mean, Mr. Lehnsherr can make himself levitate while only being able to control metal, right? I should be able to do this.”

Hank would be quick to point out that Mr. Lehnsherr is able to levitate by manipulating the earth’s magnetic field rather than by manipulating metal itself, but that’s hardly the point. And-

And now Peter’s laughing. You cross your arms, nonplussed.

“It’s not funny!”

“No, I know,” he says, “I’m not laughing at that. What’s funny is hearing you call him ‘Mr. Lehnsherr.’ Why do you always do that?”

“It’s not like I go around calling the professor ‘Charles,’” you argue. You feel a little disrespectful even saying it hypothetically.

           “Well, sure. ‘Professor’ is his title. But you don’t call Hank ‘Mr. McCoy.’”

           “That’s different,” you protest. “I can’t call my best friend’s dad by his first name. It’d be too weird!”

           There’s a second of silence as you both process what you’d just said.

           Sure, Peter is your closest friend, but you’d never said it in so many words. Did it sound silly? Did it make things weird? Well, it’s too late to take it back now. Peter grins at you, and he speaks before you can try to backpedal.

           “Alright, then as your best friend, I’m gonna give you some advice. You know what your problem is?” he says, wagging a finger at you. “You get stuck in your head and psych yourself out all the time. Here – I got an idea.”

           Peter reaches down to the Discman clipped to his belt and presses play, then skips ahead a few tracks. He settles one of his ever-present headphones onto his ear, and offers the other to you.

           You hesitate.

           “I’m going somewhere with this. I promise,” he says. He raises his eyebrows inquiringly, and extends his hand again.

           Peter smiles as you finally take the headphone and place it over your ear.

           “Now,” he says, “Just take a second and listen. Relax. Breathe.”

           Well, he might know what he’s talking about. You’ve noticed that live music is one of the few things that can get him to voluntarily stay in one place. You exhale, closing your eyes.

 ‘You got me wrapped around your finger,

Do you have to let it linger?

Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?’

             You’d first met Peter a few weeks after you’d started working here at the school. One morning, this silver-haired young man with pretty, dark eyes and a charming grin had appeared at your door, introducing himself as Peter Maximoff.

           That in itself wasn’t strange. You hadn’t gone more than a day without someone stopping by the cottage to check on you, or just to talk. You were never certain, but you had a hunch those visits were at the behest of Professor Xavier.

           Peter, on the other hand? You’re pretty sure his visit was prompted by the scent of freshly baked strawberry pie emanating from the cottage’s tiny kitchen.

Peter was one of your most frequent visitors after that. He’s always happy to taste-test any and all baked goods you’d whip up. He’s good company, and easy to talk to. And if there are days that you don’t feel much like talking yourself, he’s easy to listen to.

Drifting back out of your reverie, you open your eyes to see Peter watching you. He smiles.

“Little better?”

You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, quietly. “Thanks. It’s just… I’m so bad at this.”

           Peter frowns, confused. “Bad at what?”

           “This. All of it.” You gesture vaguely at your hands, and then at yourself, trying to indicate your own mutant abilities. “People hear I work at Xavier’s school, and they expect me to be like the Professor, or like Jean, or you.”

           “Huh. Not seeing the common thread there. What do you mean, like me?”

           “Like… Well, you know – exceptional. Important. But I’m not, and I never have been. You can do such incredible things, and I struggle more than half of the students. Maybe I shouldn’t have come here. Maybe I’d be better off back out there, pretending to be normal, instead of here, pretending that I belong.”

           Peter’s face had lit up for a moment at hearing you call him exceptional, but the smile faded as you’d gone on. Now he looks frustrated, and almost sad, but he quickly straightens up and looks you earnestly in the eyes.

           “So you’re not as powerful as Jean or the professor. So what? That doesn’t mean you’ll never get any stronger than you are now. And if you wanna talk about me, well,” Peter scoffs and spreads his arms self-deprecatingly, “I started out as a punk-ass shoplifter.”

           You laugh involuntarily. He’s so blunt and matter-of-fact about it that you can’t help it. Peter seems to take your reaction as encouragement.

           “And then I met the professor, and Hank, and Mystique,” he says. “And I came here. Look how much has changed for me since then.”

           You shake your head. “That’s different.”

           Peter cuts you off.

           “Listen,” he says. He steps closer, taking your hands in his. “Of course it’s different. You’re not me, and I’m not you. But don’t think for a second that you don’t belong here, because you do. And I… I want you to stay.”

Still moving at a normal pace – which seems oddly slow for him – Peter reaches up and gently brushes your hair behind your ear.

As his hand lingers, you lean your head against it ever so slightly before you realize what you’re doing. Peter hesitates for a second, and then that grin of his returns.

Slowly, still, he steps closer to you again, wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning in until his face is an inch from yours. He pauses.

“May I?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless.

And then he pulls you close, and your hand settles against the nape of his neck, resting against his soft silver hair, and all you can think is how long you’d been wishing that he’d kiss you. But Peter is a flirt with everyone, right? It’s part of his charm. You didn’t want to let yourself think that you were special to him at all.

But here he is – seeking out your company, kissing you in the gardens like the silly romantic that he is – and just for a moment it seems like everything else is drifting away.

Peter pulls back slowly.

“See, what’d I tell you? The second you stop psyching yourself out, you’re a natural.” Peter grins in response to your puzzled expression. “Just, y’know, don’t look down.”

“What do you mean, don’t l-”

And at this moment you realize that your feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. You’re floating, effortlessly, ten feet in the air with Peter in your arms.

Your heart lurches in an instant of panic, but between the music in your ear and Peter leaning in for a second kiss, you don’t lose control.

In fact, you find that you’ve gained it. In your mind, you press down experimentally, lifting the pair of you a foot or two higher, before gently lowering yourself down until you’re once again standing on the ground.

Peter opens his mouth to speak, and then seems to catch sight of something behind you.

“Oh, hey, Professor,” he says. “How long have you been there?”

Peter manages to keep an arm wrapped casually around your shoulders you whirl around to see Professor Xavier at the end of the hedgerow, watching you with an amused expression.

“Not long,” he says.

Damn it, you can feel your face going beet red. Peter coughs awkwardly, hurrying on to answer a question the professor hadn’t asked.

“We were just doing some, uh…” he catches your eye for a second, “Tutoring.”

You fight the urge to facepalm. Why couldn’t you have invisibility powers instead?

“A unique approach,” says the professor. “Peter, aren’t you supposed to be assisting with a chemistry lecture this afternoon?”

Peter grins.

“What, are you worried that I’m gonna be late? Me?” He leans back in to give you a peck on the cheek. “Bye.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with Professor Xavier. You’re scrambling to figure out how best to politely make your exit when the professor speaks.

           “It’s lovely weather out here,” he says. “Why don’t you walk with me for a bit?”

“Well, I… Uh… Okay.”

You fall in step beside his wheelchair, and the two of you go in silence.

Forget invisibility. At this moment, you wish that you were telepathic. That way, you’d be able to block the professor from experiencing the secondhand awkwardness of your flustered thoughts.

           As you’re stewing, you hear him chuckle.

“I run a school full of teenagers, you know,” he says. “That was hardly a shocking tryst.”

That’s a fair point.

“It’s also hardly the sort of thing you want your boss to walk in on,” you say.  Though the initial embarrassment has faded, you still feel a little nervous.

You’ve always been a bit in awe of Professor Xavier. He’s a kind man, and he has a knack for putting people at ease. But part of you worries about your lack of progress, and the possibility that others might think it reflects badly on him. You don’t want to disappoint him like that.

“I imagine you wonder, sometimes,” says the professor at length, “Why I don’t just use my own abilities to unlock yours.”

Your silence speaks volumes. He’s not wrong, but you don’t want to admit to it in so many words. The professor smiles faintly, and continues.

“I’ve seen what happens when someone unlocks the full extent of a mutant’s abilities in an instant. The results are… unpleasant.”

You don’t have to be psychic to know what he’s referring to. Four years ago, in Cairo, a being that the news had dubbed Apocalypse and his four power-enhanced lackeys nearly destroyed human civilization. It’s not surprising that the professor would be leery of using such tactics himself, and you know he’s right.

“And even if that wasn’t the case,” he says, “I’d be taking away your opportunity to grow into them on your own. And with that, there’s a risk that you might never fully understand and appreciate them, or yourself.”

           You know he’s right, again, but it doesn’t reassure you very much.

           “To be honest, Professor,” you say, “I don’t think I’ve grown at all so far. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Maybe I’m too old to start learning these things.”

“Nonsense.” The professor’s tone is a little stern, but still gentle. “You know, in many ways, you’re very much the opposite of someone like myself. While I was overwhelmed by powers I couldn’t control, you struggle to access a power that constantly eludes you. You know it’s there, just out of reach – like words to a song you can’t quite remember.”

           You sigh, turning your gaze to the ground. This is something you hardly need to be reminded of. Still, it’s a little bit reassuring that he can understand it without you having to fumble around trying to explain it. But what he says next catches you off-guard.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’ve been neglecting you.”

           Surprised, you look over at the professor. His brows are furrowed, and there’s something like regret in his eyes. You hurry to contradict him.

           “You haven’t!” you say. “You’ve got so many things to worry about already. If it’s not a crisis, it’s a catastrophe – and running the school on top of that? That all takes precedence; I understand that.”

           You understand, and you don’t mind. Much. The professor shakes his head.

           “It’s been relatively peaceful here for some time. You’re not a child, but you’re still my student, and I’ve neglected to see to your training. For that, you must let me apologize, and let me promise to make up for lost time. But in return, I’d like you to promise me something, as well.”

“Of course,” you say, mystified, “But… promise you what, exactly?”

“This school isn’t simply a place of academic learning,” he says. “It’s a place for people like us to find one another. Though our lives and experiences may be different, we give ourselves the chance to connect with each other, to learn from each other.”

           You’re starting to get his drift. “So… I’ve been neglecting my studies on that front, is that right?”

           The professor nods, but you don’t see disappointment in his expression – merely patience.

           “You have,” he says. “You believe that you’re weak, and because you’re ashamed of that weakness, you hide away and keep to yourself, but that only discourages you more. But if you stop running from yourself – if you were to reach back when someone reaches out to you…”

           “You mean, like… with Peter? Just now?” You sound silly even to your own ears. Your awkwardness seems to amuse the professor.

           “I don’t mean that exact method, specifically,” he says, biting back a smile, “But, yes. Perhaps a friendship like his is exactly the encouragement you need.”

           You fall silent again, considering this. It’s true; you haven’t mentioned your doubts and frustrations to anyone before now. You’d honestly expected to feel worse about opening up to someone, to feel the need to double-down on your self-sufficient attitude to compensate for any vulnerability.

           But you don’t feel that way. You’re still a little hesitant, sure, and you don’t expect that’s going to go away anytime soon. Still… this wasn’t the catastrophic moment of failure you’d anticipated. Peter didn’t laugh at you, or dismiss your feelings. He stuck by you and tried to help. You hadn’t expected that. It’s nice.

“I know you feel that you should be doing more,” says the professor, “But you must understand, what we’re working towards is a time when mutants don’t have to justify their existence through acts of dangerous heroism. What I hope for is a time when our kind is free to simply exist, using our skills to better our communities, our world, and ourselves, just like any other human being.”

You’re not sure how to describe it, but sometimes there’s something about the professor that’s so reassuringly, resolutely hopeful that it makes everything seem a little less dire.

“I know,” you say, smiling faintly, “But I still do want to help.”

“You are helping,” he insists, “Or haven’t you noticed how more and more students come out to the gardens to study?”

Come to think of it, you have noticed that. When you’d started working here, you could go weeks without seeing a soul outside, and now the garden is almost a more popular destination than the library.

“See, I knew it was a good idea to update the patio furniture,” you say. “Those old iron chairs are beautiful, but so uncomfortable to sit on for more than ten minutes at a-”

You break off, looking curiously at the professor, who’s smiling as he shakes his head.

“They don’t come out here for the furniture. They come out here to see you.”

You blink, surprised. That can’t be right. Or…

You think back to your first year working at the school. The students would gather on the grassy areas of the grounds, but generally not in the gardens themselves. You figured this had something to do with the rather austere layout and, after getting the professor’s blessing, you began incorporating more cottage-garden style flowers. It’d brightened the place up considerably.

One afternoon, as you were hauling wheelbarrowfuls of mulch, you came across one of the younger students. Said student literally had steam pouring from her ears as she stared at the schoolwork spread out on the bench beside her.

If only to prevent anything from catching fire, you stopped and asked her what she was working on. It was history homework, and she was having trouble memorizing the names of the important figures in the era.

Now, you may not be a particularly strong mutant, but you were usually good at school. You sat down with the girl and helped her figure out a mnemonic that made sense to her.

You saw the girl in the gardens frequently after that, and sometimes her friends would join her, and they’d flag you down to tell you what they were learning about. The gardens became a favorite study spot for older students, too.

You’d never really thought about it before now, but every time the students would try to catch your attention, it was to talk through a concept they were struggling with. Huh…

“You have a knack for thinking about things from a different angle,” the professor goes on. “Are you quite certain you don’t want to teach?”

You get the feeling he’s only half-serious, and you laugh. “Oh, I’d be useless trying to put together a curriculum. I think I’d better stick to giving freelance advice.”

“Fair enough. I can tell you this much,” says the professor, “There’s much more in you than you know yet. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen Peter so content to pace himself in everyday life.”

           Yup, you’re blushing again. You can feel it.

           You’ve circled back around to the doors. To his credit, the professor seems to understand that he’s given you enough to think about for one day, and takes his leave.

           “Well, it was a lovely afternoon for a turn around the gardens,” he says, “I noticed that the zinnias are getting ready to bloom. Might I trouble you to bring some in for my study this week? They always seem to brighten up the place.”

           “Absolutely, sir,” you say. “And, Professor? Thank you.”

The professor smiles, and bids you good afternoon.

           As you walk away from the mansion, your thoughts turn back to Peter, and you smile to yourself. You know exactly what your next baking project is going to be: a chocolate cake with real buttercream frosting – Peter’s favorite.

           And suddenly, your arms are held out in front of you. In your hands is a little potted tea rose plant – the sort you’d find at a grocery store’s floral department. There’s a note stuck amongst the leaves, written in slanted, hurried-looking script:

           Figured you’d prefer something that lasts a little longer than a bouquet. See you tonight, maybe? <3 Peter

           He really is sweet. Ridiculous, but sweet. If you hurry to finish the last of your work, you’ll have just enough time to bake that cake before evening.

           You can picture yourself putting the finishing touches on the frosting, only to blink and find that a piece of cake is missing, and to turn around and find Peter sitting on your couch, already halfway through the slice.

           The thought makes you smile again. Carefully hugging the little rose to your chest, you hurry along.

[veebs-hates-video-games]

I finally went back to Xenoblade Chronicles 2 last month after however long of a break I took after the Tora debacle, and I'm glad I did. If you can ignore him being a creepy pervert (which is relatively easy most of the time because the story doesn't usually focus on him) and some of the questionable character designs there's lots of great stuff in there. I could go on at great length about all sorts of things, and I've spent a full hour just explaining the plot to someone, but for now I'll just stick to one thing that's been bugging me.

After finishing Torna, which is great and makes the base game at least 20% better, the gacha blades in the main game started to bug me. Not the usual complaints about the mechanics of the gacha system (good: gives different experiences with different teams on different playthroughs; bad: the pity system getting cut off at some point makes it miserable to try to get everyone so you can do all the side quests), but something story-related for a change.

The game, and Torna in particular, strongly suggests if not outright states that blades' personalities are influenced by their driver. We can see that really well in Torna because they're all set party members you can't change, and to some degree in the main story with the fixed story blades. And the way that influences people's actions and how the story plays out is really interesting sometimes. But then looking back at the main game after finishing Torna, it's really obvious how the random rare blades and common blades seriously undermine that.

The rare blades have set personalities, and their quests play out exactly the same no matter who they're attached to, and the common ones have basically nothing other than a few random voice clips. I know with multiple drivers and dozens of blades they couldn't just redo everything for each possible combination, but still...

There's so much interesting stuff going on in the story with which aspects of a blade's personality and motivations are inherent to them and which they inherit from their driver, the implications of a world that works that way, and the way in the end it turns out that the real villain was generational trauma all along (and the ways people pass it on, often by trying to fix the things that hurt them, but in a reactionary way that ends up hurting others). Torna does a really good job of bringing a lot of that into focus, while the main game kind of dilutes it.

Anyway, I'm glad I went back and finished it, and hopefully the next game can avoid the yikesier things they added in 2 that weren't in 1...

[novaauster]

River

The River is old, and its pleasures many.

I hear the sentence in my own voice memory, the newspaper clipping framed on the wall, beige with time,

As the poem beside the dryer: Our arms raised, then lowered in supplication.

I held that turn of phrase more than the god it referred to.

The River may be as old as the Nile,

Unnamed without a king’s permission, hidden by explorers,

Scoured from its first epithet without mercy.

A storm hit years ago, it washed away the “beach,” ancient sand and smooth rock underfoot.

I wondered if it would ever change back to the way it was,

Small-handed tide pools and crayfish cruelty

Young laugher, looking to my brother for instruction

I haven’t caught a crayfish since the storm.

Are there any good put-ins for fishing? They’re all a bit overgrown, but there’s a chance,

It’d be worth it to check,

Just be sure you have a permit.

It’s a state park, you know, and the lizards are endangered.

Mom asks me to point out the poison ivy,

To be safe

She gets distracted before I do,

I say it’s alright, I generally avoid suspicious plants,

Suspicious bugs, anything in nature that might leave something on my skin

I can’t wash off.

I don’t say that one time, around the park,

My legs itched as I walked like pure butane set alight,

I tugged the dog along ruthlessly, feet black from collapsing flip-flops,

I swear I couldn’t breathe,

I swear my skin would split open before I got home to ice,

Melting off me like I burned.

Mom says Barbara texted her,

I called her Baba when I was young,

Something about travel plans.

I don’t say that she texted me too,

Told me to consider a women’s college, just for her sake,

That they’re alright with young women determining their genders,

I told her I would,

I didn’t say that no matter my determining,

If I were called a young woman through college,

I would not make it to the other side.

I was smiling today, I was thinking It’s finally worth it now,

I got my new license and I’m not ready to drive away,

We got doughnuts and Cuban food,

I drank coffee without chocolate,

I read a whole book in a sitting and ended up with

So this is why I shouldn’t be delusional.

Mom says she likes that I’m her bodyguard,

I say that mountain lions can catch these hands,

I don’t say how I imagine attacks even in my sleep,

Imagine some intruder, imagine looking around for a knife, a club,

Ending up with a length of denim with which to strangle

And not much else.

Waking up freezing and forgetting it all.

I’m my dog’s bodyguard, I’m my grandmother’s guide and student,

I’m my mother’s angry child,

To be coached thrice before every social test.

We remember in opposites.

I say I’m glad I came here,

I would’ve been stagnant at home,

I don’t say that I only move for a day at a time or less,

I’ll end up still by evening.

[alderaani]

Embers

summary: After Umbara, Boil learns how to endure, and how to reclaim pieces of his brothers marching on | AO3 | series

warnings: canonical character death, grief, animal injury + mentions of animal death (completely not explicit, on the level of canon-typical violence).

a/n: finally another part of my 100 clone prompts - the rest of the series is linked above! i know there’s not much in canon to support Waxer being an animal lover, but i wanted to give Gree a friend to nerd out with and it’s cute. also gotta pay homage to @nibeul’s wonderful art here - while I wasn’t consciously inspired by it, it hits on v similar themes and is just beautiful like...that image of waxer holding up numa lives in my head rent free.

-

Insects swirled in a halo around his helmet. They swarmed around the seams of his blacks, too, attracted to the small beads of sweat there, to the tiny strips of flesh he couldn’t quite cover. The rising bites itched, rubbing where the edge of his vambraces met fabric, and the buzzing was enough to drive a man mad. Boil sighed, brushing them off half-heartedly and watching them billow angrily away. They’d be back. They always were.

In the reprieve, he fumbled at his belt for the viewfinders hooked there and brought them to his visor. As he spun the dial to within half a klik so that he could search the undergrowth, his thumb settled in the comforting groove where Waxer had dropped them and chipped the plastoid. He worried at it with his nail while he scanned, frowning.

It was too still.

Too quiet.

Had been in his head for weeks now, verging on a month, and he was still waiting to feel something other than crippling emptiness. There weren’t any dreams any more, none except for the oldest one they all pretended not to have; levelling a blaster against Kenobi’s head and pulling the trigger. Even that didn’t feel like the nightmare it used to.

Eventually he lowered the viewfinder, feeling the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the stifled sound of his own breath in the dense air. A faint, humid breeze stirred the leaves, sending a cloud of thick yellow pollen up towards the canopy. Boil blinked to bring up the filter diagnostic on his HUD, keeping his belly low to the ground to avoid the stuff as it drifted lazily overhead.

“Kid, you doin’ alright out there?”

He listened to the static hum of the comm line for a few moments, biting back the panic that crawled up the back of his throat when it dragged on just a beat too long.

“Apart from gettin’ gnawed on by the bugs? Just grand, Sir.”

Potshot sounded a little winded, but that was probably just the heat. Blacks self-regulated temperature, but only to the extent that they made sure you sweated evenly. It never used to be quite so bad; that had been the one thing Phase 1 armour had going for it, for all it was bulkier and less adaptable to varied terrain. He supposed the Republic had had to cut costs somewhere. Waxer would’ve been whining by now that his ass was so hot they could light a flare off it. Potshot was young enough that he’d never known any different.

“Good, you see anything?” Boil grunted, pinging his location anyway. There was no real reason for it; Potshot might’ve still been green but he wasn’t stupid, and he’d done well to keep up so far. Boil could stand being self aware enough to acknowledge that he hadn’t been the most welcoming, or the most patient with the new partner he’d never wanted. He wouldn’t have had any right to be overbearing now, but it was for his own comfort, however small and bittersweet.

“Nothin’ at all. That seem odd to you too?” Potshot said, as the surveillance holos he’d taken popped up. Boil flipped through them, earmarking a couple to show him how to improve the angle later. The important shit was all there - enough to confirm what he’d already suspected. No birds, no creatures, no fresh droppings.

Just the bugs, and the trees, and them.

“Yeah, it’s odd alright. Think we’ve found what the general’s looking for.”

Boil felt pressure around his right boot and turned, vibroblade in hand, to stab into the fleshy vine knotting round it. It writhed and retreated, leaving behind pitted, smoking trails where acid had started eating into the plastoid. He registered the damage with a dull sort of annoyance. It was something else to take care of later, a way to look busy and shape the silence. It would fend off the others and their offers of company, made out of pity he couldn’t bear to look at.

“Really? What’re you seein’, boss?” Potshot asked.

Boil glanced upwards to track the position of the sun; high, almost directly overhead. At the peak of the day this place should have been teeming. Instead the only tracks he’d found had been baked solid, and this wasn’t the shocked quiet that followed a stampede. It was stagnant, aging.

“This forest is in the centre of an old super-volcanic crater, right?” he asked, not waiting for a response. It had been in the mission dossier, alongside profiles of the flesh eating plants, the deadly pollen and the venomous creatures, all of it fenced into the sloped, unforgiving bowl of the terrain. It was the kind of forest that stuck in the mind. “And we know that something has driven the wildlife away.”

Potshot hummed, the comm muffling for a second as he shifted. It took a moment of bitter disappointment coiling in Boil’s belly for him to realise that he’d been waiting for a sharp quip that wasn’t coming. He swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible to feel so wrongfooted while lying down. If he’d ever find his balance again. If he ever wanted to feel whole now that such a fundamental piece was missing.

Potshot groaned suddenly. “Kriff it, the factories we’re looking for are underground, aren’t they?”

Boil forced a chuckle, choking past the self hatred clawing up through his lungs. The kid deserved better, deserved a superior who didn’t constantly treat him like a ghost.

“That’s it, kid. Just like the simulations, eh?”

Potshot laughed, the easy sound making Boil’s throat seize in longing so strong his teeth ached. Waxer would’ve loved him, and that made it all the worse.

“Hardly. What do we do next?”

“Alright,” Boil said, lifting the viewfinder for one last look at where he could see slight fog rising through the trees. “You get your ass back to forward command and debrief the General, I’m heading in for a closer look.”

“ What? But - Sir! We’re supposed to be working as a team. I can’t leave you -”

“Sometimes working as a team means you do your duty and trust the others to do theirs.” He cut in, keeping his voice steady by force of will. Sometimes, it meant carrying on alone. Boil clipped the viewfinder back into place and prepared to move, even as Potshot continued protesting. Boil didn’t answer for long enough that silence fell on the line.

“...am I not performing to the standard expected, Sir?”

Potshot’s voice was soft, all vulnerable underbelly. Still so shiny, and Boil remembered feeling like that, like there was still a scorecard constantly on his forehead.

“No - kid -” Boil sighed, dropping his head forward. He’d never learned how to be gentle - it hadn’t ever come naturally, and there had been no reason to lose his sharp edges when Waxer had always been there to foil them for him. He felt sharper now than ever, full of shards that didn’t sit right, and fished among the pieces for something his brother might have said. “I trust you to have my back. You’re doing everything right. But...sometimes we’ve gotta think of the mission. We need more proof before we can move in, but the two of us get caught, command loses what we already know.”

“Can’t we just send a comm?” Potshot asked, his voice still tight and hurt sounding and he was fucking this up, shouldn’t have been trusted to try to fix himself without breaking everyone else wide open in the process.

“Don’t trust it not to get intercepted,” Boil said, which was only half a lie, and would have made Cody scoff at the back to front over-caution. “And it don’t all fit in a comm. They’ll need everything you can remember to plan the advance.”

Potshot sighed, but when he spoke again his voice was looser. “...Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t,” Boil said, feeling his own chest lighten. “If you don’t hear from me by 1100 then raise me on the priority channel.”

He listened until Potshot had stated a reluctant affirmative and clicked off the line, then bellied out of the undergrowth and headed further in, to the epicentre of the unnatural quiet. He liked the way his mind went silent on recon, how everything else fell away. It wasn’t quite the same, tilted just a little off axis, but similar enough to when it had been Waxer at his six that if he didn’t think about it, he could almost trick himself into believing nothing had changed.

Plus, the space was good, just for a few minutes, where he didn't have to pretend for anyone.

It was a quiet journey, for the most part, punctuated only by the steps he couldn’t quite muffle. His thoughts were broken some time later when he suddenly heard it; the distant mechanical boom of something deep underground. He quickened his pace, following the vibrations until the earth under his feet grew hot, the air shimmering unnaturally in front of him. It had been like this at Point Rain, when the sand baked and glinted, glass-like, under the blaze of the overhead sun. If he hadn’t known the super-volcano was very thoroughly extinct, he could have kidded himself that it was just the geothermal energy of magma moving close to the surface. A clever disguise. But not clever enough.

The ground sloped ever downwards the further into the bowl he got. He watched where he placed his feet as it grew rockier, stones and small craters acting like pitfall traps concealed by the moss. Boil pinged his scanner every minute, searching for Seppie probes as the terrain tapered, falling away into a green-rimmed yawning abyss. Set into the centre of it was a huge grate, the source of the searing air. Here were the factories they’d been looking for, exactly where he’d suspected. It was a muted sort of satisfaction.

He crouched at the edge of the drop, taking holos and transmitting them directly to the Commander’s HUD. Then he checked his chrono and sent an unapologetic follow up that he’d be late to rendezvous, seeing that 1100 was about to come and go. Then he minimised the comms on his HUD to flash for priority only; he’d get bollocked for being late sooner or later, but he figured it would be novel to have it fully in person.

Finally he turned, ready to start the rapid scale back towards the 212th's forward camp, when he registered a low, keening whine.

His blaster was in his hands within a moment, trained at the knee-high leaves. The sound came again, higher this time, followed by laboured panting.

He gently brushed aside some of the foliage with his blaster barrel. Dark eyes stared at him from between the leaves. They both froze. It was some sort of animal, obviously; a mammal, probably a predator. It was small too, with paws too large for its scrawny body and a dark, downy fur that rippled with every laboured breath.

Sharp teeth. A narrow muzzle. A long, whip-like tail.

A vornskr, Boil thought, and hated how readily the identification came, how readily he tensed in anticipation of the inevitable Boil can you see - do you know how rare -

He shook the memories away, of Waxer leaning precariously over the top bunk to wave some manual Commander Gree had sent him in his face, bleating about some animal or species that Boil couldn’t pronounce. In the present the vornskr pup cowered away from him, pushing backwards on thin, spindly legs. Deceptively powerful though, he’d bet.

The creature let out another whine and stumbled, an odd abortive movement. Boil pressed more of the leaves away to get a better look and swore when he saw the brutal metal trap closed around one of its small hind legs, paring down to bone. His blaster was up and trained on the thing before he thought much about it. Better to shoot it, put it out of its misery, than prolong its suffering. It was what they did as part of the cleanup sometimes; wildlife was usually pretty good at getting out of the active battlefronts, but there were always stragglers. The too old or the too young, mostly.

Creatures like this one.

The vornskr stilled, staring at him with those big, wide eyes as if it knew exactly what he was thinking. Boil swallowed. Waxer wouldn’t have let him shoot it. Waxer also wasn’t here now to stop him, but Boil felt his arm lower all the same, just a few inches before he pulled the trigger. The vornskr yelped as the trap hinges came apart in two neat halves and immediately tried to run. It didn’t get very far before it collapsed, panting again.

Boil sighed and shook his head, holstering his blaster across his back.

“That was a stupid thing to do,” he tsked, shuffling closer.

He kept half an eye on the tail, remembering something about it being venomous. While being high off his ass on some unknown substance had the potential to make Cody’s dressing down more interesting, it might also kill him before he got there.

The vornskr growled as he leaned over it, baring needle sharp teeth, and made a snap at him when Boil reached out.

“Ah, give over,” he muttered, batting the attempt away. The little body was light in his hands as he lifted it, careful to let the injured leg hang out as he folded it into his chest. The vornskr made an odd, throaty sound and shifted, almost experimental. Then it huffed, and after a pause laid its head across his vambrace.

Boil rolled his eyes at the display, setting off towards forward command as soon as he was halfway sure he wasn’t in danger of losing a finger.

It was...nice, to have that little body cradled to him, reminiscent of better occasions when Waxer just had to stick his nose into every curious happening and inevitably adopted some struggling lifeform. However much Boil had complained, it had never steered them wrong.

When he got back to command it was to find Cody pacing the perimeter, Potshot perched on a crate nearby. The Commander’s bucket was under his arm. Boil winced. With Cody that was never an accident - usually so he could get the full weight of a glare in, the excavating kind he’d learned from Kenobi and then weaponised so that it pierced straight down to bone.

“Boss!” Potshot exclaimed, pushing off his seat. “You made it!”

“What time d’you call this?” Cody demanded, stalking over. “I was about to -”

Cody stopped short, gaze dropping to the furry bundle against Boil’s breastplate. Something in his expression softened and Boil felt in his heart, panicking as a lump rose in his throat.

“What’s that?” Cody asked.

Boil let his gaze slide downwards to a point far beyond, where two troopers were fighting over a tarp.

“Found it in a trap,” he said, his voice ragged. “Couldn’t - couldn’t let it die.”

He flicked his eyes back to Cody’s face and breathed through the grief and understanding he found there. Cody stepped forward and clasped Boil’s elbow.

“I’m sure Tranq will be able to do something for it.” A little upturn crept into the line of Cody’s lips. “Debrief in fifteen.”

Boil nodded and broke away, tipping his head to Potshot before clearing his throat roughly and popping his bucket off one-handed as he made his way to the medtent. The sun was warm on his face here, the air lighter. A butterfly flew lazily past and the vornskr lifted its head, tracking the motion with large, interested eyes.

Boil smiled, hoisting his bucket under one arm and daring to touch the creature's head with his freed hand. It wouldn’t ever bring Waxer back, but it meant something that this little life continued, because of the choices his brother would have made and all that he had been. Like the phantom touch of the sun still lingering in cooling earth.

It wouldn’t ever be enough. But, perhaps, it was just the right amount to cling onto.

-

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @iscream4clones @bad-batch-of-fics @battletales @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @missinashkin @808tsuika @eries45 @lussyyung @whatanoof // join here

[6rookie-writer0110]

I never had Lemon meringue pie before

Ben Florian x Male Reader

Summary- Reader is dating Ben, his parents want to meet your father Beetlejuice but you are not sure about that.

You have been dating Ben for a while that he wants to meet your dad. You met his parents before but they want to meet your father too, you make up lies why he can't come to dinner. You just finished class and Ben is waiting for you by your locker and he kissed you. You and Ben are in love, everyone knows that you are his boyfriend and his parents support the relationship.

”My parents are having a party this weekend. Well, it's for charity and they want your dad to come” Ben said.

”Oh,” You said.

You and Ben hold hands and take a stroll around.

”Y/N, are you ashamed of us, that you haven't told your father about us?” Ben asked.

”Ben, I'm not ashamed of you. My dad well... He isn't liked by many people” You said.

”I bet your dad will like me, we will get along just fine,” Ben said.

”I can't... Just can't. I don't want you or anyone to look at me differently” You said.

Ben grabbed both of your hands.

”I won't look at you differently, I promise. I care about you and I really like you for who you are. You make me happy” Ben said.

”You always know what to say,” You said.

”How about we go to the lake?” Ben asked.

”Sounds good,” You said.

You and Ben go to the lake to spend time alone. You and Ben go to the cliff and jump off, you can't stop smiling. You can be yourself around him and you don't have to feel ashamed about yourself.

---

You have been thinking about calling your dad. You are not sure what to do, your mind is all over the place. Your father doesn't have a problem with your sexuality and when you came out to him, he hugged you. The problem is your father doesn't act like an adult and he likes to create chaos and tell bad jokes. And he likes to gamble a lot, constantly invades people's personal space and more.

Later, Ben went to see his friends.

”Do any of you have ever met Y/N’s dad?” Ben asked.

”Why?” Mal asked.

”He doesn't want me to meet his dad and never gave me a real answer. I want to invite him to the party that my parents are throwing” Ben said.

”You think it's a good idea? You should tell him first” Jay said.

”He is always changing the subject. I want to surprise him with his dad being there” Ben said.

”Dr. Facilier has met Y/N’s dad. Ask him how to get in contact with him. But are you sure about this?” Mal said.

”Everything will be fine. Where I can find Dr. Facilier?” Ben said.

”We will take you to him,” Mal said.

Dr. Facilier has met your father many times. Sometimes they like to con people when it comes to gambling. Ben owes him a favor for giving him the information where he can find your father.

”Just say his name three times to meet him. But be careful he won't go away easily” Dr. Facilier said.

”I don't know his name,” Ben said.

Dr. Facilier writes down the name on a piece of paper.

”Remember, you owe me a favor,” Dr. Facilier said.

”I will keep my word, that I owe you a favor,” Ben said.

”Good,” Dr. Facilier said.

Ben didn't tell you what he did.

✧ ✯ ✧ ✫

Everyone arrived at the charity event and you are wearing your best suit. You greeted Ben’s parents and they are happy to see you.

”You look handsome,” Ben said.

He kissed your cheek and you blushed.

”You look handsome too,” You said.

”Wait right here and I will bring you a drink,” Ben said.

”Okay. I will talk to our friends while you come back” You said.

”Okay” Ben smiled.

You sit with the others and everyone is happy to see each other. Ben went somewhere private for a moment.

”Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice” Ben said.

Beetlejuice appeared and he jumped.

”Woah, where am I?” Beetlejuice said.

He looks around, they are in the hallway.

”Mr. Beetlejuice, my name is Ben and I am Y/N’s boyfriend. And this my parent's castle” Ben said with a smile.

”You are his boyfriend? And this your castle?” Beetlejuice asked.

”Yes. Today my parents are having a charity event and I personally invite you to the party” Ben said.

”Give me a hug son in law!” Beetlejuice said.

He hugged Ben tight and he has body odor. Then Beetlejuice brushed his hair to the side and pulled out a clip-on tie and puts it on.

---

”Y/N!” Beetlejuice said so loud that everyone looks at him and you.

Your eyes opened wider.

”D-dad!?” You yelled.

”Your boyfriend called me. Wow, they are rich, jackpot! Give your old men a hug” Beetlejuice said.

He hugged you and you feel embarrassed.

”Hello, my name is Beast, and this my wife Belle and that's our son, Ben,” Beast said.

Beetlejuice hugged them.

”Dad, please behave,” You said.

”He is your father?” Belle asked.

You nod.

”Y/N, I will come more often to see you. He is a nice boy, can't believe he lives in a castle! Where is the food!?” Beetlejuice said.

”There is a buffet,” Ben said.

”Good to know,” Beetlejuice said.

Beetlejuice put so much food on his plate. He sits next to Beast and Belle with their friends. Beetlejuice starts to eat with his mouth open, he starts to burp, food gets on his clothes, and when he starts to laugh food spits out of his mouth.

”Ben, why did you call him?” You angrily said.

”I wanted him to see you and I can meet him,” Ben said.

”He is starting to make people uncomfortable. Look at him, he is eating like a pig!” You yelled.

”Y/N, I was trying to do something nice,” Ben said.

You sighed. Now your father starts to make people feel uncomfortable. Now he is telling them bad jokes and he is the only one laughing.

”Y/N, I like them! Ben, you are my favorite son-in-law!” Beetlejuice yelled.

”Dad, let's go now,” You said.

”I’m just having fun! The food is really good! Much better than eating bugs *burps really loud* wow that was a long one” Beetlejuice laughed.

You left the party and you are alone by the balcony. Ben figured it out that you are not happy that your father came to the party.

✧ ✯ ✧ ✫

You haven't seen Ben in a couple of days. You are still unhappy about what happened at the charity event. You haven't spoken to your father either, you just want to be alone and think.

”Hey Y/N,” Ben said.

”Hey,” You said.

You are at the lake just sitting on the grass. Ben sits next to you

”I’m sorry for not telling you that I called your dad,” Ben said.

”I’m sorry too, that I been avoiding you. He knows that I'm dating you, but I never told him your name or who are your parents are. My dad doesn't act like an adult, he is like a teenager” You said.

”After you left, he put food in his pockets. Later, he burped again and told bad jokes again and he farted and blamed it on the guards and our friends” Ben said.

You kinda laughed. Ben pulls you closer to him then you two lie down and he is holding your hand.

”He can't find us here,” You said.

”How come?” Ben asked.

”He hates nature. Do you still want to be with me?” You said.

”Why would you ask that?” Ben asked.

”You know my dad is rude and a pig, I thought you wouldn't want to be with me,” You said.

”Y/N, I still want to be with you. I know you are not like your dad because you are different. My feelings for you will never go away” Ben said.

Ben moved closer and kissed you.

----

After spending time with Ben, you made up your mind to talk with your dad.

”Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!!” You said.

”Y/N!” Beetlejuice said and hugged you.

”Dad, we need to talk,” You said.

”Let me say something first,” Beetlejuice said.

”Sure,” You said.

”I know, I'm not the best dad in the word, sometimes I like a child who doesn't have manners. I care about your happiness and I want to make it right” Beetlejuice said.

You are in shock, he rarely apologizes for anything.

”You did embarrass me in front of everyone especially in front of Ben,” You said.

”I’m sorry, Y/N,” Beetlejuice said.

”I forgive you,” You said.

Later, you and Ben go out on a date.

”Dad, what are you doing?” You asked

He brushed his hair and puts on a clip-on tie.

”I have a date” He said

”With who? It's good you are going on a date” You said.

”I’m your chaperone. Ben is a nice kid, but I have to make sure he treats my son right” Beetlejuice said.

”Please don't come-”

”Y/N, I made up my mind. We can't be late” Beetlejuice said and he smiled.

but your father tagged along. Ben would try to sit next to you but Beetlejuice would sit in the middle, Ben tried to hold your hand but Beetlejuice is now holding your hand and Ben’s hand and he is still telling bad jokes. Your dad is having a good time but you are not.

[deadboyswalking]

send me a number and pairing and I’ll write you a drabble

No. 40 “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?

(I think i’m physically incapable of writing a drabble. This is so long! Might re-purpose some of the dialogue for Shades but Shades!Dabi has a slightly different personality than the one in this drabble)

Dabi knew that he was being annoying, okay, he knew. But like his Quirk itching beneath his skin, begging for use, bothering his new boss whenever the mood struck him was a need that could not be ignored. He physically could not stop himself from bugging the man at every opportunity, narrowly avoiding decay on a daily basis, and today was no different. 

The two of them lay sprawled out on their stomachs on Shigaraki’s bedroom floor, looking about as much like two innocent schoolboys as two of the most wanted grown villains in Japan could. Swapping homework and textbooks for maps and reports, Shigaraki kicked his feet in the air as he rested his masked face on one hand, reading over the intel sheets for U.A.’s upcoming super-secret summer camp. Dabi was captivated by the sight as he rested his chin on his hands on the floor, especially the way that Shigaraki occasionally twisted one of his silver curls or the sight of his neck pulse beating beneath scarred, nearly translucent pale skin. He felt a little dizzy, was he getting sick? Tired? Too many nights smoking too many cigarettes? He shook his head to clear it.

“Either take half the stack of intel reports and get reading or I swear to god, I will turn you to dust and replace you with Spinner,” his boss suddenly said, crimson glare through dead fingers meeting Dabi’s shameless gaze. 

“What do you look like?” Dabi blurted out, still somewhat trapped in the fog. Shigaraki blinked at him.

“What’s your real name?” Shigaraki shot back.

“None of your fucking business,” came Dabi’s clipped, automatic response to the question. The response he’d locked into place for ten years. 

“There’s your answer, then,” Shigaraki replied, “Now either get to work or get the hell out of my room.”

Dabi, for once, shut the hell up and started reading, occasionally making notes for his first major mission as the Vanguard Action Squad leader. Not out of respect or anything, don’t be fucking stupid, but to regroup and think of how to rile Shigaraki up enough to make him remove the hand. He had a burning curiosity to satisfy, after all, and it was only about 10 minutes before the itch started again.

“Why hide? You’re at home. You ugly or something?” he needled, watching with satisfaction as Shigaraki’s shoulders tensed, along with the hand holding a report in a tight four-finger grip. Ooh, it had been a while since he’d made the boss get mad enough to lose control of his hands and decay something! Almost as satisfying as the chance to see his face at last. 

“Why do you care?” Shigaraki asked, but not in the harsh or hysterical way that Dabi had come to expect from him when he got annoyed. He sounded... a little bit sad. Dabi ignored his sudden and random urge to apologize and shrugged.

“Just wanna know. What if we need to I.D. your body or something?” 

“Bold of you to assume that you’ll outlive me, patches,” Shigaraki sighed, “But fuck, whatever. If I show you, promise you’ll drop the subject and get back to work?” 

“Sure, boss,” Dabi said, feigning nonchalance. His heart beat wildly in excitement, plus the smug feeling of getting the boss to cave. 

Shigaraki carefully pushed himself up off the floor, fingers tucked into palms and sat cross-legged. Dabi mirrored him, sitting back on his haunches.  

The leader reached up to his face and removed the hand with two fingers on each hand, gently setting it next to him on the floor. His head was still tilted down, face hidden by his curtain of long hair (Dabi wondered if it was as soft as it looked). Dabi watched Shigaraki take a deep, shuddering breath, then he finally lifted his head, pushing his hair back and....

Dabi stopped breathing, open-mouthed gaping at the man before him. There was no possible way that he was this pretty under the dead hand. Dabi had to be dreaming, right? A trick of the light? Without thinking, he shuffled a bit closer to get a better look at Shigaraki in the light, shoving papers out of his way. 

Huge crimson eyes locked on Dabi’s own, hypnotizing him in place. Up close, Shigaraki’s face was a combination of delicate and wild, a mess of contradictions. Pale skin, covered in scars and wrinkles. Full lips, chapped raw and marked by a long vertical scar. Those big, burning eyes, run through with another scar. Thick but messy silver hair, curling along his elegant but heavily scratched neck. Dabi had never seen anyone like him before and his heart thudded. If he couldn’t breathe before, he certainly couldn’t now, transfixed. Shigaraki finally dropped his gaze. 

“Okay, enough staring at my ugly mug,” Shigaraki said, ”Take about five steps back and get back to work.” He reached for the disembodied hand and Dabi watched his own stapled hand shoot out automatically, grabbing the wrist of a man who could turn him to dust in seconds. Idiot. He finally tore his eyes from Shigaraki’s pretty face as they both stared at their connected limbs. 

“Don’t,” Dabi breathed, “Don’t put it back on. I wanna see you.”

“Why?” Shigaraki muttered, “Why do you have to be such an asshole? I know I’m ugly, okay, don’t make fun of me. Just this once, leave it alone.”

He didn’t know. How could he not know? Just like that, Dabi’s mission for the day changed from ‘annoy Shigaraki into a murder attempt’ to ‘make Shigaraki realize how breathtaking he really is’. Hand still circled around Shigaraki’s wrist, Dabi pulled the other man up to a kneeling position, eye-to-eye. Shigaraki searched Dabi’s face for answers, concern or confusion at being manhandled clearly written across it. 

“Ugly? Never. Not at all,” Dabi said, surprised at his own softness. Crimson eyes widened as Dabi released Shigaraki’s wrist at last, cupping his face in his scarred hands. He leaned in, brain still in a fog, and met a full pair of warm, chapped lips with his own. He kissed Shigaraki gently, and the other man tentatively draped his arms around Dabi’s scarred neck, lips moving slowly as he kissed Dabi back. The kiss only lasted for a few seconds, but Dabi could stay in that golden bubble forever. It felt so real and so right. 

Shigaraki pulled back face, unsure eyes lighting up as a grin broke out on his face. God, he was beautiful like that. Dabi resolved to make him smile more often, but he couldn’t resist one last joke at his expense. 

“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?” 

[saiyanwhore]

Maid To Satisfy // VEGETA X FEMALE READER

Part Two: Party Time, “Excellent”

It was Friday evening and your team was currently rushing around the Prince's room attempting to get him ready. You stood watch, enjoying not having to do much. It was a nice change every once in a while, especially since Vegeta was one hell of a person to deal with.

Each time there was a royal celebration, each head servant stayed by their select persons all evening. You were there as his assistant, making sure your maids did everything they were supposed to. You also had to take certain requests and orders from the Prince himself.

This assistant role also called for specialty uniforms. The uniforms coordinated with whomever you were assisting so you could be found in a large crowd.

Vegeta stood still whilst your team fumbled to get him ready. They all had deep blushes on their faces as they moved furiously trying to dress and prepare him. Vegeta looked irritated as usual. As they finished up the final touches, Vegeta looked at himself in the mirror and smirked. His nose was high as he called out. "Everyone leave until it's time." Instantly, everyone left and you were following along until Vegeta called for you.

"Woman." He grumbled. "Fix my cape. Your idiots didn't do it right."

You huffed loud enough for him to hear, strolling on over to where he stood near his mirror. You reached your hands out onto his chest and unclasped his cape from the armor he was wearing for the evening. You leaned forward a little more, chests almost touching as you shook out his cape behind him. His scent entered your nose, causing your heart to stutter ever so slightly as you backed up and clipped his cape back on.

He looked at you with his dark eyes. They scanned your face before he looked down at his boots, avoiding the stare you returned back to him. You then glanced to the mirror, admiring the same detailing you had stitched on your coordinating clothing. Yours was clearly not as nice or fancy, but the image of the two of you standing there stuck in your head long enough to make you dream.

Vegeta had watched you do this, also looking at the attire closely. He had guessed that you put these two pieces together yourself. You knew he loved blue and gold from the many times you had made him clothes before. He would never admit it, but the thought warmed his chest. He always loved that you took care of him before anyone else and he wanted to keep it that way, no matter how much the two of you bickered.

"Prince Vegeta, it's time." You pointed towards the clock and then the door, Vegeta practically pushing past you to get to the door. You followed behind him, noticing how his boots for the evening added a few inches to his normal height.

You walked side by side down the halls towards the waiting hall so the royal family could make a grand entrance onto the ball room floor. You were eager to see a friend of yours, Kakarot, a servant to the King. He mostly used the job as an excuse to battle and spar with the most powerful warriors on the planet. In fact, he barely earned the title servant. It was clear that Vegeta did not like Kakarot. He actually despised the younger Saiyan, so your time was usually limited when trying to talk to him.

You both entered the waiting hall, you scanning the area for Kakarot. You spotted him next to the King, a playful smirk upon his lips. He saw you enter and waved you over, to which you obliged.

"Y/N! It's been a few days! How are you?" He greeted, pulling you into a enormous hug.

"Oh, just taking care of my toddler." You snickered, motioning over toward Vegeta.

Kakarot laughed along. "Yeah, I don't know how you put up with him. He's so mean."

"He's not so b-"

"Woman! I require your presence immediately!" Vegeta shot daggers at Kakarot.

You turned on your heel and started walking toward Vegeta. He met you halfway and grabbed your wrist in a death grip. "Don't talk to that clown." He said lowly, baring his teeth at you.

"You can't tell me who I can and can't speak to." You defended.

"I can and I did." He yanked you away to the corner.

You scoffed and shoved him away. "Excuse me?" You spat. "Kakarot is my friend Vegeta-"

"It's Prince Vegeta." He again roughly grabbed your wrist to pull you into the corner and you pulled back.

He stopped and his eyebrows furrowed in your direction.

"Woman, you are insufferable."

"Then get rid of me."

"What?"

"If I'm such a burden on your life then get rid of me, asshole." You frowned, turning around and walking back over to Kakarot.

"Everyone! Please gather! We are making our entrance!" A voice interrupted.

You felt your stomach drop as you shifted back around to see an angry looking Vegeta.

You shuffled over to him slowly, him ignoring you. You placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." You hummed.

No answer.

"You know I've got your back tonight. If you...were to need me."

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder and ignored you altogether as the doors opened. You walked behind him in a line with all the other "assistants".

Everyone's eyes were glued to the royal family, the Prince looking as sharp as ever. He could have any woman he so pleased.

You looked over to Kakarot and waved a small goodbye as you followed Vegeta, knowing tonight was going to be long and stressful.

You stuck by Vegeta's side as people approached him. He was a very irritated individual and you could tell he wanted to be left alone.

He greeted people, one after the other until he finally found a safe spot where others wouldn't bug him.

He sat there for a few moments, you by his side as everyone danced and chatted.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, looking over at him. "I know you hate this sort of thing."

He just ignored you and shrugged it off, looking down at his gloves hands.

"I know you're not fond of anything other than training really." You grinned as you took a seat next to him. "Typical of you, my Prince."

It was true that you understood Vegeta unlike any other. You two spent so much time together it was almost weird.

"I'll be back. I have an idea."

You walked over to Vegeta's father and bowed slightly before smiling softly.

"Hello King Vegeta. It seems the Prince is feeling very unwell. He has asked me to take him back to his room and give him medicine."

"Very well." He nodded you away.

You smiled to yourself and made your way back over to Vegeta who looked angry still.

"Come on." You grabbed his hand and pulled him from his seat.

His heart fluttered as you took him out of the ball room and into the halls where he was too surprised to even protest your next actions.

You hugged him.

His body froze in place as his eyes went wide.

You mumbled into his ear. "I'm sorry."

He couldn't even bring himself to push you away. It was if time stopped entirely, a feeling of horror and lovely little butterflies engulfing his being.

You finally pulled away after a hug was not returned and you looked at his face.

His face was very red and his brows furrowed.

You felt a wave of embarrassment fall over you as he just stood there, not saying anything.

You grabbed his wrist and pulled him away toward his room. You dare not glance back at him as you walked.

Why would you hug him like that? Why did he not hate it?

Your scent still lingered on the tip of his nose and he couldn't help but want more. His whole body pulling toward you like a magnet.

The Prince was used to attention from women, but never you. You were always so emotionless when it came to such things and it confused the Prince profusely.

He didn't understand why you all of the sudden were showing such affection toward him. Or why your affection left him speechless and frozen. You were lower class. He shouldn't be in a trance over you.

When the two of you finally arrived in his room, you began gathering clothes for him to change into.

He watched you from his bed, still confused as ever.

You walked over to him with his new clothes in hand and set them next to him.

You began unclasping his cape, a little upset that your hard work at the sewing machine was going to waste.

He did look very handsome tonight indeed. You couldn't help but to feel proud you designed this piece for him.

You went to remove his armor and his hand caught yours.

"I'm capable, woman."m

You nodded and backed away as he undid the clasps at the sides and tore it off.

He was left in a beautiful blue and gold body suit. You had stitched it so intricately, knowing that he enjoyed such things even though he wouldn't admit it.

He always wore this sweat suit you made for him with a similar style, so you knew he was bound to love this as well.

He took off his boots and suit, leaving him in nothing but his under garments. He looked down at the suit in his hands and his fingers ran across your work. He stared at it, noticing the details.

"I thought you'd like it." You smiled softly in his direction, perplexing him as to why you were being so nice to him.

You sat next to him and leaned into his side, sliding your hand over his as he continued to feel his suit.

You ran you fingers across his knuckles that were bit beaten up from training. Scrapes and cuts.

"You got to go easier on yourself." You mumbled, grabbing his hand and examining it.

"Vegeta, this looks infected." You scolded him. "You have to quit being so stubborn and go to the med bay after training to get yourself cleaned up."

"I'm fine." He tore his hands away from your grip and you gave him a disappointing look.

"Clearly not. You're going to get sick and then you won't be able to train for days. Then I'll be running back and forth trying to get you what you need to get better."

"You don't have to do anything for me." He snarled, turning himself away from you.

"Who else is going to do it? Huh?"

You watched his ears go red.

"Whether or not you believe it, I care about your well being and I need to make sure you're safe so I don't worry." You admitted, pulling your knees to your chest as the Prince stood and put on the clothes you gathered for him.

"No other servant or maid cares as much as you. Take a hint."

You looked away. "Well none of them have to pamper you either. You're not exactly an easy person to deal with, Vegeta."

"It's Prince Vegeta." He reminded. "I'm royalty. I expect certain things, yes."

You whipped your head around to him. "Even your father isn't this awful. Kakarot is horrible at his job and your father never complains."

"Fuck Kakarot." He growled, clenching his fists. "My father just uses him to spar."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. You walked over to the door.

"And just where do you think you're going?"

"To change my clothes, thanks Prince Vegeta."

You were beyond frustrated with him at this point. You walked down the hall to your room, thankful you actually had your own space because of being a head maid.

You didn't even care, you changed into some comfier clothes and took extra long.

You took the long way back to Vegeta's room, admiring how empty the halls currently were. Everyone still gathered for the ball.

You opened Vegeta's door and he was sitting on his bed looking out the window.

He didn't look at you as you crawled next to him.

"Woman."

"Yes?"

"Why did you do this?"

"Do what?"

"Lie to my father?"

You chuckled before placing a small hand on his shoulder.

"Because I know you don't like that kind of thing. You're not exactly a social butterfly, ya know?"

He just hummed and continued to look out the window.

It scared him that you knew so much. You seemed to have him all figured out and that was terrifying to him. He looked over at you and noticed you looking up at him.

"What would you without me, right?" You giggled.

"I'd be at peace. Finally." He groaned, falling back onto his bed.

You leaned down and ran a hand through his thick hair.

"What in the hell are you doing?"

You moved your hand away. "Nothing."

"No, what are you doing?"

"Let it go."

"No." He grabbed your wrists. "What are you trying to do?"

You got an angry look on your face before you just screamed. "I'm just trying to be nice!"

He exhaled a deep breath before letting go of your wrists and crossing his arms.

You stood up and began tidying up his room, picking up his clothes and such from the floor.

He watched you from his bed, noticing how pretty you looked as your tail swished back and forth.

You were a strong woman for sure, and it only drew him in more and more. The way you weren't afraid to talk back to him or put him in his place.

The way you looked at him was enough to send him into a daze. He hated it. He wasn't supposed to like you. He wasn't supposed to imagine you with him.

But here you were, so smart and strong. So beautiful. He wanted you all to himself. Another reason to hate Kakarot.

It seemed that Kakarot was far closer to you than he was. It fueled a fire deep within Vegeta that made him want to explode.

"All done." Your words snapped him out of his thoughts and he sat up quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow Vegeta. Rest, please."

"Wouldn't it be suspicious if a maid didn't stay in my room with me? Considering you told my father I wasn't feeling well."

You mentally cursed.

"I'll send one of my girls in after the ball. I don't know how much more of you I can take tonight." You walked toward the door.

Vegeta was thinking of excuses to get you to stay, him wondering why the hell he even wanted you to stay.

"Just for that comment, I want you to stay in here with me." He grinned at you, but in an asshole sort of way.

You groaned loudly and turned on your heel.

"You're a prick." You growled.

"Bitch." He threw a pillow at you, but you caught it last second and stuck your tongue out at him.

You hugged his pillow close to your body, enjoying the smell of him as you sat on the floor.

You both stayed silent for the next few minutes before Vegeta stood and walked into the restroom. This gave you a moment without any tension and you were thankful for it.

Vegeta walked out moments later and noticed you shivering in the corner. He reached into his dresser and pulled out a sweater, throwing it at you.

"How thoughtful!" You gushed sarcastically. "The Prince does have a heart!"

He growled as you slipped the sweater over your head.

You stood and walked over to him.

"Grr. I'm Prince Vegeta." You mocked. "I hate you, woman. You're insufferable. Why do you run your fingers through my hair!? Grr. Grr. I have no soul."

You threw fake punches and kicks as Vegeta's face turned red. His arms crossed as he looked at you with an annoyed look.

"I do not sound like that!"

"Oh, but you do." You giggled, pinching his flushed cheeks.

"Stop that!" He swatted your hand away and you grabbed his hand in return.

"Spar with me." You suggested, punching his chest.

He laughed "Your form is awful." He pushed your body away and dashed around to kick your feet out from under you, but you jumped in time to miss it.

His eyes went wide as he went full force, you dodging every one of his hits. Until you fell over the coffee table in the middle of his floor.

You rolled on the floor with laughter, the Prince staring at you with a curious look.

"Since when do maids know how to fight?" He questioned, crossing his arms.

"My dad was a warrior. Died when I was fifteen."

"Well he obviously wasn't much of a warrior if he's dead."

"He died of a heart attack." You stood and crossed your arms. "He was the best I knew. Even stronger than Kakarot."

Vegeta gave you an annoyed look.

"I also train with Kakarot sometimes. He's taught me a lot."

"That fool shouldn't be teaching you anything."

"Last time I checked, he's stronger than you." You raised an eyebrow in his direction.

"He is not! I'm the Prince of all Saiyans. No low class scum can surpass me."

"Mhm." You softly laughed and waltzed on over to where he stood. "My Prince."

His face went red as he scoffed.

"Come on 'Geta." You chuckled. "Loosen up a little."

You pulled his arms out of their crossed state and held his hands in your own, swaying them back and forth with a smile on your face.

He looked at you with a soft look, one that was rare indeed.

"I know deep down the Prince is a big, soft teddy bear. Come on."

You placed his arms around your waist and then threw your arms around his neck. He looked off to the corner, not allowing himself to look at you.

His face was beet red as you hummed softly and swayed back and forth with him.

Vegeta couldn't help but feel so overwhelmed with warmth. The way you looked in his sweater, how lovely it felt to be so near you, knowing no one could see him but you.

But still, he did not allow you to know this as he didn't put in much effort during your little dance

You played with the hair on the back of his neck, causing a noise to escape from his throat.

He was totally a sucker for you.

You laughed at the noise, before noticing his hand moving to the small of your back, pulling you in a little closer than before.

You felt a blush over your cheeks as Vegeta finally decided to look you in the face.

"Softy." You placed your index finger on his chest and pushed gently.

"I am not soft." He rolled his eyes and his grip on your waist loosened.

"Prove it." You leaned in, noses touching.

The next thing you knew your back was against the wall and his knee was holding you up.

"Mm." His eyebrow raised up at you felt his hands tighten around your waist. He lifted you up effortlessly and threw you over his shoulder.

He then walked over to the bed and softly sat you down. His hand moved to grab your jaw, and he ran his thumb over your bottom lip.

He leaned in, noses almost touching once more. His hot breath on your skin.

You looked up at him, butterflies in your stomach as he hovered over you.

His lips barely touched yours. "I told you. The Prince is not soft."

And he immediately pulled away and turned to walk to the bathroom.

You ended up grabbing a cot from a supply closet so you could sleep in his room that night to keep watch on him. You fell asleep before he walked out from his very long shower.

[volexis]

⤷ december 14 ▸ don’t leaf me hanging ft. bakugou

summary: holiday parties aren’t the best way to spend a pleasant, snowy evening, especially when you bump into your frenemy practically everywhere you go. your evening takes a turn for the worse when you’re stuck together beneath the most odious sprig of the season: mistletoe. how will you get out of this one?

warnings: slight hint of college au, some cursing, mentions of drinking, unwanted advances

wc: 1.9k

a/n: this was horrible but terribly gratifying to write at the same time,,, low key my first time writing for both bakugou and bnha and high key v nervous about posting this since its like a billion years late but i guess its a christmas present?

note: find the rest of the advent calendar here!

Idle chatter rings in your ears as you cradle a mug of now cooled hot chocolate. The room was pleasantly warm, but the onset of partygoers stifled you. Everything was swelteringly suffocating and you gave Mina a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna go refill my drink, I’ll be right back.”

“(Y/N), you haven’t even touched—”

You paid her no heed and all but bolted towards the kitchen. Immediately the atmosphere quieted, the living room’s noise dulling to an easily ignored thrum. You leaned against the marbled counter, fingers skimming the slight pores of the mineral. 

“What’re you doing here?” You heard a growl from the other side of the table, the tenacity of its timbre almost making you drop your cup. You spun to meet scarlet eyes that practically burned into you. Immediately, a scowl pulled at your lips. Of course, it was none other than the resident pain in your ass, nuisance extraordinaire: Bakugou Katsuki. 

He had it in for you the day you’d met, that much you knew. It was as if he took one look at you and dismissed you as what he generously liked to call ‘an extra’. As if he couldn’t be bothered to dignify you with his presence, let alone a conversation. Normally, you’d brush it off but something about it all irked you to no end. You made it your mission to be around him as much as possible, learn what makes him tick as well as what made him hate you so. Initially, he reacted as predicted. He practically leveled the building that first day in his booming voice and irate fury, to which you responded with nothing but a laugh. As enigmatic as he may seem, Bakugou was surprisingly predictable. 

The weeks passed by and you’d come to notice his yelling had toned down, not significant enough to be perceptible by the rest, but his words no longer held the same sharp edge as before though his aggressivity was as boisterous as ever. Soon enough you began to feel more at ease in his presence, even going as far as looking forward to the next time you’d see him at your lectures, in the halls, out at lunch. Catching yourself scanning the area for his presence every time you’d enter a room. In short, you had fallen for him. Hard.

Together you fell into a steady rhythm. He allowed you to remain in his vicinity unscathed and you didn’t have to tiptoe around his easily detonated temper. 

You quickly learned his moods were more fluctuant than you ever could’ve guessed. The days leading to the small holiday party you found yourself in were riddled with the same explosive disposition from when you’d first met. Every stinging barb and taunt wounded you a little more than you’d like to admit. And then, radio silence. You no longer studied together, he no longer met your eyes when you had made a particularly interesting comment. Back to the very beginning when he didn’t even know you existed. You didn’t know what hurt more. 

You forced yourself to take a deep breath and smooth your words into a clipped, polite speech.

“I’m in the kitchen, same as you. Do you have a problem with that?”

The blonde balked, opening his mouth to spew a retort, when Mina stumbled into the kitchen, bright smiles and full of boundless cheer. “(Y/N) since you’re in here would you mind getting me and—” 

Her words died on her lips, tripping over each other as he planted her hands on your shoulders and tugged you away from the blonde, an uneasy grin on her face. “We’ll be going now.”

You gave him what you hoped looked like a sincere smile; one that hid the painfully evident panic that shot through your limbs. You knew well enough not to provoke him nor did you have the energy to do so. 

Mina stopped pulling once you were safely outside in the hallway. Silence followed as her hands slipped from their perch on your shoulders to your own, shaking them lightly to force you to look at her.

“What was that?” The incredulity that filled her words matched her bug-eyed expression, swerving as she alternated from staring at you and the room you’d just exited. 

“Actually, I don’t know.” You were equally as shocked and stumped as the poor girl. 

“Well, in any case, I don’t think it’s worth ruining Kirishima’s party over whatever it is that’s been going on between you two lately. Just in case, it’ll be safer to avoid him for the rest of the evening, yeah?”

You nodded numbly and allowed her to take you back to the living room now outfitted with a hastily put together dance floor. Mina was right, anyhow. From just one quick look towards the rest of the room, you could tell everyone was enjoying their evening, basking in the warmth coming from the central heating as well as the close proximity. There’s no need to need to spoil the festivities with a silly quarrel you could fix any other day. However, there was one slight issue with your plan. Out of the corner of your eye, you’d catch a glimpse of spiky blonde hair. No matter where you’d go, he’d still be there, somewhere. Every move you made seemed to draw him closer. With a huff, you maneuvered around the throng of dancers to make your way back to the kitchen. There’s still a chance he’d follow you, but at least you’d be further away from the vigilant stares of the crowd. 

As you thought, Bakugou was already leaning against the marbled counter once you stepped in. 

“Mind telling me why you’re avoiding me?”

Before you could answer him, someone else stumbled into the kitchen seemingly towards you, all wobbling steps and inebriated smiles. His drink sloshed in the dented plastic cup he held onto so tightly, rivulets of it spilling down the side and splashing onto his clothes. “You’re really pretty, would you give me your number?”

You scoffed at his sudden forwardness, a scowl pulling at your lips once you had fully registered his words. “Why should I?”

The man, startled at your response, was silent for a beat. Seemingly regaining his composure, he pressed closer into you, backing you further into the counter. “Well,” he leaned towards your ear as if his next words were to be shared only with you. “If you do give me your number, maybe I can call you up and I could show you a good time. Whaddaya say, pretty thing?”

Words failed to form, tripping over each other as you stumbled away from him, away from whatever he thought he was doing. You bumped into something solid as you backtracked, turning around to see that it had been the fiery blonde himself. 

“That’s not happening, asshole, we’ll be going now.” absolute venom dripped from his words as he smiled cruelly, his lips contorting into something akin to a sneer as he takes your hand in his, tugging you away. 

Despite the constant abrasiveness in his everyday mannerisms,  you couldn’t help but marvel at the gentle manner he used to intertwine his fingers with yours. He wasn’t rough in pulling you from the kitchen, he didn’t crush your hand in his grasp or practically pull your arm out of its socket. He was almost sweet, coaxing you away from the situation. 

He only stopped once you were a safe distance away, turned in the direction you’d come from, to presumably make sure the offender hadn’t followed. You’d been too preoccupied with the softness of his touch to notice him watching the kitchen doorway and then the rest of the crowd once he noticed the other student sift in, glaring sharply every time their eyes met. Suffice to say, you were probably not going to hear from him in a long time. 

“Bakugou?” He let out a noise of acknowledgment, eyes still trained on something across the room. 

“You can let go of my hand now.” 

He blinked owlishly, looking down at your fingers as if he now just realized what he had been doing. “You never answered my question.”

“And you haven’t let go of my hand.”

His next words were drowned out by tumultuous cheers and wild shouts of the other students. They’d formed a crowd behind the two of you. Why?

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” You looked to Bakugou in confusion, who responded by pointing up to the top of the doorway to spot a small tangle of mistletoe lies poorly taped to the wood. 

Realization dawned on you and frustration ebbed into your rapidly spiraling thoughts. Of all people to be stuck under that odious herb, it just had to be the one who sent your poor heart into overdrive every time you’d catch one of the softer, more peaceful looks he’d sport around you. Part of you wanted to grab him and plant your lips on his, that part of you had longed for such an opportunity for a while now, longed for him. The other part of you was caught up in trying to process Bakugou’s radical change in behavior. From one minute to the next he had gone from his usual brutally harsh demeanor to holding your hand so tenderly as if he was scared to hurt you.

“We don’t really have to do this if you don’t want to,” You were unsure of what you wanted, what you thought of him. He said nothing as he gently placed his hands on your cheeks, drawing closer till his lips met yours. The world drowned out around you. Electricity surged through your every nerve and you shivered as you felt him nip at your bottom lip. You drown in the taste of spiced cinnamon and his tongue swiping along the roof of your mouth. It’s dizzying and you almost couldn’t believe it had happened once he pulls away. 

Once you look into his eyes you’re suddenly aware of the crowd’s roar behind you. The full weight of the past few moments settle in and you don’t know if you want to slap him or kiss him again. 

“You never answered my question, but I have been treating you like shit all week. You don’t deserve it. You really don’t,” he repeated, tapering off as he fumbled for the right words to say.

“I got scared of my feelings, of what they meant, and I pushed you away because of it.”

“That’s putting it lightly, Bakugou,” You let the ghost of a smile pull at your lips. After all, that’s probably the closest he’d get to an apology.

“Dumbass, don’t interrupt me while I’m trying to tell you that I like you—” His cheeks burned once he realized what he’d said. You mirrored his reaction, eyes widening at his words.

“You like me?” Your smile quirked into a full grin as you pulled him back towards you in another kiss. Immediately his hands shot to your waist, pressing you closer to him as you lost yourself in the way his lips melded against yours. He’s everywhere, up the curve of your spine and down your arms, kissing you with a fervent urgency you’d never known before. The feeling of melting so deliciously against him made your nerves sing. A sudden giddiness spun through you as you pulled away and mirrored Bakugou’s radiant smile. 

“Luckily, I just so happen to like you too.”

taglist: @tsumuseum @amoroushero @mrslordexplosionmurder @ssat0ris​ @osamusriceballs @seraphgabrielle​ @1642lux

strike through means I wasn’t able to tag you

additional note: event taglist is open! send an ask if you’d like to be added <3