#getting broken and i needed plastic frames so i got new ones. with the fun magnetic sunglasses as a free bonus

[em1i2a3]

Only Human

Pairing: Soft!Void!/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Mutant!Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been staying with Bob every night since the incident with The Void in hopes to prevent anything like that from happening again. Much to your surprise though, he slips out of Bob to see you one night. (Sequel to ‘The Dark Side’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Angst, Fluff, Smut, and like Hurt/Comfort kind of?, Mentions of Injuries that occurred in the first part, Just as a Reminder Reader has the ability of Power Negation (rendering them unable to be Voided or sent into a shame room) and Telekinesis, There is some references to supernatural things (we are dealing with The Void here, so it does need a bit of a warning I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️), Reader and Bob are not in a relationship (not at the moment), but they do have feelings for one another.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up please lol), Sensual Touching, The Void is Touch Starved (what can I say?), Fingering, Squirting, Mutual Masturbation, Biting, Praise/Dirty Talk (kind of?), Little Bit of Supernatural Elements to the sex, Hopefully I didn’t miss anything.

Author’s Note: People really liked my portrayal of Soft-ish Void in ‘The Dark Side’ and truly I wanted to kind of expand on that and take the story just a bit further too. Writing Soft!Void was so fun and odd, but it was so nice to be able to do it. Hopefully y’all enjoy! Thank you for readin <3 (P.S. Yes I said Soft Void. Don’t worry, normal Void shenanigans will be back soon.)

Word Count: 9,702

“You really don’t ha–have to keep doing this…” Bob’s voice broke softly through the silence like a crack in still glass. It wasn’t really a protest, it was more like a quiet plea laced with guilt. He lingered just inside the doorway, his tall frame half-silhouetted by the dim hallway light that glowed behind him. His tone trembled, stretched thin by exhaustion, “I’m…I’m sure you want to get more sleep than ju-just an hour or two.”

You were already under the covers of his bed, leaning against the headboard with your legs drawn up beneath the thick comforter, shoulder relaxed but eyes wide open. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily lately for you–not with everything still so raw with worry and concern–but being here, in his room with him, had become a kind of comforting ritual for you. A place where you stood guard, and soothed.

The chaos that once wreaked havoc over his bedroom–the splintered furniture, shattered glass, dented drywall–was gone now. Cleaned. Patched. Rebuilt from the ground up basically. The entire team had taken on the task to make everything right again, to erase the brutal traces of The Void’s presence. Even the scuffed floors had been sanded and polished, though some of the deeper gouges remained, hidden beneath the new rug Ava insisted on buying.

You had spent nearly every spare hour of the past week in his room–sorting through broken remnants, salvaging what you could. Bob’s framed photos of the team had been the first thing you tackled: cracked glass removed, splinters of wood from the frames glued back together, and new little pieces of plastic placed against the photos to replace the glass. You sat cross-legged on his floor, each picture spread out before you like fragments, before putting everything back together. You had also tried to salvage some of his mugs, but only two had been saved–Bob was grateful that you even tried to do it anyway.

Then came the dresser. A new one that you ordered from IKEA, that was delivered in a box that was too heavy for you to haul into Bob’s room on your own. You got Alexei and Walker to help you with that, but you stayed behind after they left, kneeling on the carpet beside Bob, helping him screw everything into place and go through the instructions. He had insisted on doing everything himself, even though his knuckles that you had patched up had begun to bleed through the gauze.

When things settled, everything looked very close to normalcy–eerily so. There was familiar furniture positioned back into place, books reshelved in the same order, and picture frames perched in the same areas. But it felt different. Lived in again…Touched by healing hands.

And Bob noticed.

He thanked you feverishly every time you finished a picture frame or replaced something–even when you handed him a cup of tea. He thanked Walker for lifting the headboard, Ava for the rug, Yelena for restocking his little trinkets. He must’ve said those words a hundred times within the week. You could tell he didn’t think it was enough. That it gnawed at him–how much everyone gave, and how little he felt he could return.

Now, he stepped into the room slowly, closing the door behind him with that same soft care he had throughout the entire week, his shoulder rising and falling with a tired breath as he crossed the room toward his dresser. You watch him from your place under the covers, silent, observant.

His movements were slower than usual. Careful. Painfully so. You saw it in the way he unzipped his hoodie with trembling fingers, the bandages frayed slightly at the edges, stained faintly with ointment from earlier. Your eyes followed every shift of his hand–the one you’d held steady days ago as you pulled a splinter from beneath the nail, listening to him suck in a breath and tell you, “It’s okay, I don’t even feel it anymore,” even though he clearly did.

“Trust me, Bob,” You said softly, your voice breaking the stillness in the room, “I’m okay. I don’t need as much sleep as you think…And regardless of that…I’m the only person that can control him if he comes out again. I need to be here.” He paused, halfway through shrugging off the hoodie. His jaw clenched for a second, then he slipped the rest of the fabric off, folding it slowly and neatly, hands still trembling slightly, before placing it on the dresser. You saw it in his face–there was something haunting him again. A question. A thought he hadn’t dared speak aloud until now. He didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“…You never told me how you go-got me to come back,” He mumbled, voice quiet, strained, like it was raw just thinking about it. He stared down at the hoodie for a beat longer, rubbing the soft fabric, before wordlessly reaching for the hem of his shirt, turning on his heel to face you. He peeled the shirt off, the gauze clinging slightly to the inside of it. The amber glow of the bedside lamp casted long, soft shadows over his body, bathing him in warm light that didn’t hide a single thing.

The bruises and bandage were in plain sight again.

You had noticed them when you were patching up his hands after you calmed him down that day, but under this light they looked worse. Deeper. Like violet clouds blooming beneath the surface of his skin. The bruising stretched across his ribs, wrapping over his sides and spilling faintly along the edges of his abdomen, as though he’d been caught in a collapse and had barely crawled out from under it. There were a few patches of gauze as well, from where splinters of furniture had scraped and cut him.

He had told you, through clenched teeth, that The Void had made him hurt himself. That in the haze of it all–in the fog of darkness and sadness–he had taken the pain out on himself instead of the furniture around his room. He punched himself, or at least Bob said he did.

It hurt to hear, and it was even more painful to see, yet you still patched him up with such gentleness that Bob felt like he was going to pass out.

Seeing them again made your throat tighten.

He didn’t seem to notice your expression. He was too focused on the motion–folding his shirt with such neatness before throwing it into the hamper. Like it was the only thing he could really control.

”If I told you…” You began softly, your voice low, hesitant, “You wouldn't believe me, Bob.” He paused. Looked over at you, brows drawn in quiet confusion. His concern was already building, you could feel it.

“Tr-Try me,” He said after a beat. You bit the inside of your cheek, gaze dropping to your hands where they rested on top of the blanket. Your thumbs brushed against the constellation of beauty marks scattered along your skin—small, quiet things you’d never thought much of before. But now…

Now, they burned.

Not in pain, but in memory.

You thought of what The Void had said. What he knew.

How Bob looked at them when he thought you weren’t watching. How he had memorized them–every last one. How they marked where your soulmate from a past life used to kiss you. That stupid piece of folklore you’d only ever half believed–until you saw what your kisses did to him.

The way the freckles had bled through the Void’s form like stars. Tiny galaxies lighting up the dark. One at a time. The shoulder. The spine. The base of his neck. His jaw. The more you kissed him, the more the darkness split open and Bob began to return–like you’d traced a map across his skin and led him home.

How were you supposed to say that out loud?

How were you supposed to tell him the most impossible thing you’d ever done felt like instinct? That somehow, without understanding how or why, your body knew the way back to him even when his mind didn’t?

So instead…You looked back up at him.

His eyes were on you, soft and waiting, concern already building in the faint knit of his brows.

“It’s really…” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, “…confusing, Bob.” That crease in his forehead deepened just slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

“Did he hurt you?”

You shook your head, once, immediately.

“No,” You said gently. “He didn’t. He can’t. He’s weak when he’s around me.”

You watched him exhale, the motion shaking slightly through his chest. His shoulders dropped, but his eyes stayed shadowed with something heavier–dread, maybe. Guilt. You reached over and flipped the blanket open without a word, and with your free hand, flicked off the bedside lamp.

Darkness swept across the room like a curtain. Not suffocating. Not cold. Just soft. Gentle shadows broken only by the pale blue glow from the window, where moonlight cut through the glass in long, quiet angles and kissed the walls.

Bob stood there for a moment–hesitating. His fingers flexed slightly at his sides, his gaze cast low like he didn’t quite feel worthy of crawling into the space beside you. You saw it in the way he lingered. The way his mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t. The fear wasn’t just about him. It was about you–what might happen if he let himself close enough to need this. To need you.

“I’m just…” His voice cracked slightly as he spoke, “I’m wo–worried one day he’s going to come out…And he’s go-going to hurt you.” You saw it in his face then–clearer than ever. The helplessness. The guilt. The ache of someone who had come back from a nightmare and didn’t know how to live in the aftermath.

So you didn’t argue. You didn’t offer platitudes.

You just opened your arms.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And that was enough.

He sighed, almost like it hurt to exhale, and crawled into the bed beside you. His movements were slow, careful, like he was trying not to make a ripple in the space around you. Like he thought too much weight in the wrong place might send you drifting away.

You slipped down further against the pillows, welcoming him in without hesitation, your arms curling around his body as he eased closer–until his head found its usual place.

Right over your heart.

He settled there gently, cheek pressing to your clothed chest like he’d done every night for the past few days. His arm came up slowly, resting across your stomach, the other curling underneath you, tentative fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your shirt.

And you held him.

Without fear. Without judgment.

Your palm found the back of his head and slid into his soft light brown hair, your fingers already stroking the strands in a rhythm you’d learned by heart–slow, grounding, gentle.

He exhaled. You felt the breath fan across the fabric on your ribs, warming them slightly.

“He would never hurt me, Bob…” You murmured, your voice warm in the dark, your breath stirring his hair. “Because you would never hurt me.”

A silence fell then–full of trust.

He didn’t say anything, but his body responded. You felt the way he leaned in closer, his grip tightening around your waist, his weight shifting until he was almost curled into your side completely. Like he wanted to disappear into you. Like you were the only solid thing he trusted to anchor him back to himself.

“You don’t have to worry about me…” You added softly, pressing your lips gently to the crown of his head. He let out a small, shuddering sigh at the kiss. It was quiet–barely more than breath–but it echoed in the hush between you. His fingers twitched slightly where they clung to the fabric of your shirt, and then he nodded once, slow and reluctant.

“…Okay,” He whispered, the word brittle and small. Like he wanted to believe it. Like he didn’t, but was choosing to anyway.

Then came the silence.

Thick and warm and filled only by the slow cadence of your breath and his. The soft weight of his body curled around yours. The bed creaked faintly as you both shifted, but nothing broke the stillness of the room. Just the hush of safety. The quiet rhythm of presence.

You knew the exact moment he drifted off.

The soft whistle of air from his nose told you. That tiny snore that only came when he was crushed into you like this–cheek against your chest, limbs tangled beneath the comforter. You smiled faintly and kept your hand moving through his hair, threading your fingers through in a slow rhythm. A grounding gesture, more for him than for you…But now, maybe it was both.

You lost track of time like that.

Until something changed.

At first, it was subtle. A coolness in the air under the blanket–not cold exactly, but different. A shift in pressure, like something holding its breath.

Your fingers stilled.

And then you felt it. The texture. The change in the strands beneath your touch. They slipped too easily between your fingers now–too smooth, too silent. They didn’t catch the way hair should. Instead, they moved like silk underwater. Alive. Shifting.

You looked down.

The crown of his head had gone black. Not just shadowed. Not just dimmed. Black. Lightless, hollow, impossible. The kind of darkness that felt sentient. The kind that could swallow stars.

You didn’t move at first. Didn’t pull away. Just stared as the darkness spread, slow and sinuous–crawling down the back of his neck, across his shoulders, seeping into his skin like ink in water. The soft light from the window did nothing to touch it. It just disappeared into him.

And then, he moved.

Arms curling tighter around your waist, the way someone clings to the edge of a dream they’re afraid to wake from.

“No…” The voice came low and quiet. “…No, please. Do not stop suddenly because of me.” The Void’s tone was different from the last time you interacted with him. No malice. No venom. No harsh edge of control. It wasn’t a hiss–it was something closer to a plea. Gentle. Almost unsure. You froze. Heart pounding.

He didn’t move beyond that. Just stayed pressed against you, dark and heavy and cool, his face buried in your chest like nothing had changed at all.

“You…” He began, breath catching faintly, “You have absolutely ruined me.” Your hand hovered inches above where you’d been stroking his hair just moments ago, watching as tendrils of vantablack shadows exuded from his skin and crawled up your arms. Usually they recoiled when you were around, but not this time. It felt like a breeze. Cool and featherlight. Not invasive. Not consuming. Just…Explorative. Your breath hitched as they danced across your skin.

“…I didn’t do anything to you, Void.” You whispered, Your voice trembled, not from fear–but from the weight of the moment. From the ache in your chest that this darkness–the same darkness that once tried to devour the man you loved–was now wrapped around you like something desperate to stay.

He didn’t reply.

So you looked down.

And you saw all of him.

His entire form was draped in lightless shadow, vantablack and consuming, the folds of it shifting like living ink where he breathed against you. But within that sea of black, the constellations built from your kisses remained. Brighter now.

Over his shoulder, at his neck, on the dip of his spine. Every place where you had laid your lips to bring Bob back to you was shimmering. You had branded him, and it was evident by the way he was speaking.

”Where’s Bob?” You asked cautiously. The tendrils continued to slip up your skin, going beneath the sleeve of your t-shirt.

”He’s asleep…” The Void replied, the words soft, almost careful, “I promise…I’m not hurting him.” The tendrils continued to move beneath your shirt, curling gently along your ribs like they were memorizing you–your shape, your warmth. Not with hunger. Not with domination. But with need, and you allowed it…Because they hadn’t done anything to hurt you yet.

“Then…” You started, feeling your heart begin to pick up in pace, “Why are you here?” A silence stretched so long you thought he wasn’t going to answer.

Then, with the faintest voice:

“…Because I needed to feel you again.”

Your breath caught.

You knew he felt it–your pulse thudding wildly beneath his ear. His head shifted slightly, like he was adjusting to the new rhythm. Listening to it. Drinking it in. You felt his face press even closer to your chest, like he was trying to lose himself in it. The tendrils climbed higher now, curling up your spine, slipping out from beneath the collar of your shirt like silk, wrapping around your shoulders, your throat–soft and slow, like they were bracing him for the words he hadn’t let himself say before.

“You…” He began, voice cracking slightly, “…Have taken me and ripped me apart–and you have no idea that you’ve done it. You closed your eyes tightly, chest tightening beneath the weight of that confession.

“Void, I–“ But he didn’t let you speak.

“I have never had my skin kissed…”

His voice was low and hoarse, but not from anger. It cracked with something deeper. Wreckage and worship all tangled together.

“I have never been treated with such gentleness in my entire existence,” He continued, lifting his head from your chest.

The weight of him shifted slightly, and you felt the cold brush of ink-light against your throat as he rose just enough to look up at you. His face was still veiled in darkness–no edges, no shape, just a silhouette of pure, living shadow–but those eyes…Those pale white pupils glowed like moons in an eclipse. Twin lights in the endless black.

His gaze bore into yours, not with fire, but with something aching. Broken. Like looking directly into grief that had finally grown too tired to be cruel.

“You marked me,” he breathed, and though his voice was still low, there was something fraying at the edges–tightness, tension, a tremble you didn’t often hear from him. “You’ve claimed what’s rightfully yours.”

Your breath caught, lips parting slightly as his eyes bore into you—those eerie, hollow white pupils that somehow shimmered with heat despite their cold hue.

“You have burned yourself into me,” he continued, and his voice cracked on the word burned, the sound splintering like the edges of a dam giving way. “Do you understand that? Do you understand what you’ve done?”

You opened your mouth, but before you could speak, he moved.

His hand–shaped from shadow but solid, braced itself on the mattress beside your ribs, and he slowly climbed higher, crawling up your body with a grace that was too fluid, too precise to be human. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he shifted, his form inching up until you were face to face–your back sinking deeper into the pillows while he loomed above, haloed in ink and moonlight.

The breath in your lungs hitched sharply.

He was so close now that you could feel the coolness radiating from him, his form drawing heat from the air around you. His breath–if it even was breath–fanned over your mouth in chilled waves. And yet somehow, it didn’t make you recoil. It made your skin spark. Tighten. Ache.

“I…” You whispered, but it came out barely audible.

His hand came up to your cheek then–tenderly. Not the shadow-tendrils this time. A hand. Cold. Unnatural. But steady. His thumb grazed the apple of your cheek, stroking slowly.

“…I woke something in you,” You continued, your own voice so fragile it nearly fell apart between syllables.

His touch faltered for half a second, but then he pressed his palm more firmly to your skin, as if grounding himself in it. Like he needed to feel you to keep himself from dissolving.

“I am cursed with the memory of your warmth, Y/N…” He admitted.

The way he said your name–it sounded like reverence and devastation folded into one.

“It has been plaguing me since you did this…”

His free hand reached across his body, brushing at the shimmering mark glowing faintly on his shoulder–right where you had kissed him first.

“Because I…” His voice dropped even lower, raspier, more ragged, “…I belong to you. And all I can have are these moments to admit it. These stolen minutes in the dark. And I can’t–I can’t take it anymore.”

You felt the mattress tremble faintly beneath his weight as another tendril slowly crept beneath the hem of your shirt. It slid along your skin with that same impossible gentleness, settling cold against the softness of your stomach. You inhaled sharply, your ribs stuttering under the touch. He noticed

“Void…” You murmured, a tremor slipping through your tone. “You can’t just come here and admit this stuff to me.”

His thumb traced your cheek again, slower now, and you saw his jaw tighten.

“…Why?”

You didn’t answer at first. Couldn’t. But your eyes searched his, desperate for something to anchor to in the swirling dark. And then, quietly, you said the only name that ever broke him:

“Bob.”

He froze.

Swallowed hard. You watched the muscles in his neck twitch.

And then he spoke, each word like glass.

“Do you think Bob isn’t the main cause of all of this?” His voice trembled–not with anger, but something closer to despair. “Do you think my feelings are just… conjured up out of thin air?”

You didn’t breathe.

“We are connected,” He went on, more broken now, desperate. “His thoughts plague my mind just like my voice plagues his. His dreams. His love. I feel it. Every second. Every heartbeat he wastes on you, I feel it like a wound that never closes.”

The tendrils at your throat–already wrapped softly there–curled tighter. Still gentle. Still featherlight. Like hands cradling something delicate. Like the hands of someone scared to lose you.

“I can’t ignore the truth anymore,” He whispered. “Not when he dreams of you the way he does. Not when I dream of you now too. Do you understand me?”

You nodded, even though your breath still shook.

Even though your heart still pounded in your ears and your body felt caught between dread and something far more dangerous–want.

His hand cupped your jaw, the coolness seeping into your skin like mist through cloth, and he lowered his face even closer–so close your noses nearly brushed.

“Say it,” He whispered.

You swallowed.

“What?”

“Say you know,” He breathed, voice shaking now. “Say you know what you’ve done to me.”

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then quietly–so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a prayer–you whispered:

“…I know.” He didn’t move at first.

It was like the words had knocked the air from his lungs, like they’d rendered something inside him too stunned to function. You watched his mouth part slightly–lips trembling, breath shallow–and his pupils, those glowing pale moons, flicked down to your mouth.

And then…He leaned in.

So slowly. So hesitantly. As if he were expecting the moment to vanish before it touched him. His lips hovered a whisper above yours–cold, barely-there, and waiting for permission he didn’t know how to ask for.

So you gave it.

You tilted your chin, parted your lips just a breath–and then flicked your tongue out and lightly licked the soft curve of his bottom lip.

A sharp, guttural sound escaped him.

It wasn’t a moan. It wasn’t a gasp. It was something more primitive–like something inside him cracked wide open. Like the memory of your warmth came rushing back all at once and hit him like a storm. His whole form shivered beneath your touch, like even that much gentleness was too much to bear.

And then you kissed him.

Soft. Delicate. A press of lips that felt less like hunger and more like offering. A sacred thing. Like you were silently giving yourself to him–trusting him.

The tendril against your stomach quivered, then spread upward, curling slowly up your sternum. The coldness traced the line between your ribs with aching slowness, pulling goosebumps to your skin like the aftershock of a spell. Another tendril wrapped firmer around your back, pulling you upward, into him, and your hands moved before you could think.

You cupped his face.

Both palms against his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheekbones as though trying to soothe the trembling that had begun shaking through his body. And he melted into it–like his form wasn’t solid anymore. Like the sheer weight of being held like this was more than he could survive.

He kissed you back–slowly at first, uncertain.

And then again. And again.

The whimper that escaped him was so raw it sounded like it hurt. Not from pain, but from feeling. From the overwhelming pressure of being kissed like this–like someone wanted him, all of him, even the parts he thought were unsalvageable.

You felt him shift.

The mattress dipped again as he leaned in heavier, his body pressing down into yours, his chest brushing yours. His weight was cold and foreign, but grounding. Not crushing. Not claiming. Just seeking. Wanting to be closer than was allowed.

Your legs parted instinctively beneath the blanket, and you wrapped them around his waist–lightly at first, tentative, as though testing if this was still okay. But when your calves settled around him, he let out another sound–a shaky, broken breath against your mouth that might have been the closest he could come to a thank you.

He deepened the kiss.

Not rough. Not fast. Just more. His mouth moved with such aching slowness against yours, lips cold but desperate to memorize you. He whimpered softly into your mouth, again and again, like the sound was being pulled out of him against his will.

Your hands kept moving. One stayed on his cheek, thumb stroking in soothing circles, but the other slipped down–over his neck, his shoulder, down along his ribs.

You felt him tremble.

Not from fear. But from need. That wild, hollow ache of something that had been starved of affection for so long, it didn’t know what to do with it now that it had finally been touched.

The shadows around you shifted, curling tighter around your form, but they didn’t hurt. They held. They cradled. They tethered. As though The Void himself couldn’t bear the thought of losing contact. Of being separated by even a breath of air.

And still, his mouth stayed on yours.

Whimpering. Trembling. Kissing you like your lips were the only thing keeping him tethered to the body he’d borrowed.

He pulled back slowly–too slowly, like leaving your mouth was the hardest thing he’d ever done.

When you opened your eyes, his were still closed.

His forehead rested against yours, breath ragged and shallow as if even the act of kissing had drained him. He was trembling–barely–but enough that you felt it through every place your bodies touched. You opened your mouth to speak, but then you saw it.

His lips.

Flecked with tiny white pinpricks of light. The same ones your other kisses had left in its wake. You reached up with slow fingers, reverent fingers, and gently traced the outline of his lips. His breath hitched violently, and his head dipped toward your palm like he couldn’t help it–like he was starved for it. Your thumb grazed the soft swell of his bottom lip.

He whimpered.

The sound was raw. Desperate. Almost painful.

You stilled immediately. “Void…?”

His eyes blinked open slowly–dim moons, fogged and trembling. His voice cracked as he whispered, “It…It hurts.”

Your heart clenched. “Hurts?”

He nodded faintly, almost ashamed. “I don’t…I don’t know how to process this. Being touched like that. Being kissed like that. It’s too much–” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale, then exhaled shakily, as if trying to hold himself together.

“I can stop,” You offered softly, your hand still cupping his cheek, your thumb now brushing beneath his eye instead. “Just tell me and I’ll–”

“No.” His hand caught yours–shadowed, trembling, cold. “Don’t.” Another breath. “Please. Don’t stop. I just…I need to feel it all.”

You nodded once, slowly.

Then, he shifted.

He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, your leg still wrapped loosely around his waist. You followed easily, pressing your chest to his again, the blanket cocooning you both in warmth while his shadows curled tightly around you like a second skin. Your face was just inches from his, your breath mingling with his cool exhale.

Your hand slid down his jaw again, trailing lower this time–down his throat, over the defined line of his collarbone. Your palm remained splayed across his chest, cool beneath your fingers, rising and falling in shallow, stuttering breaths. His shadows still curled around you—gentle, clinging, trembling with a hunger that didn’t come from destruction, but from longing. From need. From the aching vulnerability of a god on his knees, cradled in human hands.

You tilted your head just slightly, forehead still grazing his, voice low and warm as you whispered:

“Tell me how it feels…”

Your thumb traced a soft arc over the center of his chest. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

A breath hitched. A sound caught in his throat—like he was about to speak, but it took him a second to find the strength.

“…Please…” His voice cracked—barely above a whisper, “Please just…keep touching me.”

That was all he could say. All he could manage.

So you did.

You moved slowly like you were tracing stardust across him, like every motion was meant to tell him I see you. Your hand slipped from his chest and down along his side, curling around his waist to hold him closer. The other stayed between you, lifting just slightly to stroke your fingertips along the line of his jaw. Then his cheek. Then into his hair again–inky and cool and shifting beneath your hand like it responded to your touch.

He sighed, trembling, and his own hand came forward to find your thigh beneath the blanket. Slowly. Carefully. He rested his palm there, large and cool against the bare skin just above your knee, like he was memorizing the shape of you. He inhaled sharply at the contact, the breath catching at the top of his chest before shaking loose in a low exhale through barely-parted lips.

His thumb stroked once. Then again. Small, grounding circles against the inside of your thigh, before his fingers curled slightly and gave it a gentle squeeze.

You swallowed.

Then you leaned forward, lips brushing the curve of his collarbone.

A kiss.

Then another.

Slower.

Lower.

You felt the exact moment he gasped–the motion rattling through his chest and into your mouth as you pressed another kiss just beneath the hollow of his throat. Light bloomed beneath your lips–those same soft pinpricks of white, growing like starlight across his dark skin.

“Oh god…” He breathed, his head tipping back slightly, exposing more of his neck to you. Inviting more of you.

It was a prayer and a confession and a surrender all at once.

You kissed higher, toward the edge of his shoulder, lips dragging softly along the cool skin, your nose brushing his throat as you whispered gently:

“You can have this…” Another kiss. “As long as you want.”

A low, broken sound escaped him–something between a moan and a whimper. His hand on your thigh tightened again, not roughly–just anchoring. Needing. Worshipping.

You moved back just enough to look at him again.

His glowing white eyes were glassy now, lids heavy, lips parted slightly. He looked completely undone. Not from lust. But from being seen. From being held.

Your hand came up to his face again, fingers tracing the hollow of his cheek.

“You’re not too much,” You murmured, answering the question he hadn’t dared ask aloud. “You’re not too cold. You’re not too broken. You’re not a mistake.”

His breath stuttered again. He blinked. You saw something fracture across his expression–something soft. Something grateful. Like you’d just rewritten a truth he thought he had to live with forever.

“Touch me again,” He whispered, voice breaking. “Please…”

You shifted closer until your chest pressed to his again, and your mouth returned to his neck. Kissing. Marking. Soft worship. Your hand slid up to his shoulder, fingers splaying wide, grounding him again. He whimpered, and you felt the sound vibrate against your lips.

The shadows around you pulled tighter–still not hurting, still not threatening. Just holding. Like they were trying to remember this moment. To keep it somehow. Etch it into the fabric of reality before it could slip away.

His hand remained anchored on your thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles into the warmth of your skin like he was committing it to memory. You felt him shift slightly–closer, heavier. His mouth brushed against your cheek.

And then came the question.

“Can I touch you?”

It was soft. Wrecked. Almost reverent.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his face–those pale, glowing eyes dim and unsure, shadowed by something fragile.

“Where?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

Instead, his hand slid higher.

Cool fingers brushing up along your thigh, along the hem of your sleep shorts, until his knuckles just barely grazed the waistband. He paused there, eyes searching yours—studying. Not demanding. Just waiting.

And you saw it again–the way his breath caught. The tremble in his touch. The restraint of a creature that could ruin you in a heartbeat…but didn’t want to. Couldn’t.

You nodded.

And he moved.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband.

You gasped sharply.

The cold was immediate–like shadow-dipped silk gliding against your heat. Not harsh. Not jarring. Just the opposite. The contrast made your body tense, then melt. He felt it—how wet you already were for him–and his breath stuttered, just once.

“Oh…” You gasped.

His other hand rose slowly, almost uncertainly, and came to cradle the side of your neck–his palm cool and steady as his thumb stroked under your jaw, grounding you again. The feel of his fingers below was almost unbearable now.

“You’re so warm, Y/N…” He whispered, and it wasn’t just awe in his voice–it was longing. Worship. “So…So warm…”

His fingers moved gently between your folds, slowly, like he was learning you by touch alone. His middle finger dipped lower, parting your slick with a trembling kind of care, until he found the delicate ache at your entrance.

Your breath hitched.

He stroked along it once–soft and teasing–and you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. Your hips twitched forward, chasing the sensation, and he groaned low in his throat like the sound of your pleasure was more than he could bear.

“I want…” You breathed, voice trembling. “Guide me to you. I want to touch you too.”

There was no hesitation.

One of the tendrils–slow and patient–slid down your arm like ribbon, curling around your wrist. It coaxed your hand forward, easing beneath the blanket, through shadow and warmth and the press of his form, sliding beneath his waistband until–

You felt him.

Hard.

Straining.

Solid heat beneath impossibly cool skin.

You couldn’t see it. But you knew. The thickness. The weight. The need that pulsed there.

Your fingers curled instinctively around him, and he jolted–his whole body twitching with the contact, breath torn from his lungs in a raw, shuddering gasp.

“Oh god…” He whispered, barely coherent.

You palmed him gently, dragging your hand along the length of him, feeling a wet spot already forming at the tip. His hips flexed forward into your touch. The tendrils around your wrist tightened–just slightly–like they couldn’t bear to let go.

And still, his fingers moved.

He slipped one inside you–slow, so slow–and you cried out, arching into him.

“Void…” You moaned, your voice breaking. “Your fingers feel so good…”

His mouth dropped open at the sound, and he groaned into your neck–low and trembling and desperate. His finger curled inside you, and then another joined–his thumb pressing up, slow and steady against your clit in small, precise circles.

His fingers thrust into you with more confidence now, the earlier hesitation melting away as he felt your heat clench greedily around him. He groaned raggedly against your skin, the sound low and fractured as he buried his face in your neck. Your wrist flexed in rhythm, stroking the length of him with slow, coaxing pulls, and his hips twitched forward again, seeking more.

“Fuck–” He breathed softly into your throat, reverence and disbelief tangled in the single word.

The slick sounds between your thighs were unmistakable now–vivid, shameless, echoing beneath the blanket like they were announcing just how wet you were for him. Every time his fingers curled just right, your hips rolled down into them, grinding against his palm, chasing that pressure. You could feel yourself dripping–your sleep shorts were clinging now, damp and sticky, soaked through as he thrust deeper.

Then he did it–he nipped at your neck. Gentle, testing, like he wasn’t sure how much you could take. His lips grazed your pulse point, breath cooling the heated skin, and then–he latched on.

You gasped sharply, your whole body arching into him.

“V–Void–” You moaned, a tremble shaking through your voice as your hand jerked on his cock, stroking him with firmer, wetter pulls. “That…Fuck, that felt–”

You didn’t even finish.

He groaned at your reaction, grinding his palm up against your clit harder now, his fingers pumping faster, deeper, slicker. The cold contrast of him inside you made the heat coil impossibly tight in your core, and your thighs began to tremble.

You moved your hand faster, too. Dragging your fist up the thick, throbbing length of him, curling your fingers tighter at the base, and then slipping upward, smearing the precum across the tip with your thumb. You could feel him twitching in your palm, feel how much it wrecked him to be touched like this–reverently, intimately, possessively.

“Please–” He rasped, breath hot against your neck. “I can’t–if you keep touching me like that–”

You clenched around his fingers hard, your hips grinding down with desperate rhythm.

“I know…I know…But please don’t stop,” You whispered.

And he didn’t.

He fucked his fingers into you harder–faster–his wrist snapping with a precision that felt unfair. You sobbed his name into his shoulder, your hand jerking reflexively on his cock as your thighs spread wider, desperate to keep feeling him.

Then–his thumb pressed up again, harder, tighter, and you shattered.

It wasn’t a soft climax.

It hit like thunder.

You gasped–a sharp, breathless sound–and your thighs clamped down around his wrist as your hand spasmed and gripped his cock tightly. Your whole body bucked as your orgasm slammed into you, white-hot and wet, your walls clenching wildly around his fingers as a gush of slick spilled into your shorts and soaked his hand.

“Oh, fuck–” He groaned, nearly collapsing into you, his voice broken with awe. “You–god, you just–”

Your hand slipped off him, limp with aftershock, and he kept his fingers inside you as you shook.

You were still gasping when he pulled back–just slightly–and looked down at you.

The mark on your neck pulsed dark in the moonlight.

He stared at it.

Then he leaned down again and bit you.

Not gently this time.

He sunk his teeth–sharp, deliberate–right over the place he’d already kissed, right over your pulsing artery. You gasped again, your fingers tightening in his hair as your hips jerked.

When he pulled back, you were panting–and the look on his face…

Pure, holy vengeance.

The bruise he left bloomed immediately. Deep, dark, and possessive. A perfect mirror to the stars you had carved into his skin with your kisses.

He gazed down at it with a look of worship and darkness all at once.

“That,” He murmured, his voice low and ruined, “Is going to be very hard to explain tomorrow.”

And the smirk that curved his mouth was slow, dangerous, and devastatingly beautiful.

You leaned in first. Pressed a soft, breathless kiss to his parted lips, catching the last remnants of that smirk and stealing it right from his mouth. Your lips brushed, warm against his cold, a slow drag of reverence and claim. Then you whispered against him:

“It’s alright. I’ll figure it out.”

He barely had time to respond before you kissed him again–deeper this time, with heat that made his hands twitch on your thigh. His shadows curled tighter around your hips, bracing for something neither of you could take back.

When you finally pulled away, breath caught in the space between you, your voice dropped to a sultry whisper:

“Lay on your back.”

His pale eyes squinted, caught between suspicion and arousal. “Why?” He rasped.

You leaned close to his ear, let your lips ghost over the shell of it, and whispered:

“’Cause I want you inside me.”

You felt him shudder.

Hard.

The kind of involuntary, whole-body tremor that pulled a sound from his throat–quiet, ragged, and guttural.

Without another word, he obeyed.

The mattress shifted beneath you as he slowly laid back, shadows slithering and curling beneath his spine like smoke. His eyes never left you–not once. Even as your thigh slipped from around his waist, even as you reached down, dragging your soaked sleep shorts down your trembling legs.

You peeled them off inch by inch, slow and deliberate, the cool air grazing your slick thighs as you bared yourself to him. Then your shirt followed. Pulled over your head, discarded to the side.

You were completely bare now–bathed in moonlight, glowing like the stars that had once kissed his skin.

The Void’s body shifted beneath you, shadows writhing like living breath across the sheets. You heard fabric rustle faintly, and then felt it–the brush of his length against your thigh, already slick with precum, already straining.

You climbed over him slowly.

His gaze followed every motion, those glowing white pupils wide and ravenous. His chest barely moved with breath, but his body was tense beneath you–cold and waiting.

The second your knees straddled his waist, his eyes dropped to your chest.

And he sighed.

The sound was deep. Hollowed out. Full of awe.

“Dear god…” He whispered. “You’re beautiful.”

His hands rose almost reverently and cupped your breasts. He gave one a gentle squeeze, like he was testing its realness, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, cool and soft, sending a rush of heat straight through your core.

Around you, the tendrils stirred again.

They slipped along your sides, brushing over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs. Cascading up your back and down your arms in slow, possessive strokes. Not gripping. Just…Holding. Just reminding you that he was everywhere.

You shifted above him, and he let out a low, ragged sigh at the feel of your soaked core dragging over the length of his erection. The contrast of temperature was almost unbearable–your heat against his endless cold.

His hands dropped to your hips, fingers splaying wide, grounding himself in the feel of you.

You rose up slightly, just enough to reach between you, guiding his cock with careful fingers. You lined him up with your entrance, already so wet and aching it made you whimper.

Then you began to sink down.

The stretch made your mouth fall open immediately–a burning, slow ache as your walls parted for him inch by inch. He was cold inside you. Not harsh. Not unnatural. Just…different. Like your warmth was the only thing tethering him to this plane.

He whimpered the moment your heat began to envelope him.

And god, it was a sound you’d never forget–wrecked and vulnerable, a gasp that trembled with disbelief.

You sank down slower, hands braced on his chest, shadows curling tighter around your back. The pressure built. The stretch deepened. The burn crawled higher. Your jaw went slack, eyes fluttering shut.

“F-fuck,” You choked softly, your voice breaking. “You’re…bigger than I thought.”

The Void whimpered again, trying not to move, hands gripping your hips like restraint was the only thing keeping him intact.

“You’re so warm,” He whispered hoarsely. “So tight. I–god, you feel like fire.”

You moaned at the way he filled you–deep and cold and aching. Your walls fluttered helplessly around him as you finally settled, fully seated on him, the stretch bringing on a delicious pulse between pleasure and burn.

He was still.

Too still.

Like if he moved too fast, this would all disappear.

So you leaned forward again, your palms sliding up his chest, your lips brushing his temple. He let out a low, airy sigh as you leaned forward again, your lips pressing a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another to the ridge of his cheekbone. Another to the tip of his nose. You felt him shiver beneath you, his pale eyes fluttering shut like he couldn’t bear the sensation of it–like he didn’t know how to accept being touched so gently, so freely. But still, he held perfectly still. Breathing shallow, jaw slack, letting you do it.

And each kiss left behind a soft gleam of white light.

Tiny constellations bloomed where your mouth had landed–stars flaring into life against the shadowed surface of his face. They shimmered softly in the moonlight, and when you pulled back to admire him, the image took your breath away.

He looked…Ruined. Worshipped. Unmade by your love.

“I’m not going to be able to strike fear into anyone,” He murmured, voice hoarse and trembling, “If you keep kissing my face and marking me like this.”

You laughed–a soft, breathy thing that shook lightly through your chest. “Say it’s a birthmark.” His hands clenched at your hips in that moment–fingers digging in with involuntary need–and his hips shifted, just slightly, a subtle thrust upward from beneath you.

It was enough.

Your laugh caught in your throat and turned into a sharp gasp as he nudged deeper inside, your body seizing around him in a sudden ripple of tightness.

“Shit,” You breathed, eyes flying open, “you can’t do that.”

His eyes widened slightly–moons gone soft with remorse.

“I’m sorry,” He rasped, voice thin and stunned, hands relaxing on your hips like he thought he might’ve hurt you.

You shook your head immediately, one hand bracing against his chest, the other sliding up his jaw.

“No, no–it’s alright,” You murmured gently. “Just caught me off guard.”

Then you leaned in slowly, mouth brushing along the edge of his jaw, your breath warming the cool skin as you whispered, “But…Does this mean I can start moving now?”

His response was instant.

A nod. Wild and desperate. Then another–faster, almost frantic. His eyes locked on yours, pupils wide and glowing as he whispered, “Yes. Please. I need you to.”

You smiled softly.

And then you moved.

The first roll of your hips was slow. Measured. A gentle pull upward, and then a careful drop back down. The stretch flared again, sweet and biting, your breath catching as you sank onto him fully, the thick weight of his cock dragging deliciously along your walls.

Beneath you, he groaned–low and guttural and barely restrained.

His hands clenched again at your waist, not guiding you, just holding. Just grounding himself. Like the pleasure was too much and he needed your body beneath his palms to remember he was still here.

You rocked again.

A slow, rhythmic grind of your hips that pressed him impossibly deep, the angle shifting just enough that the drag of his cock against your walls made you moan. The pressure mounted with every roll–an intoxicating, needy heat spreading through your core as he filled you, stretched you, worshiped you without even moving.

And he just lay there–utterly undone–letting you take him apart.

“Fuck,” You breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel…So good, Void.”

He whimpered.

That same raw, involuntary sound he made every time your body clenched around him. His breath trembled. His hands flexed.

And then the tendrils began to move.

They curled along your back first–sliding up your spine, cool and slow, trailing over your skin like ribbons of silk. Then two more snaked down your thighs, wrapping around them just beneath your hips. Not restraining. Just holding. Guiding. Supporting you where his hands couldn’t reach.

They moved with you.

Rising as you lifted yourself. Lowering as you dropped down again.

Like they were learning your rhythm.

Your pace quickened slightly, each drop down onto his cock making your thighs tremble, each upward lift a delicious drag of heat and friction. Your hands pressed harder against his chest now, fingers splayed, nails curling slightly into the shadows that made up his skin.

And he was gone.

Eyes wide open now, lips parted in breathless awe, head tipped back into the pillow as he took everything you gave him. Every roll of your hips, every breathless moan. His eyes flicked down to your chest, to the way it bounced with every motion, and he groaned aloud–his hips twitching up into you for the first time in response.

You gasped.

“Void–” You choked.

“I’m sorry,” He rasped again, but there was no restraint this time. His voice was wrecked with need. “I need to–I need to feel you more–”

You leaned down and took his face in your hands again, kissing him hard, your mouth sliding against his with heat and hunger as your hips began to move faster. The sound of your slick echoing now–wet and open and filthy–as he fucked up into you with trembling precision.

The tendrils climbed again.

They ghosted over your breasts, curling gently around them, cool and reverent as they cupped your weight. One traced the curve of your throat. Another danced down the arch of your back, grounding you through every bounce, every roll, every stutter of your breath.

You moaned into his mouth.

He caught the sound and swallowed it–his tongue slipping into your mouth with the most delicate desperation, kissing you like he was starved, like he’d never get to do it again.

You broke the kiss only long enough to pant against him, your forehead pressed to his as you gasped, “Push me down onto you.”

His breath caught.

And he obeyed.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he braced you, holding you still against him–just for a moment–before he thrust up hard.

You cried out, the sharp pleasure of it shocking through your nerves like lightning. The tendrils cinched tighter, wrapping you in a cocoon of darkness as his pace began to build beneath you–slow but deep, precise, controlled only by the fragility of your body above him.

Your voice broke on another moan. “Don’t stop, please, I’m–I’m gonna–”

And then you shattered again.

Your orgasm crashed through you like a wave, clenching tight around him, soaking him in wet heat as your nails dug into his shoulders and your head fell forward with a cry.

He gasped.

And then he came.

With a broken moan and a hoarse curse, his body convulsed beneath you, his hands yanking your hips down hard–burying you to the hilt–holding you there as he spilled inside you, cold and heavy and endless.

The tendrils trembled around you, tightening like a final embrace, like they were anchoring him to you while his body seized with pleasure. His mouth parted, breath ragged, eyes squeezed shut as his hips stuttered up one more time–and then he collapsed back into the bed, shaking.

You slumped over him, forehead resting on his shoulder.

Breathless. Glowing. Slick and ruined and full.

His arms came around you slowly, delicately–like he wasn’t sure you’d allow it. But you did. You melted against him, chest pressed to his cool skin, the soft weight of your body settling atop his as you began to breathe in sync.

Your exhales mingled. Your heartbeats echoed, uneven but slowly evening out.

His chest rose and fell in shallow, quivering waves beneath your cheek, and beneath the chill of his skin, you could feel his pulse–faint, strange, but steady. You rested your palm just over it, grounding yourself there, listening to the rhythm until it felt like your own.

The tendrils around you loosened only slightly–enough to ease the tension from your limbs without breaking contact. They kept stroking softly along your back, trailing up and down your spine with gentle pressure, like they were comforting you…Or comforting him through you.

After a moment, you finally lifted your head.

And you stilled.

Your gaze caught the faint white gleam scattered across his face. Dozens of tiny marks, scattered like freckles–no, constellations. Traced by your lips. Etched like a map across the bridge of his nose, along his cheeks, across his temple, haloing his brow. You couldn’t help it–you let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Jesus,” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his cheekbone, “I really did a number on you.”

He blinked slowly, still catching his breath, then smirked faintly. “Can’t pass it off as a birthmark anymore, hmm?”

You shook your head, amused, gaze tracing every speck of light you’d left behind.

“No… definitely not.” Your fingertips danced over them again, tender, reverent. “But they’re really pretty.”

His mouth quirked upward into something close to a grin–more tooth than smirk this time. You saw the faint flash of his teeth, sharp but clean, like fangs made for something more elegant than violence.

“Lucky it doesn’t pass off to Bob,” He said, voice still low, hoarse. “He’d have even more to explain than you.”

You snorted softly and shifted a little against him, letting your forehead rest beside his. “He’d never live it down. Walker would never stop asking questions.”

“Or Ava,” Void added. “She’d try to scrub them off with a washcloth.”

You both chuckled quietly, the sound soft in the quiet hush of the room. The tendrils still moved slowly across your skin–trailing along your lower back, curling gently around your ribs, one brushing softly against the back of your knee where it hooked loosely over his hip.

“I think…” He murmured after a beat, “he’ll definitely be happy tomorrow morning though.”

You looked at him, blinking slowly.

“But you will have to talk to him about this.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

Then, after a beat of hesitation, you admitted, “The soulmate thing may confuse him though.”

The Void hummed softly, the sound vibrating deep in his chest beneath you. “Leave that out,” He murmured, tilting his head slightly. “I think it technically applies to only you and I anyway.”

That made your heart thump–once, hard.

You swallowed, then leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

A shimmer of light bloomed beneath your lips.

His whole body tensed.

Every tendril tightened slightly around you–not harshly, but as if the entire mass of shadows needed to hold you in place, needed to feel every second of that kiss, needed to memorize it.

You pulled back slightly and whispered, “Void…”

His head turned slowly toward you, that expression unreadable but open, mouth slightly parted.

“Yeah?”

You brought your hand up to his face again, palm cradling his cheek. His eyes fluttered closed at the contact, breath hitching.

“I was really wrong about you.”

His jaw tensed beneath your palm. You felt it–just for a moment–before he whispered, “It’s okay… I made multiple bad impressions and you had a right to dislike me.” He takes a moment, and presses his cheek into your touch. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You leaned in slowly.

And kissed him again.

Right in the center of his lips.

Another star flickered into life.

His breath hitched audibly this time, chest quaking beneath you, eyes still shut like he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in that moment. Couldn’t believe he was being forgiven.

You rested your forehead against his.

And whispered, “And I’m glad you weaken me…”

His eyes blinked open slowly, lashes brushing your cheeks from how close you were.

“…Because you make me feel a little more human.”

He didn’t answer.

Not aloud.

Instead, the tendrils coiled tightly around your back, around your thighs, around your shoulders–pulling you closer, tighter, until there wasn’t an inch of space left between your bodies.

And for the first time, The Void didn’t feel like a monster at all.

He just felt like a man who finally knew what it was like to be loved.

[jazz-miester]

Lying is supposed to be easy. So why do you make it so hard?

Pairing: Optimus Prime X Reader

Song: weathers- c'est la vie

Warnings: Bit of angst. Cursing.

An: A character/story idea I may never write. Let me know what all of you think!

A cigarette hangs loosely from thier lips. Unlit. The lighter they had pulled out wove around thier fingers. Y/n's mind still undecided if they wanted it lit or not. Granted, it wasn't a normal cigarette. Herbal. Some sort of lavender and chamomile medley.

They had promised to quite long ago. But some habits die hard and it's easier to find an alternative than fall back on old vices.

Thier hands shook slightly as they finally brought the lighter to the cigarette. On hand curling protectively around the flame and the wind howled around then.

Rain fell heavily down to the earth. The first rain in Jasper Nevada since god knows when. They needed it. Desperate for it.

God's knew they missed it. Some old memory locked away in thier mind. Cobwebs dusted away from thier not to long ago childhood.

They were barely into thier adulthood. Some would say.

It doesn't matter.

Smoke spilled out from between thier lips. Curling around and drifting into the cool air.

Thunder roared from the dark clouds. A sounding trumpet for lighting to follow.

Y/n's old chevy rattled with it. Thier heater sputtering a few times before finally giving up. Soon blasting cool air instead. They cursed. Smacking the dashboard.

"Mother fucker." They hung thier hand out the window. The cigarette almost put out by the wind. "First the fucking tire then this." Y/n hisses through thier teeth. They smack the dashboard one more time. "Last time I let someone else work on you." They turn the truck off. The silence sudden and heavy broken only by the rumbling thunder and rain smacking against the trucks roof.

Y/n checks thier phone. It was six now. Two more hours before nightfall. The tow company said they be here four hours ago. They wonder if the company decided to stay because if the rain. Wait for it to pass. Maybe this wind knocked down a power pole or two.

Or maybe the company was just lazy.

Y/n's stomach growled and they glanced over at the take out in the worn seat next to them. Chicken teriyaki and rice. Should they eat now? Probably. Before it got cold.

They blew out another huff of smoke. The window frame was wet now. As well as part of thier leg. They smashed the end of the cigarette into the ashtray and rolled thier window up. The hand crank sticking momentarily before letting go with a squeak.

They began to eat. Still keeping an eye out for the tow truck in the rapidly dimming light.

Halfway through eating thier phone buzzed. Rattling across the dashboard and onto the floor. Cursing they swallowed thickly and sputtered. Clearing thier throat before answering.

"Hello?" The phone cracked in and out. Reception was spotty this far out if town.

"We..... Can't..... Unable." Thier phone screen lit up. They held it out in front of then. The screen cracked. Obscuring part of what they could see. They looked at the number on the phone. Then to the one on the crumpled piece of paper.

"You have to be shitting me." They tossed the styrofoam back into the seat. The plastic fork falled to the ground. It was the tow company.

The bastards. Couldn't have called sooner.

Fuck it. They'd walk home and tow it themselves in the morning. Before work.

Or at least they would have if it weren't for the rumbling semi heading thier way. It came to a stop next to them. Engine deep and rumbling. It was fake. They knew. Ment to imitate earth's vehicles.

Thier phone rang. An image flashed across the screen with the caller id. Optimus. He had looked all to peaceful in that field to not take a picture.

"Hey Big Guy." They chuckled.

"Y/n. Hello. Is everything alright?" Y/n snorted. Oh fucking peachy they were. First they were late for work. Got yelled at by thier boss for shit they didn't do. Had thier piece of shit phone stolen so they had to go fucking find it. Paid sixty bucks to get it back. Had some dickhead think they didn't know shit about vehicles so they tried to scam them.

And the list goes on.

They looked over at the semi as they spoke.

"I'm fine Prime." Optimus rocked on his wheels.

"Are you sure? I was unaware one could drive with a blown tire." Y/n scoffed. Brows shooting upwards with disbelief.

"You sarcastic-" They cut themselves off. "You here to make fun of me?" The truck rumbled.

"No. I'm here offer help." He paused. "You have been here for over six hours." How. Oh ya. Patrol. They forgot he frequently came through here to and from base.

"I. Ya. I could use the help." They hated admitting that. That they needed help. They knew they could manage and y/n always felt like they owed the person back.

Optimus pulled in front of their chevy. An unspoken "I'll tow you" hung in the air. He would. Optimus knew they would come back shortly to get their truck back. Might as well help so they don't try to do it in the dark.

They were shivering and slightly soaked when they finally got in the driver's seat. Optimus wordlessly turns the heater on. Angling the vents to point at them.

"Sorry for tracking water in." Y/n muttered. Doing their best to wipe off any excess water that got inside.

"There's no need for apologies." The semi pulled away from the side of the road and began to drive. Slightly clicking gears as he rumbles downwards. Rain splattered across the windshield. Wipers working overtime to keep it away. They new it was more for them than him.

His headlights were dim, they noticed. Barley lighting up the old gray road.

It was silent. Comfortable.

It was dark now. Even more so without the full moon. Heavy cloads still cloaking the sky.

"Are the kids home?" Y/n broke the silence.

"Yes. I had to drop Rafael off at home." That's right. Bumblebee has been busy on a scouting mission. He's supposed to be back tomorrow. Short. By cybertronian standards.

It's been almost a month for us.

There's was flashing in the distance. Orange hues erie in the heavy rain. They can make out more shapes the closer they get. A red blob turning into a car. Two small blurs turned out to be a couple.

Optimus stops next to them at their urging.

Y/n hope out immediately. The rain quickly soaking through their thin shirt.

"What seems to be the matter?" Y/n asks. A woman turns around. Hand on her obviously pregnant belly. "Well shit." They mutter.

"Our tire blew out on the way to Jasper." The woman brushes a few strands of soaked hair out of her face. "Me and my son can't seem to get the tire changed. We umm." They look over at their kid. Some tiny teen trying to pull the bolts off the best they could. The car wast quite high enough off the ground either.

"Do you want help?" They already began rolling their soaked sleeves up thier arm. A simple tattoo wove from thier wrist up to thier elbow. A memento from a close friend. The woman nodded vigorously.

"Yes please." Y/n points the woman towards Optimus. They hope he wouldn't mind.

"Please Ma'am. I don't want you catching cold." Her cheeks flush. "The kid can help if they want. But they can get out of the rain if they want." The kid grins at them, missing one or two front teeth.

"I can help!" Y/n chuckles and pulls the tire iron gently from thier hands.

"Well then. Let's get going." They popped the bolts off one by one. They themselves straining despite the fact that could easily toss tires like these around. Y/n lifted weights to get stronger and boxed to defend themselves. Thier muscles flexing beneath thier shirt a testament to that.

"God. Who stuck these fu-friggen things on." The kid laughed.

"My cousin." Well damn.

It took a few moments and a bashed finger later to change the tire. Y/n was thoroughly soaked by the time they finished. Practically drowning from the rain.

They helped the women down and out from Optimus. Both of them none the wiser to the alien next to them.

The two got into the car and drove off. Y/n watches as the car gets smaller and smaller until the rain completely obscures thier view.

They grab into the handle next to Optimus's door and hoists themselves up. Smacking thier boots to get off any mud or debris before getting inside.

"Well now I'm even more wet." Y/n snorts and peels thier shirt off. They had a tank top underneath. It sticks to thier skin uncomfortably.

Optimus hums. The deep sound rumbling in the cab. Y/n pats thier pockets fully intending to light another cigarette before remembering where they're at. More precisely, who, they are with.

Instead they pull out a stick of gum. The minty flavor almost overpowering.

Optimus hums again. A sign they've come to find, was of him thinking. A habit he never broke of even after becoming Optimus Prime. Perks of being his charge they guessed.

They never knew why he did that. Became thier guardian. Y/n was well enough an adult. Had a house, payed the bills. They never understood and didn't plan on it anytime soon. Optimus was Optimus and he does what he does. He was one of the few people they never second guess thier opinion.

They held a lot of respect for the old mech.

More so than a lot of people in thier life. They wondered if he knew that. He could tell them to leap off a cliff and they would. Trusting him to be there to catch them.

It took a lot to earn that trust. And they had given it to him. With shaking palms and to high walls.

'Here'. Their actions said. 'Here is the key. Open the door and you hurt me. Guard it. Please. Because I am unable to anymore.'

And Optimus did. Because Optimus is Optimus. A being to good for this world.

Y/n had a scar that reached from thier shoulder to the small of thier back. It would have killed them if Optimus didn't step in. They got the relic. Optimus got thier trust and friendship.

"You do that often." Y/n head jerks up from where it had been resting against the window. Startled from thier thought.

"Do what, Prime?" Optimus slowed down. Rolling to a general stop at the battered stop sign.

"Help others without question. Despite it often being inconvenient for you." Y/n pops thier gum. Thinking.

They never really thought about it. They just did what felt right.

"And?" They scratch at thier neck.

"Why?" A simple one word question. Might as well been a loaded gun. They knew exactly where he was taking this.

"Because I can. Because it's the right thing to do. Because I'd want someone to do it for my friends and family." Optimus rumbled his engine. Pulling off to the side of the road.

Son of a bitch. He's gonna make them do feelings now?

Last time it was from a simple, yet self deprecating joke. Last thing they will joke about around him again was being dumber than a box of rocks. Who knew the old guy could be so silently, and heavily caring without a single word.

"And what about you? Would you not like help as well?"

The rain lessened to a drizzle now. No way we're they gonna do this shit. Not again. Don't make them face things yet.

Y/n reaches to open the door.

Optimus locks it shut.

"Fucken hell man." They mutter. Not for the last time they began wishing for an actual cigarette.

"Hmm." They sunk down in the driver's seat uselessly pushing at the gas pedal urging for him to go on.

"You can ask. You do know this." Y/n chuckles.

"I did." They wave thier hand at the steering wheel. "I called the tow company. Not my fault they didn't call me till forever later." Optimus sinks down on his tires. If they don't wrap this up now and tell him what he wants to here they'll be here forever.

But he can tell when they're lying.

They both loath and like it.

They can be truthful to him. But sometimes it hurts. Because he makes them feel. He makes them know.

They're people to. And they deserve so much more that they give themselves.

Deserve more than the punishing pace they put themselves through.

"And no one else? What would you have done after?" Y/n shrugged thier shoulders.

"Walked home and make tomorrow me deal with it. They're a bitch in the morning but they get shit done."

Shit.

"And you would call no one? Again?" They shake their head.

"It's just a tow Optimus. Not me bleeding the fuck out." They feel bad. A sour taste in thier mouth as they bite their answer out.

"You where feverish and unable to walk last time." His voice was low. Almost sad. He was upset without showing it.

He cares. Cares so much.

He cares enough about me for the both of us.

"It's fine."

"No."

"I.." I shiver. The heater turns on. "Lying 'spose to be easy. Why do you make it so fucking hard." Optimus rumbles.

"Because you care." He's right.

"And so do I. I am here. Always. No matter what. No matter how trivial you think it is Y/n. I am here. And, as you like to say, I am stuck to your side whether you like it or not." He begins to drive. His words stick to me.

"I know. It's hard." Its hard when you don't think you deserve it. Any of it.

I lay my hand on the center of the steering wheel.

"I know. I know. But I will tell you again and again. Until you truly believe it y/n."

I was lost before him.

God's I hate that he makes me feel. Feel more than I ever have. But he got me to quite one bad habit. And he's working on the other.

[michelangelinden]

don’t come into a man’s house and insult his shampoo (unless it’s you boyfriend’s)

Hello @fighttoshine

I hope you had a great willex week!! I wrote you some soft willex for the gift exchange, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!

you’ll find the AO3 link in a reblog! (also thanks to @iti-iskuna for beta reading, love you bro)

  “I’m sorry, what?“

  Alex sits up from his slouch on the sofa, holding his phone closer to his ear. He can hear Willie sigh on the other end of the line.

  “I broke my wrist trying to skate off the hill on Bradbury Road.”

  Alex scoffs. Unbelievable.

  “After I told you three times that you shouldn’t because you’ll fall and break something, you actually did it and fucking broke something?” Alex groans and closes his eyes, dragging a hand over his face dramatically. “I don’t want to say it, but I really want to say it.”

  “Say it.”

  “I told you so.”

  Willie sighs again, but Alex can hear him laugh a little. At least someone is amused by this.

  “Yeah, you did,” Willie agrees after a moment.

  “Where are you now? Did you go to the hospital? Should I come over? I –“ Willie cuts him off with a laugh. Alex clears his throat.

  “Calm down, will you? I’m fine.” Willie pauses for Alex to let out a breath of relief. “Yes, I went to the hospital, my wrist is in cast now and I want you to be the first person to sign it.” Alex doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at that or sigh again. “I’m at home now and I’m fine, Alex, you don’t have to come over. I’ll –“ Alex hears him breathe in and out quickly, “I’ll manage.”

  “You don’t sound too convinced yourself,” Alex says with a small laugh. “Just call me, if you need me, okay? I don’t have to work today, so I’m pretty much available all day.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now go be bored or whatever you do on free days, I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Bye, hotdog.”

  Alex huffs out a laugh.

  “See you, speed bump”, he says and hangs up after that.

  As soon as he drops his phone next to him he slumps back into the sofa cushions, rubbing his eyes. Willie is such an idiot. Why the hell is he dating him?

 ***

   It’s not even an hour later that Willie calls him again.

  “When you told me you’d call me ‘later’ I didn’t expect you for another hour or two.” Alex is standing at the open fridge, his phone on speaker on the kitchen counter.

  “Shut up”, Willie says and Alex can hear him breathing heavily. He turns to the phone with a frown.

  “Are you okay? Why are you out of breath?”

  “I –“ Willie has to take another breath before continuing, ”I tried to take a shower. Did the whole- wrapped the cast in a plastic bag, couldn’t open a single bottle,” he swallows audibly, “so I tried to hold it between my legs.  “Alex closes his eyes, afraid of what’s to come. “Almost slipped twice!” Willie pauses. “And then I gave up.”

  Alex heaves a sigh. He feared the worst: that Willie’s in the hospital again because he cracked his skull open or something equally as horrible.

  “So?”, he asks eventually, after the silence grows into a solid minute.

  “I need your help.”

  He fucking knew it. But he doesn’t say it again, so he just laughs a little.

  “I’ll hurry.”

  “Please don’t, I need more time to be embarrassed.” He sounds so tired.

  “See you in a bit,” Alex says with a smile.

  A pause lingers on the other end.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Willie answers but Alex can still hear his smile.

 ***

  Willie sure is a sight when he opens the door for Alex half an hour later. Alex tries to hold back a laugh but can’t help smirking when he sees him.

  Willie's hair is in the absolute worst bun ever: half his hair is falling out and framing his face. He’s wearing bright red boxer shorts and a short-sleeved patterned button up, with only half the buttons done and most of them in the wrong holes, too. But his expression is the best – he looks so tired and so alert at the same time, as if some new challenge would jump at him at any second, his nose flaring with every breath he takes, his lips pressed into a tight line.

  “You,” Alex starts, gesturing with his hand up and down Willie's body, “look a mess.”

  “I am a mess, Alex!” Willie answers pointedly.

  For a moment they just stare at each other, Alex with half of a lopsided grin on his face, Willie still looking grumpy.

  It takes another moment before all of the tension and energy leaves Willie's body and he slumps forward into him, Alex just barely catching him so that they don’t topple over into the hallway. Willie has his arms hooked tightly around Alex’s torso, his face pressed into his shoulder. Alex’s brain takes a second to catch up, but then he loops an arm around Willie's back, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, holding the back of his head gently with the other.

  “Hey,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Willie squeezes him a little tighter and Alex feels the cast on his right hand press into his back.

  Willie heaves a sigh.

  “I broke my wrist again,” he says, followed by an empty chuckle. Alex can’t help but smile a little and squeezes him back.

  “Yeah,” he answers, his amusement noticeable through his voice. Willie sighs again.

  “I’m 23.” His words are muffled by Alex jacket, but he can hear his disappointment clearly. It’s not the first time something like this has happened. From what Willie has told him since they got to know each other, he’s broken nearly every bone in his body at least once. Doesn’t make it any more fun when it happens again and again.

  “It was a skateboard accident. Those things happen.”

  Willie loosens his grip around Alex and pulls back a little, looking up at him.

  “Are you mad?”

  Alex is only a little mad. It was an accident, yes, but a stupid one, that could have easily been avoided. But Willie's eyes look soft and the corners of his mouth are drooping slightly and suddenly, Alex isn’t that mad anymore.

  “Not enough,” he tells him honestly. A smile flicks across Willie's face, causing him to giggle quietly. Warmth blooms in Alex’s chest at the sight and he leans forward without thinking, pressing a soft kiss onto Willie's forehead, his lips lingering for a second, before he pulls back again. The smile is now stuck to Willie's lips as his gaze meets Alex’s again, and he calls that a success.

  “Let’s get you inside, huh?”, he says then, letting Willie take the lead in pulling away from their hug and offering his hand for him to take, following him into his apartment.

  Inside Alex toes off his sneakers and shrugs off his jacket before steering Willie into his kitchen. He lifts him easily, planting him onto the kitchen counter and letting him talk about what happened exactly, while he busies himself with making tea for both of them.

  Willie tells him about the original dare from one of his skater friends Alex tried to talk him out of for days, how his ride down the hill started out okay and then went – well, downhill, quite literally, pretty fast. Alex sucks in a breath when Willie mentions the rock he oversaw and how he smoothly landed in the soft grass, only for his wrist to be at a too awkward an angle to be healthy. One of his friends took him to the hospital and Alex smiled in relief when Willie tells him that the nurses said it wasn’t that bad, just, you know, broken, and his wrist had to stay in a cast for a few weeks. The pain isn’t even that bad, Willie also tells him, and his painkillers aren’t that strong either.

  After he hands him a mug and Willie takes a generous sip, Alex steps between his legs, gently lifting Willie's bandaged wrist to look at it closer up. Everything looks perfectly in place, giving Alex not a single think to worry about, apart from the broken bone it covers. He sighs and carefully lets go of the cast, placing his hands on Willie's hips and looking up to meet his gaze.

  “You’re an idiot”, he says, but his voice is warm and tender and he doesn’t sound upset in the slightest.

  Willie puts his mug down and lifts his arms, laying them on Alex’s shoulders, the fingers of his healthy hand brushing through the hair on the back of his head.

  “I know,” he answers and leans down to kiss him, but Alex’s eyes catch something else and he has to pull back a little. He doesn’t give Willie the chance to be confused before his hands come up to the front of his shirt.

  “This,” he starts, fiddling with one of the buttons, “bothers me.” He unbuttons it quickly and slips it through the correct hole one further up, before continuing with the ones below.

  Willie chuckles slightly, watching Alex’s fingers as he continues to button up his shirt correctly.

  “Better,” Alex says eventually and smooths down the fabric over Willie's chest. His hands trail upwards until they settle on Willie's jaw.

  “Thanks”, Willie whispers. He leans forward again, finally connecting their lips. Warmth grows around them as they kiss, the smell of green tea and Willie's cologne settling in Alex’s mind, driving him to push further into him, parting his lips slightly. Willie welcomes him, the hand on the back of Alex’s head pulling him closer, before he pulls back the tiniest bit.

  “You have to help me wash my hair,” Willie says as they separate and Alex’s head drops to his chest, laughter tumbling from his lips. Willie laughs, too, and for a moment their voices echo through the kitchen.

  “I-,“ Alex starts, calming down again, “yes, I will help you wash your hair.” He tugs a strand of hair behind Willie's ear, maybe to prove his point or maybe just because he wants to.

  “Thank you,” Willie answers, giving him a last peck on the lips, before pulling his hands back and grabbing his mug again.

  They finish their tea quickly, before Willie jumps off the counter and leads Alex into the bathroom.

  Alex has stayed over a few times before, so he’s taken the occasional shower here. He’s just never really thought about the amount of hair care products Willie owns, up until the point where he has to use them now.

  Willie has sat down in front of the bath, a towel draped over his shoulders, his hair free from his bun and tossed over the edge. Alex is standing next to him, his eyes on the variety of bottles on the ledge.

  “Uh, do you want your hair to be voluminous, shiny or moisturized today?” he asks with a confused frown on his face. Willie chuckles next to him.

  “Take the blue bottle, that’s my go-to shampoo,” Willie tells him and Alex reaches over to grab it, the label reading ‘for strong and healthy hair – coconut and argan oil’. He flicks the cap open to take a sniff, but doesn’t even have to lift it to his nose before the smell hits him right in the face.

  “Oof,” he says immediately, leaning away a little. “How can something that smells so strongly make your hair smell so good?”

  Willie turns towards him with a smirk.

  “You think my hair smells good?”

  Alex feels his cheeks heat up the slightest bit, but he’s not going to get flustered by Willie now.

  “Duh. I’d be worried if it didn’t, with the variety of products you have available.” He turns away from him to unhook the shower head from the wall. When he turns back to him, Willie is slowly running a hand through his hair.

  “It’s really important to me,” he says softly, twisting a strand around his finger before dropping it.

  Alex places the showerhead and the shampoo bottle in the bath, before kneeling down beside him. He places his hand over Willie's on his hair.

  “I know,” he says quietly, matching Willie's voice, “and I love it so much.” Willie turns his head to look at him. “Which is why I’m very glad that you trust me with it.”

  Willie just smiles at him as an answer and Alex squeezes his hand lightly, before removing it. Willie moves his own hand from his hair to the towel clutched around his shoulders, gripping it a little tighter.

  Alex gets up again to turn on the water, struggling a little to turn it so that Willie doesn’t get wet. It doesn’t work immediately; Willie lets out a little squeak as ice-cold water hits him on his bare forearm and he squirms away slightly. Alex angles the water further away from him, hitting himself in the process, and soon they’re both giggling before they even started properly.

  After Alex has finally mastered the water situation and waited for it to get to a comfortable temperature, he crouches back down. He adjusts Willie's hair over the edge of the bath and carefully tilts his head a little further back with a hand on his jaw. Willie squirms a little when the water touches his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

  “Is it still too cold?” Alex asks nervously, pulling the shower head back and holding his hand under the water again.

  “No, I was just surprised,” Willie reassures him. “It’s been a while since someone washed my hair.”

  “When was the last time you’ve been to the hairdresser?” Alex asks as he continues wetting Willie's hair, a lot slower and more careful this time.

  “Uh, I don’t know. Probably when I was like 13 or something.”

  Alex stares at him incredulously. He has been to the hairdresser like four weeks ago.

  “What?” Willie asks, turning his head a little, but Alex tilts it back into its original position. “I cut it myself, I don’t trust people with it. And I normally don’t like when people touch my head, it makes me uncomfortable.”

  Alex pulls his hand from his hair immediately.

  “What?” he says quickly, before Willie can protest. “Why did you never say anything? I’m so sorry.” He now remembers all the times he buried his hands in Willie's hair, casually, when they were kissing or cuddling or –

  “Alex, no” Willie cuts in. “I- I don’t like it when other people touch my hair.” One hand leaves the towel still wrapped around his shoulders and settles on Alex knee, squeezing slightly. “I like it when you do it. I really do.” His eyes find Alex’ and he smiles that honest smile that Alex loves so much. “I promise.”

  Alex heaves a small sigh and Willie huffs a laugh.

  “Okay,” he says, and Willie squeezes his knee again.

  They smile at each other one last time, before Alex gets back to wetting Willie's hair. Willie only jumps a little bit, when the water touches his head again and Alex tilts his head back to get to his roots.

  “Imma give you the whole hairdresser experience”, he says, as he begins awkwardly scrubbing at Willie's scalp.

  “Oh my god, please don’t,” Willie answers, giggling a little.

  When Alex is satisfied with the wetness of Willie's hair, he turns the water off and puts the shower head to the side. He picks up the shampoo bottle again, flicks the cap open but holds it a little further away from him than before, as to not be punched in the face by the smell again.

  “Oh, come one, it’s not that bad,” Willie comments, grinning at Alex’s reaction.

  “It’s just -“, Alex pauses dramatically, “so strong.” He turns the bottle over to squeeze some shampoo into his palm. “What- why is it purple?”

  “I don’t know, man, white would be boring.”

  “White would be normal”, Alex murmurs as he pours out some more, closing the bottle and putting it aside.

  “Hey, you don’t come into a man’s house and insult his shampoo.” Willie turns to look at him and frowns, but the smile on his lips betrays him.

  “You do when it’s your boyfriend.” Alex leans down to give him a peck on the cheek. He feels Willie blush underneath his lips, smiling as he leans back.

  “So. let’s do this then,” he tells himself as begins to distribute the shampoo in Willie's hair. It foams up pretty quickly, Alex’s fingers working it into the strands, the light purple foam hiding them easily.

  It’s an unusual experience for both of them.

  The only person’s hair Alex has ever washed, apart from his own, is his younger sister’s, but he couldn’t have been much older than eight when that happened the last time. Willie's hair is longer than hers, too, and although he knows the feeling of it underneath his skin, knows how it acts when he runs his fingers through it, it feels completely different now that it’s wet and soapy.

  Willie relaxes more the longer Alex continues his work. His eyes have closed after less than a minute and he’s leaned his head further back, completely pliant under Alex’s hands. Alex watches with a smile as Willie lets out a satisfied sigh.

  “I could get used to this,” he says, his voice almost a whisper.

  “How long do you have to wear your cast?” Alex pulls his hands away from Willie's head and reaches for the shower head.

  “Like four weeks or something.” Willie has opened one eye and is peering at him.

  “Then you might get used to it.” Alex gets up to turn on the water and to test its temperature again, washing the shampoo off his hands in the process. When he deems it comfortable, he turns back to Willie, only to see that both his eyes are open now and he’s looking at Alex with his mouth half open.

  “What?” he asks, anxious that he’s said the wrong thing or done something embarrassing.

  “I love you.”

  Alex blinks at him.

  “You -“ he starts, but stops again. “What?”

  A smile flicks across Willie's face.

  “I lo-“ he starts to repeat but Alex interrupts him.

  “No. No, you can’t just- you can’t just drop that!“ He pauses. “You- wait,” he cuts himself off, noticing the water still running from the shower head in his hand and he turns, shutting the water off and putting it down. Willie follows every movement until Alex drops to his knees next to him and their eyes lock. “What?”

  Willie chuckles. He takes one hand off the towel and takes one of Alex’s, but his hand is still wet and a little slippery, so it doesn’t have the reassuring effect it’s probably supposed to have.

  “I love you, Alex”, Willie repeats, his voice heavy with emotion, his thumb brushing over Alex’s knuckles. It takes all of Alex’s willpower not to surge forward and kiss him.

  “You-, I-“, Alex doesn’t get much further than that before he has to take a breath. “I love you, too,” he says, but where Willie's voice has been strong and sure, Alex’s is soft and honest. His gaze flicks all over Willie's face, watching his eyes crinkle at the sides and his mouth pull into a smile.

  Willie pulls at his hand and Alex understands what he wants, finally leaning forward and kissing him sweetly. His free hand reaches up and settles on the side of his neck, his thumb following his jaw until –

  He pulls back earlier than he wants to, but his thumb touches the shampoo foam still in Willie's hair. He lets out a small laugh.

  “Willie, you’re – you’re so close to getting shampoo in your eyes,” he says, wiping his soapy thumb on the towel around Willie's shoulders.

  Willie laughs and his eyes roll so far upwards that it looks almost comical, trying to spot the shampoo suds slowly trailing down his forehead. Alex moves to get up and starts to pull his hand away from Willie's to start washing his hair out, but he doesn’t get far before Willie pulls at his hand again, very subtly, just to make him turn to him.

  “Hey,” he says when their eyes meet. “I love you.”

  Alex blushes way too fast, the heat blooming in his cheeks all the way up to his ears.

  “I love you, too,” he tells him and squeezes his hand.

  It takes another moment before Alex is fully himself again. Checking the water temperature takes much longer, because his hands are too shaky to adjust it as delicately as before.

  The smiles don’t leave their faces while Alex washes the shampoo out of Willie’s hair and they still don’t when he applies conditioner and they still don’t when he washes that out too. They stay in a comfortable silence, Alex working carefully, Willie staying relaxed and enjoying the comfort of Alex’s gentle hands on his head.

  Alex totally gets why Willie is so attached to his hair. It’s beautiful in every way.

  When he has it in a low bun, small strands framing his face, dancing in the soft breeze surrounding him. When it’s left down and flowy, following him steadily as he runs around the park, turning back to Alex, glowing around his head like a halo. When it’s still and wavy, spread out behind him, a stark contrast to the white pillow, Alex playing with its soft strands when they wake up together. And also, when it’s dark and shiny underneath his hands, following the stream of the water, wrapping around his fingers as if on their own, smoother and softer than it has ever been.

  It doesn’t take them long to finish and soon Willie is handing Alex a t-shirt – not a towel, they’re bad for hair – to dry it a little. Alex tries not to be too rushed with his motions, ignoring his muscle memory and being much slower and more careful than he would be with his own hair.

  “You know, I could probably do that on my own again,” Willie mentions as Alex begins to run a comb through his hair, untangling it strand by strand.

  “I know,” Alex says, his eyes meeting Willie's in the mirror for a quick second before going back to his work. “But it’s part of the process.” He catches Willie's smile out of the corner of his eyes.

  Actually, neither of them have really stopped smiling for the past few minutes.

  “What do you think,” he starts, not looking up this time, “do you want me to braid it?”

  He watches Willie breathe in and nod slightly, fiddling with his unbroken wrist to get off one of the hair ties he always carries around.

  Alex reaches around Willie, places the comb on the edge of the sink and accepts the tie from him, slipping it onto his own wrist. He separates Willie's hair into three sections. He’s never learned how to french-braid, but he’s sure it’s okay if stays simple. His movements aren’t skilled, but still fluid, the repetitive motion settling in his brain. He ties the braid off at the end, pulling the strands apart a little to fluff it up.

  “All done,” he says, running his hand over the back of Willie head one last time, before resting on his shoulders.

  Willie catches his gaze in the mirror, smiling brightly, and he turns around, taking Alex’s arms and putting them around his neck. He snakes his own around Alex’s waist, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to the corner of Alex’s mouth.

  “Thank you,” he whispers, so close that Alex can feel the words on his skin.

  “I love you,” he whispers back, accompanied by a kiss to the top of his cheek.

  “I love you, too.”

  And then Willie kisses him properly.

[ickymichi]

stay with me.

[itadori yuuji x reader]

<3 summary: your annual saturday night sleepover with yuuji was as normal and joyful as always. except at an odd hour there was a certain thought that wouldn’t stop swirling around his mind.

<3 warnings: fluff fluff fluff!! ,angst(only a small bit i promise), yuuji being sad:((

<3 a/n: hii!! this is my first ever actual fic so don’t judge it too harshly i’m not that happy with it but anyways. hope you enjoy it and please like or reblog! <3

8:26pm

an enthusiastic knock echoed through yuuji’s room shaking him out of his manga that he was currently buried in. “(y/n)!! i missed you so much!” he exclaimed as he threw open the door wrapping his arms around your frame. “i saw you yesterday yu’” you giggled as he he set you down and took your sleepover bag from you for you to step into his oh so familiar room.

“i was thinking we could finish watching {insert show}, we only have a few episodes left. then, hold on, hold on look what i got us”. you try look over his shoulder to see what he was getting from a plastic bag. “no peeking!!” “sorry yuuji sorry i couldn’t help it”. you try to guess what it could be, hopefully nothing to expensive that he had to break his bank on.

“ta-da!! i got us face masks, headbands and nail polish!” he makes a show of turning around and displaying the said items. you could feel your heart swell at the action and how thoughtful he is. “yuuji this is so sweet, i can’t wait to do it all!” you say looking at what face masks he got for the night ahead. you really couldn’t wait!

9:17pm

you’ve both changed into your pyjamas, well you couldn’t really say that for yuuji, he was just in his plaid pj bottoms and as always, even in the height of winter, no t-shirt. you tried to get him to wear one in case he got a cold but he claimed that you love the ‘eye candy’.

after an hour, you finished the final episodes of the show you both were invested in, followed by a few tears over the death of a certain character. but this meant you could finally have your little self care night!. “which one do you want bub?” you asked yuuji as he stood behind you looking at the selection in front of both of you. placing his head on your shoulder and letting out a long “hmmmmm”, indicating he was having a hard time picking. “how about this one” you point to one that supposedly removes dead skin and leaves your skin feeling new and regenerated. “it matches your hair” “woah your right it does! i’ll use this one” he said excitedly lifting his head and examining the package. you go for a hydrating and ‘anti aging’ one instead. you spot the headbands he picked out aswell and wonder which one to pick. you pick them both up to see what they actually look like. one is pink,fluffy and had a bow on it. the other was white, also fluffy but on top it had bunny ears. you knew straight away which one you were giving yuuji. when you turn around to give him his headband your faced with disaster. he’s spreading the pink face mask unevenly all over random parts of his face and most of it is on the sink or his fingers. “oh no yu’ let me help” you laugh at his situation as he looks over at you and softly smiles, laughing with you as you make your way to help him apply it. “but first you need your headband silly” “oh yeah i forgot whoopsies” you help him wash off the messed up layer then put the headband on before he can see which it is. “of course you give me the bunny one” he sends you a glare through the mirror as he sees what he looks like. “what do you mean it suits you so much, my big cute bunny boy” you laugh and wrap your arms around his strong frame. “ yeah yeah i’m sure it does” you can tell without even looking up at him he’s pretending to be annoyed. “cmon let’s put yours on so we can match” he tells you while lifting you onto the counter so he can stand between your legs.

10:45. the rest of the night flew by with the amount of fun you were having. yuuji let you paint his nails while he did, a somewhat good job of yours. you had a mini photo shoot while waiting for the masks to dry, one of which is now yuujis lock screen. but now, your pooped tucked up under the covers, head on yuujis chest, one of his arms wrapped around you while you watch him scroll through tiktok on his phone. eventually the harsh light of the screen tires your eyes and you fall asleep without realising or getting to say goodnight to yuuji.

3:34am. a hushed noise and a sudden movement shook you awake from the deep slumber you were once in. still half asleep you try and feel around for yuuji but felt nothing. “mmh..yuuji.. are you there?” you couldn’t really see as your eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but through his thin curtains the light from the moon shone into his room allowing you to see his broad frame sitting up and his shoulders shaking every few seconds.

the room was filled with silence until you heard a broken sob come from his chest. the noise sent a shiver down your spine and you quickly rose up to sit beside him, rubbing his shoulders and arms trying to comfort him. “ y-yuuji what’s wrong is everything okay? do you want to talk about it?” you didn’t get an answer straight away all you got was more sobs from him and his head still buried in his palms. you reach out to touch his cheeks and lift his head from his hands, now it’s your turn for tears to fill your eyes. now adjusted to the darkness and thanks to the moonlight you could see his eyes red and puffy from crying for god knows how long. “what happened my love, tell me please” you rub your thumb along his cheekbone and tears slowly roll down your own. he takes your hands from his face and falls into your chest, letting out a heart breaking cry into your t-shirt. “i-i.. i don’t want to l-lose you (y/n)” thousands of thoughts start flowing through your head as to why he would think that. just before you could respond he spoke again. “we both know i’m not going to be here forever, once i find all of sukuna’s fingers that’s it, i’ll be gone. a-and i don’t want to leave you”. of course you both knew that was going to eventually happen but- “ oh no, why focus on the future yuuji?, we’re here in the present, having so much fun everyday we can. and so what if you find them all tomorrow or years later, i’ll still be around and then, i can find you again, maybe in another life but for now, you just stay with me, here in the present and don’t worry about anything else okay?” by the time you finish he’s looking at you, fat tears still spilling from his eyes. his mouth moving like it’s trying to form a sentence but he doesn’t know what to say. all he knows what to say is: “i..i love you (y/n). so much it hurts, but not in a bad way in the best way i can mean it. i need you, god i need you so badly, nothing means more to me in this world than you. you help me get up in the morning and go to sleep at night, i couldn’t do anything without you. so can you just, stay with me for a little longer? please?” he finds himself back in his previous position with his head in your chest and your fingers stroking his hair. “i wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon silly, your stuck with me for a while” you tell him as you guide him to lay back down to where he was when you fell asleep. “i wouldn’t want it any other way pretty girl” he mumbles into your hair wrapping both arms around you, pulling you closer to him so you can smell the comforting smell of him that you love. “i love you yuuji,never forget that ‘kay?” you whisper while tracing hearts on his torso. “‘kay, i promise, pinky promise.” you look to see him holding up his pinky with a warm smile on his face. you laugh softly as you link pinkies, sealing the promises he made forever.

-end

[youarejesting]

Hope In The Sheets.5

[Masterlist]

Beta: @bluewhale52​ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friendship, Comedy, Soft boy, Fluff, SMUT, Friends2Lovers,

Summary: You held many titles: his neighbor, colleague, wing-man… well, more likely a wing-woman, yet most importantly, you were his best friend. You had been friends since you were born. Between the two of you, you were younger; barely, but he never let you forget it. He always seemed to ruffle your hair and tease you, which could get rather annoying but he made up for it by treating you to things. 

What if a drunken one night stand between you and your best friend Hoseok leads to more complicated situations? Your reckless twenties are cut short as you find yourself suddenly responsible for something a little more.

Warning: Male Masturbation, pregnancy.

[First] [Previous] [Masterlist] [Next]

The list of repairs that this house needed was exhausting to think about. Just when one thing seemed sorted, ten others popped up, demanding money and time but you were determined, mostly to prove to your mother, who had basically disowned you, wrong. But more than that, you wanted to do this for your friends who were trying their hardest to support you. You couldn’t let them down and you couldn’t let this child down. More importantly, you definitely couldn’t let your mother be right. 

Spite was a great motivator and you felt more inspired than ever. Your friends came by before and after work, forgoing any other social opportunities just to help you out. Each of you packed countless bags of trash, dumping them in the front yard; how did this much rubbish exist in one tiny house?

It took a whole day but finally, it was finally clean. Covered in sweat and dust and god knows what else, you’d all found a place on the floor of the empty living room, eating pizza courtesy of Yuta. You’d been restricted to the healthier option, courtesy of Seokjin. Hoseok’s curious glances didn’t pass you by.

Johnny and Taeil were organising carpools to get home and it was well into the night by the time people started leaving. Yuta glanced over at you as he stuffed the empty takeout boxes into the trash.

“Y/N, do you need a ride?”

You smiled gratefully but shook your head. “Jin offered to take me home but thanks.”

Hoseok looked annoyed, but you were already being ushered to the car before you could ask him what was wrong. “I’m all worked up after that,” he said suddenly. “Jimin, Yoongi and I were thinking of hitting a bar, you know scope out the competition.” The other boys shared confused frowns but went along with it.

“Oh... okay.” Of course he had other plans. He was going after his dream girl after all, completely unaware that his dream girl was getting in a car right in front of him. You bit your lip and slid into the front seat without another word. The drive to your apartment felt longer than usual but Seokjin filled the empty silence with soft music and talk of renovations.

“You have a little money left over after purchasing the house; I think that should be enough to cover all of the plumbing and electrical.” He flashed a grin. “Lucky for you, I have connections with a contractor from university and he owes me a huge amount of favours so he can work for free. We just have to cover materials. I mean, I set him up with his wife so he owes me.”

Once you were back in the comfort of your own apartment, your worries about Hoseok almost seemed like water under the bridge. You and Seokjin settled at the table with tea, feeling a little better than earlier.

“I made a list of things we need to get fixed professionally but the rest, we can scrounge together for next to nothing.” He slid a piece of paper over to you; it was split into two columns.

“...Broken window,” you read outloud, “landscaping, the leak in the roof, plumbing, Electrical, Appliances, Paint cabinet, Bathroom renovation...It’s a lot.”

“That’s what we’re here for.” He smiled softly, his hand covering yours. “You are going to be a great mum, Y/N.” 

It took a solid week of working around the clock with the contractor but finally, the house had running water and working lights. It took another two months for the house to be in a state that could be livable and safe for a newborn but the jobs were finally complete. The boys didn’t come over often as they had their own jobs but today some of the boys were free and happy to help. 

It was nice hanging out again, Friday pizza nights were now moved to monday. Held at your house so everyone could help renovate. There wasn’t really any furniture or appliances but your home was slowly getting there. 

Jungkook’s friend Taehyung had also become a regular part of the group, he was eccentric and enjoyed helping with picking certain aspects that were really making a beautiful modern home. He really read your vibe and styled the home accordingly.

You had gone for your first scan about a week after you had bought the house and it seemed you were roughly two months pregnant. It was crazy cause you didn’t seem that far along but now at four months you were feeling particularly round.

While you were fixing the glass window with Yoongi, the window you had ordered finally arrived. He was helping because he refused to let you hold the heavy glass frame by yourself. You regret buying the maternity clothes because most of them accentuated your belly.

Namjoon tried to open the glass sliding door however he was promptly shooed out by Jimin, “I just sweeped these floors, I did not bargain with the flooring guy for you to trek mud and grass inside” Namjoon removed his boots and shirt trying to shake out any grass.

You couldn’t help but giggle. Seokjin was starring open-mouthed at Namjoon. Watching from where he stood in the kitchen helping Jungkook fit the second hand cabinets. They had spent the morning sanding and painting, each with new hinges and runners.

“Looking good Namjoon, sweat becomes you,” You laughed joking around and he blushed. “Seriously thank you for tackling the garden, I don’t know what I would have done if I was left to do it by myself,” You said stepping back as the window slipped into the runner. 

“Perfect fit” Yoongi hummed

Acting like it was nothing, Yoongi and the boys packed, ready to call it a night but not before he held your belly in his hands “Alright, be good, uncle Yoongi will be back next monday,” 

“I am beginning to think you like the little one better than me” You scoffed, slapping his hands away and huffing, lips pressed into a pout, hands folded over the top of your belly. Hoping you looked somewhat intimidating.

“I will never tell” he snickered before handing you a custard cake from the depths of his hoodie pouch. You lunged ripping open the packet and devouring it.

“You will always be my number one babe,” Jimin said from behind you placing his hands on your stomach and rubbing small circles.

“Okay I am not a buddha, hands off the belly!” You hissed and they each gave a cheeky grin and soon they huddled around you, cooing as their hands were rubbing your tummy.

The door opened and Hoseok walked in looking a little disheveled passing the others in the doorway. “You sure you want to stay in the house tonight?” Seokjin asked, getting his coat and offering Namjoon a lift home. Nodding your head in affirmation, he bit his lip, “are you sure you want to be alone though, I could stay with you if you really want?”

“No, it’s all good. Hoseok can stay, you have to go home,” you explained gesturing to Hoseok who thankfully nodded leading them all out the door.

“I will take care of her tonight” He seemed to really want them to leave.

The night was a little cool and you weren’t tired so you opened a can of paint and rolled out the plastic. Hoseok opened the window and took a roller helping you to paint the walls.

“So…” You decided to cut through the tension, “How has work been?”

“Honestly, it just gets lonelier and lonelier without you” His laugh was always the same and didn’t fail to make you smile. “I miss you, how is that new amazing job, you haven’t spoken about since you told me you got it”

“It’s really good Hobi, they are so nice. Everyone is so supportive and they know I am pregnant” You grinned “Sitting down, is nice, I wouldn’t be able to stand as much as I did at the park, I would have elephant feet”

“That’s nice,” the emotion in his voice didn’t match the words he was saying, feeling underlyingly bitter.

“Hoseok, I had to grow up, I am not a single twenty year old, who can drink every night and eat spaghetti o’s” the sigh that escaped your lips was longing for those days. “I have a baby inside me, that needs me to feed them and when they come out they will need a safe home and bills paid and food and eventually schooling”

“Look, I am sorry, you are doing amazing, I am just bitter because I miss you, you are my best friend and I feel like I went from being number one to being thirteenth, when you are still my number one” He sighed “It’s stupid to feel jealous of a baby”

“I get it, I am jealous because I literally cannot do anything fun anymore, I eat food and I puke, I can’t dance or sneeze without needing to go to the bathroom, my feet swell all the time, I cried watching lady and the tramp because I wanted spaghetti and I didn’t have a car to get it and it was too late to get it delivered.”

Hoseok was laughing, he wrapped his arms around you, “Little Darling, I will get my license and a car, and if ever you need spaghetti call me okay” 

You went to pat his back but heard the familiar splat, eyes going wide he laughed hysterically, “Did you just put paint on my jacket?”

“Hoseok, I am so sorry” You were not ready for the paint smear on your cheek and you frowned, 

It was an all out war, that ended with you pressed against the only dry wall trapped by Hoseok’s hands. He grinned down at you and something sparked between you, it buzzed fiercely and things grew warm. He was just watching you, the sounds of your breathing amplified as your breaths mingled in the inch of space between you.

He leaned in and you thought he was going to kiss you, your heart racing and head dizzy you shut your eyes. But nothing happened, you felt his warmth move away with a sigh. “You are covered in paint, you should go wash up little darling.”

When she stepped out of the bathroom all clean and scrubbed, she was wearing one of my oversized shirts, and underwear, it wasn’t weird as the shirt went to her thighs. Though as her belly was more prominent it did lift the shirt a fraction and the fabric skimmed dangerously high up her thigh catching a glimpse of her underwear as she moved.

You had a subtle waddle, that made him laugh, and as you got closer he realized he was in love with you. It wasn’t new information he always fancied you, it’s just now he truly accepted that he was in love with you.

Hoseok went for a shower scrubbing the paint from his body, but as he cleared his skin, his mind clouded with such steamy thoughts. They made his heart pound, he could almost hear your sweet cries and smell the scent of your skin as you writhed underneath him. He pressed his forehead to the cool tiles as the smell of your shampoo fogged his brain even more.

He looked down at the rather aggressive hard on, painful and red waiting for release. He hissed through his teeth as he took himself in his hand. His hand shaking he tried to suppress his moans, the sound of his hand slipping against his cock. Lathered in the same vanilla milk body wash, you used. He remembered how this scent always assaulted him when he pressed his nose into your neck when you hugged. 

He let his mind wander back to before you were pregnant, not wanting to think about you with Jin. He remembered the last night you both went to the club together, dressed in your outrageous black-light dress that was so tight. He had flashbacks of the night helping you walk home, he remembered the two of you giggling up the stairs. But what he didn’t remember was inviting another girl over. 

It must have been his imagination taking over because he was so horny, because he started to imagine making sweet love to you. Drawing his hand tightly back on his dick when he could practically feel himself sliding into you, the heat and the warmth making his head spin.

The heat of the shower only fueled his fantasies, he bucked into his hand, beads of sweat mingling with the water droplets, his hand faltered and his hips tilted forward as if he was pressing firmly inside you. Cum splattering the tiles, he felt guilt. He let the water run longer to wash away the evidence.

Dressed he saw you lying on the bed reading something on your phone. “Hey, you are still up?” Hoseok asked, walking over slowly, admiring you.

“I can’t sleep,” the sigh in your voice was so defeated. Slipping into the bed next to you, Hoseok made sure not to touch you. He felt dirty from his escapades, no amount of water could wash away the feelings inside him. There was so much room between you both. “Sleep doesn’t really happen when you are round, emotional, hungry, horny and constantly four hundred degrees” 

“You are so far away, come here” He tried to act nonchalant about the situation, not like he had been thinking naughty thoughts of you in the shower. He breathed pulling you into his arms, he could smell the vanilla scent on your skin and he felt his cock throb in his sweats.

“It’s too hot, Hobi please!” It was such a halfhearted protest, as you sank into his arms.

He pressed his lips to yours briefly, stealing a quick goodnight kiss and tucking your head under his chin. 

You sat there for ten minutes trying to calm your racing heart. Trying to decipher the meaning behind the goodnight kiss. Your mind stretches to conclusions on your relationship. Perhaps he was just tired. 

Considering he fell asleep so quickly, did kissing you not mean the same thing it meant for other men and women. Was it because you were pregnant and he was just being a cute friend. Or, was he interested?

You felt like you wanted to scream so there were so many unanswered questions. At some point during the night of contemplation you thought about the money you had been saving. 

Ready for the dreaded shop you knew you would have to make, the shop where you would buy the babies first items and furniture. The items that will solidify it all for you, that you were really pregnant. 

You were 5 months pregnant and despite the boys constantly asking when you were going to buy the nursery gear and offering you cradles from relatives. You refused telling them, you had it ordered and you were paying it off at the shop, which wasn’t really a lie. It had been paid off for weeks. You just asked them to delay the delivery as long as they could.

But as planned it was eventually delivered. It was nice to be able to sit in your home and assemble the furniture on a cool rainy afternoon. You felt safe that the roof wasn’t going to leak, or at least you hoped it wouldn’t. You had spent enough money on the house you were finally feeling like things were falling into place. That the house was becoming a home. 

Sitting in what was supposed to be a nursery you had the boxes of furniture all around you, it was when you felt it, a flutter in your stomach, odd but nothing disconcerting, until it happened again and then again. Something clicked and you realized it was your baby. The tears were running down your face as you realized.

This was real, this angel was real, inside your belly so little and you could feel them, it was overwhelmingly emotional and it was right as all the boys walked into the house. Hoseok spotted you crying and raced over, “Little darling, what's wrong?” 

“There is a baby Hoseok, I can feel them a little girl or boy, they are real” You sniffed, burying your face in his neck, embarrassed that this was what solidified it for you, feeling the baby move. You thought that you wouldn’t think any of this was really until you held the baby in your arms. But here you were crying on Hoseok’s shirt.

He soothed you, rubbing your back and swaying you both gently. Whispering words of encouragement. The sudden stir in your tummy made your motivation sky-rocket. So you had roped him in to help set up the nursery. 

When it was done you realized it was so bare, no clothes in the drawers, no toys or supplies. This baby wasn’t going to wait for you, you needed to get things ready and fast.

The bathroom soon was complete with a bath, and the kitchen cupboards installed, everything was done and it was time to have the place furnished. You searched for second hand furniture, anything cheap and in good condition was good enough for you. 

As the house came together slowly you started adding pictures to your social media. Showing the before and after renovations, and pictures with your friends. Seokjin got a picture of you standing in front of your house and you had to admit it looked much better all painted and pretty. 

You were sitting on your couch that surprisingly were in great condition considering they were being sold from another family, you couldn’t say the same for the table that had a broken leg and graffiti swears on top.

Jungkook was doing his best to repair it when he was free and you were so grateful. You made the spare bedroom and told the guys your home was open if they ever needed a place to stay.

You were hugging Yoongi and he laid his hands on your sides, bending down to speak to your tummy when he felt a wiggle from inside. “Ahh…” he squirmed, “what was that?”

Laughing hysterically you took his hand and placed it back on the area waiting, “that was the baby's foot, but I don’t think he wants to do it again.

You were bombarded by hands and coo’s and whines ‘I want to feel the baby’  before you snapped having them all line up and wait their turn, you reached Taehyung who leaned down talking to your belly. “Can you kick my hand?” He giggled and yet sadly not even Taehyung could coax your baby to kick.

Hoseok walked in and saw the boys pouting as Yoongi mumbled, “It was weird like there was something under her shirt, it wasn’t strong just weird”

“What was weird?” Hoseok dropped his coat and gave you a hug and you sighed letting your body lean heavily against him, “tired little darling?”

“Yoongi felt the baby kick but none of us did,” Jimin pouted stomping around the kitchen “what secrets have you been whispering to the baby?”

Since the night Hoseok had stayed over in your new house, he had started staying more often. He would sneak you food that Seokjin had forbidden and watch movies with you like nothing had changed, He had even started to love your random bursts of energy in the middle of the night and the two of you would put up shelves or paint a room together.

When you collapsed into the bed after everyone had left, Hoseok pulled you to his chest and draped his arm over your waist. His hand would splay out over your belly and rub soothing circles. That night you were dead tired and nothing seemed to wake you, he felt something strange against his hand and he bit his lip letting a few tears fall. 

This was your child, saying hello to him, it was beautiful but it also destroyed him knowing that he wasn’t the one with you through this. That he had let his feelings sit idle and unsaid and giving way for Seokjin to swoop in and take you from him.

He leaned over and looked at how peaceful you looked sleeping and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, he wanted to be the one for you. He didn’t see your eyes flutter open.

“Hobi, what’s up?” You mumbled tiredly, he looked down at you and brushed your hair from your eyes. You must have been half asleep because you put your hand on his cheek and kissed him. It was a slow kiss that was packed with so much emotion between you.

Things escalated and his hands clutched your body desperate for you to accept him, for you to keep him forever and not let him go. His head was telling him this was a dumb idea and he should stop but his heart wanted you, wanted you to be his.

The heat between you escalated and your hearts were beating as one, Hoseok was tearing down your friendship with every touch and kiss.He felt like everything was coming true and any thought of tomorrow's repercussions were out the window. Until his hand slid over your stomach and felt a kick. That was it, the rejection he needed.

He pulled away and laid back down behind you. “It has been a long day you should sleep” Hoseok whispered softly tucking your head under his chin and humming softly. “You are my baseline of my music, movement, my success, my life”

When he heard your tiny snores and your body relax in his arms once more, he knew it was time to go. He slipped from the bed and put on his coat, he was going to talk to Seokjin. 

He had to give the guy his apology and blessing, he had to step back and let you two live your life. He couldn’t interfere anymore. He had to grow up and let you grow up as well. The streets were cold and pretty quiet, only making him feel more alone. The nightlife and clubs had been his playground, but it didn’t seem fun anymore without you. 

On his way to the bus stop he searched for a new job, something he had been procrastinating for a long time. He applied to a couple businesses, nothing grand, just doing paperwork. The very job he never wanted to be in.

He thought about the money he had been saving for a cruise for the two of you, it was supposed to be a week holiday. But instead he thought to put the money to better use, he searched online for a second hand car. Your need for a vehicle was more important than a holiday.

The bus stopped and he walked out, heading down the streets towards the music and chatter of Jin and Tonic hoping to talk to the owner.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Little Things in Life - 6

Warnings: cheating, non-consent sex (series); toyplay

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: I’m a bit all over so forgive me if I bounce around but thank you to all of you lovely readers. Weekend might be a bit of a break for me and I am doing Sinday Drabble for Sunday. :D I do appreciate you all reading. Thanks to everyone for their feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Based on this drabble

You helped Sharon clean up after dinner. Well, you actually did most of the work. She was on her second margarita and you had filled your glass with water. She was regaling you as you washed the dishes with a story about how Hailey down the street had torn her pants in front of her very attractive trainer.

You wondered for a moment if it was inevitable. In this neighbourhood, as dulcet as it was, that one’s eye should wander eventually. Or was it some innate flaw of humanity? You finished drying up as Sharon showed you where it all went. You were reluctant to leave the shiny, marble kitchen.

Steve and Logan barely noticed as you and Sharon entered. Steve stood by the mantle over the artificial fireplace, his hand on the brick as he watched a dusty player slide for third. Logan grumbled at the out and adjusted the leather recliner. Sharon sat on the sofa and you followed her meekly; as if she could protect you.

“How about that selfie?” Steve’s eyes found you as his hand slid along the wooden mantle. He tapped the old metal propped up on its stand. “I promised.”

“Oh, you and your war toys.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “I never took trophies.”

“You never were much for sentiment,” Steve flicked two fingers for you to get up. “Come on.”

He lifted the helmet and the straps hung loosely. You glanced at Sharon and she rolled her eyes. She gulped a mouthful of the melted cocktail and you stood. You crossed to Steve and came up before him shyly. He lowered the heavy helmet onto your head. He fumbled with the straps, his fingers tickling your neck and chin as he did it up.

“Your phone?” He asked.

“Oh, shoot, it’s in my sweater,” You huffed as you reached up to the helmet.. “You know what, I don’t need the picture.”

“Stay here,” He held up a hand to stop you from moving. “Right back.” 

He strode quickly into the hall and you waited quietly as Sharon finished her drink. Logan flicked to another game and you picked at your braided belt. Steve returned with your phone. He handed it to you and you swiftly unlocked it and gave it back.

“Smile,” He said.

He stepped back and framed you with the lens. You gave a thin smile and he snapped the photo. He took another and returned the phone to you. You thanked him quietly and loosed the strap under your chin. He removed the helmet and placed it back on the mantle.

“Now you can brag to all your friends,” He chimed and you went to sit on the sofa beside Sharon.

“Steve, I’m her friend,” Sharon snickered. “And I don’t care.”

He laughed but there was something in the glimmer of his eyes that told you it wasn’t genuine. He crossed his arms and paced across the room.

“I’m sure she has lots of friends,” He stopped just behind the corner of the couch where you sat. “I bought some ice cream bars for dessert if anyone’s interested.”

“I can’t,” Sharon replied. “I’m still shedding my baby weight.”

“I’ll have one,” Logan accepted. “And I’ll have hers too.”

“And you,” Steve tapped your shoulder.

“Sure,” You kept your head down. “Thank you.”

🏠

Logan was well past buzzed by the time you got home. You didn’t feel bad that he had to get up early for work the next day. He stumbled into bed on his own as you hung your sweater on the hook on the back of the door. Your hand brushed something hard in the shallow pocket and you stopped.

You’d already plugged in your phone as it sat on the night table. You peered over your shoulder and slowly reached into the pocket. Logan’s breaths got heavier and longer. You scooped out the tubular object and a paper fluttered to the floor. You knelt and turned the lipstick in your hand.

You stood and unfolded the square of paper. The border was framed in red and blue. The letters scratched across the white space was slanted cursive. ‘I hope you think of me as much as I think of you.’ 

You stared at the lipstick and popped the lid of. The tip was plastic and you felt along the end. You hit the small button there and it buzzed against your hand. You flinched and looked over at the bed. Logan was snoring.

You hit the button again and again. Several times before it stopped. You were mortified. You ripped up the small paper and tossed it away in the bathroom bin. You put the fake lipstick in your makeup box and shoved it back under the sink.

You went back into the bedroom and changed into your loose cotton nightie. You turned off the light and laid down next to your husband. Your phone vibrated beside you and you ignored it. It vibed again and you sighed. You grabbed it, careful not to unplug it and looked at the screen.

‘Lights out, honey,’ The number was unknown but you could guess at the sender. ‘Hope you have fun with your new toy.’

You deleted the text and muted your phone. You placed it face down and rolled onto your stomach. You should’ve drank more; at least then, you would be able to sleep.

🏠

Logan left early. You stayed in bed until he was gone, pretending to sleep as you heard him downstairs. You drank your coffee as you stared at the fridge. The drawing Kayla had made for you weeks ago hung from a flower-shaped magnet. You smiled as your eyes pricked. 

How had everything gone to shit so fast?

Your mother said she’d bring Kayla back just before dinner. A day alone was a rare luxury but now it was purgatory. You needed the distraction of your daughter’s insatiable curiosity. You could work and keep your mind on your computer. At this rate, you’d be ahead of schedule. Ahead of schedule and listless, great.

You leaned back in your chair as your eyes turned bleary from staring at the monitor. You touched your temples and the wheels squeaked as you pressed yourself against the worn pleather. You sighed and dropped your arms. Your mind flew back to all the thoughts you were avoiding, not that they ever truly relented.

“Busy?” Steve’s voice frightened you.

You nearly overturned the chair as you spun around and rolled it back until it was touching the desk. You gripped the arms as your lip trembled.

“What the hell? How did you get in here?” You snarled.

He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and one foot leaned against the other.

“Looks like you’ve got an empty house.” He commented. 

“I… have to go get Kayla soon,” You lied. “You should go.”

He smirked and hooked his thumb in the top of his jeans pocket.

“Hey, I just came over to chat,” He said.

“And you just walk in without knocking?” You asked.

He chuckled and stood straight. 

“I texted you.” He raised his eyebrows as he came closer. “You didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, that’s usually a hint.” You stood up. “Go. Now.” You reached behind you for your phone just beside your keyboard. “I will call the police.”

“Why, officer, she asked me to help her out with some stuff around the house? You know, he husband’s never home and she has a broken faucet. I was just being neighbourly,” He feigned innocence as he neared. “Then she just… well, I guess she was lonely and when I reminded her that I had a wife, that she’s married too, she just changed. So angry.”

“You’re insane,” You breathed. “Fine, I’ll call Logan.”

“Do you think he’d leave her to come sate your paranoia? Do you think he’d believe you?” 

“Please, I’m begging you, leave me alone. I have a daughter. I can’t--”

“Shhh,” He was before you in an instant, his hands on your arms. He eased you back to your chair and pushed until you sat. “I just want you to answer a few questions, honey.”

“You’re really scaring me,” You leaned into the chair as if you could dissolve into it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I like the way your ass looks when you’re bent over my pool table,” He retorted as he stood and his hands went to his hips. “Now, let’s calm down.”

You watched him pace back and forth. He looked at the framed flowers along your wall. A rose from your wedding bouquet hung by the window. You stood and he turned quickly. He was on you before you could reach the door. He wrestled you back to the chair and sat you down. He knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs as he held you in place.

“No,” He warned as his eyes bore into yours. “So… did you use it?”

Your lips parted. You were breathless. You shook your head and his tongue poked out between his lips. His fingers kneaded your thighs. You still wore the night shirt you’d slept in, they barely concealed the polka-dot panties beneath.

“Did you want to?” He asked.

You frowned and blinked at him.

“Honey, just answer me.” He coaxed.

You looked down at his hands, his fingers rubbing along the hem of your nightie. You bit your lip as he squeezed your legs and you nodded. Your stomach was in knots.

“Use your words,” He urged.

You kept your chin down. “Yes,” You quavered. “Okay?”

“So why didn’t you?” 

“Steve, stop,” You grabbed his hands as they crawled higher. “Go home. To Sharon. Your daughter.”

“I would if Sharon would let me,” He sneered and you glanced up at him. “We just got into some spat about her return to work. You know, she’ll find any little thing to bitch at me about. I give her everything and what do I get?”

“She’s still your wife,” You argued. “And I still have a husband.”

He tilted his head and his face darkened. He stood slowly and let out a long breath.

“Where is it?” He asked.

“What?”

“The toy.” 

You swallowed and shivered at the tone of his voice.

“The bathroom attached to my room. Under the sink in the make-up bag.” You said quietly. “Upstairs. Second door on the left.”

He smiled again and took careful steps towards the door. He turned back as he gripped the door frame.

“Stay here.” He ordered. “I don’t want to have to stop you, honey. And you don’t want that either.”

His knuckles whitened as the door frame groaned. The trim suddenly fell away in his hand and his eyes rounded. 

“Oops,” He said dryly. “Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

He left and you listened to the soft creak of the stairs. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You clamped your lips shut and looked around the room. You reached for your phone. Your finger hovered over ‘emergency call’. His words replayed in your head. You didn’t need Kayla coming home to cop cars. 

You set your phone down as you heard him coming. He entered with the faux lipstick and twirled it between his fingers. You made to stand and he tutted.

“Stay,” He said. “I told you.”

You sat back and clung to the arms of the chair. He got to his knees again and you shuddered. He touched your knees and you pushed your legs together tightly. The vibe pressed against your skin and he pushed harder.

“Honey,” He cooed. “Don’t make this difficult. I can tell by the way you’re shaking how bad you want it.”

“I don’t--” You gasped as he pulled your legs apart. He was terrifyingly strong.

He rolled the vibe along your inner leg as he shushed you. His eyes followed his hands as they crawled up your thighs. He pressed the toy against the front of your panties and clicked the button. You inhaled sharply and your nails dug into the arms of the chair.

“Please, Steve, I have to--”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said as his other hand slipped under your shirt. “I just want to make you feel good.”

He tickled your stomach and cupped your breast. He moved the vibe against your panties and you let out a wispy moan. The friction sent a buzz through you and you closed your eyes in shame. You threw your head back as he clicked the button again and the toy sped up. He flicked and teased your nipple as your heart raced. You felt as if you were floating, waiting for the steep descent.

Your orgasm shook you. The noise which escaped you was strangled and desperate. Your legs closed around Steve’s hand and you arched your back as you topped the peak. You panted as he slowly drew away, dragging his fingers along your panties as your cum soaked through them.

“Take your panties off,” He stood and admired the wet toy. “Now.”

You hesitated but his blue eyes startled you as he turned his attention on you. They were dark, dilated. You rose and shakily rolled the cotton down your legs. You lifted them and Steve snatched them from you.

“Something to tide me over,” He smiled as he tucked them into his pocket. His jeans could barely restrain his erection. He shoved the vibe into your hand.  “And you, too.”

[fairymadnessyeah]

Remus’ Dream

Sequel to Roman’s Nightmare

Find it in AO3 too

"Really, Logan? You are a saviour, A hero. Call me if you need anything," Roman says, and is out of the door a second later.

It doesn't really surprise Remus. His twin brother would rather do anything than spend time with him. Which he could understand, he would rather die than spend more time with his twin. They already spent all their childhood together, and that had been more than enough.

Remus didn't need his plastic basic bitch of a brother to have a good time. However, he didn't want to spend it with nerdy wolverine over here. The guy, Logan was it, looked like a strict square and teacher. And no matter how hot he found that, it usually meant he was no fun at all.

"Here, one of our other roommates made these as welcome present," he says and shoves a plate of cookies on his hands.

He follows the nerd to the living room, and the two sit down on the couch in front of the Tv. He munches on the cookies like he always does, gulping them down by the handful while the other stares. Logan waits until he is done with the snack to talk again. "I believe that to be a good host; I should entertain you. What do you find entertaining?" he asks.

"I like to open up bodies with a sharp object and take out the insides," he smiles.

"I see," he hums. "Do you do a downward, horizontal cut from the pectoral area, or is it more efficient to do so below the external oblique at the side of the body?"

"I know, it's disgust- WAIT, did you ask something about it!?" he exclaims surprised. Nobody wanted to hear anything about what he said. Just because he didn't hide about the real world like his brother, Roman. He always preached about unicorns and dragons and happily ever afters. But not him. Remus knew the reality. People were made of meat tissues and squishy organs filled with blood, and they would die eventually.

But people were stupid, and they all prefered the curtain that his brother presented. Well, almost all of them.

"Yes, I wish to know more about you and your interest. I promised Roman I would keep you company. So, do you use a scalpel or some other type of sharp object to open up corpses? Of which I believe you are doing legally," Logan says.

"I-I do... I'm a forensic scientist," he answers, still shocked by Logan's reaction. "And the cutting depends on how the person died. The last time I had to open somebody top to bottom, it turned out the man had been suffocated to death by being made to swallow arcade machine coins," he explains.

"Fascinating! How do you know he was forced to ingest them, and he didn't do it by his own volition?" he asks, interested.

"There were signs of force on his skin," Remus tells him, dazed and with stars in his eyes. He is starting to love the fact that his brother left him with Logan.

The two keep on talking. They went from Remus' job, and somehow ended in a discussion over what chemical would be better for blood removal. As the time went on, Remus started shifting closer and closer to the tie-wearing man. He would get lost in the movement of his lips, and those framed blue eyes. And when he moved close enough that he could touch the other man, his hands gained a mind of their own, and wandered around the nerd, like spiders wander around the rotting corpse of a fly trapped in their web.

He had been flirting and filling the conversation with sexual innuendoes. But it seemed as they had no effect on Logan. The man was either completely clueless over Remuses advances, or uninterested and trying to be polite. Remus was now draped over the other. He had his legs over Logan's lap, his head leaned over his shoulder, and his hand playing with his tie. His voice was low and sensual, and being so close to his neck was so tempting. He just wanted to lean in closer and take a bite.

"Excuse my forwardness, but are you romantically interested in me?" Logan asks, looking down at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe~," he coos, and giggles in a flirty way. "What are you going to do about it?~," he challenges, and sees something flash in his eyes.

"I'll say that I feel flattered, and that your advances are well received. I too find myself very attracted to you," Logan tells him, fixing his tie. "However, I believe we must put a temporarily stop at the moment, before things progress further," Remus opens his mouth to complain, but he is interrupted by Logan before he can get a word out. "Your brother is my roommate, and while he can be infuriating, I don't think it would do any good if he was to find us in this situation. Our house-hold harmony could be broken, and that could lead to problems. I believe our best course of action will be to wait for him and tell him that our relationship will proceed romantically one, rather than platonically," he explains.

"You don't need Roman's permission to date me!" Remus complains. "I am the only one who has the final say on who I fuck! And I think it's time we move further into the bedroom, and you further inside me~," he proposes, and changes his position to be sitting on Logan's lap. He grinds down to drive his point across.

Logan clears his throat before speaking again. "As delectable as that sounds, I must decline your proposition. The house-hold harmony must be maintained," he is about to take Remus off his lap, when the man with facial hair stops him.

"But, what if this is his plan?" he points out, making Logan stop in his tracks.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my brother is hopeless stupid romantic, and a wardrobe malfunction is not going to take him all day. He ditched us here for a reason," Logan hums, taking in what he is saying. "Maybe, he wanted to play match-maker. I'm new in town, and you are single, right?" Logan nods. "It's the perfect plan, don't you think?" he doesn't, for a second, think that Roman would do anything like that for him. But if he can convince Logan, that he might, then they might get down to  business .

"That quite the unusual plan Roman would come up with, but I can see how you might have arrived to such conclusion," he says, rubbing his chin thinking. "How do you suppose we should test this hypothesis you have created?" Remus grins get bigger.

"Well...~" he leans in closer, wrapping his arms around Logan's shoulders. "I might have an idea~," he whispers right above the other's lips, before closing the distance.

Logan both relaxes and tenses when their lips connect. His shoulders goes lax, but he holds onto Remus tighter. They don't synchronize well at first. But once they get a rhythm going, they just fit together. It's like finding the missing puzzle piece you been searching for years. Remus, who has been with his fair share of different partners, had never felt so much from just a kiss. He feels like pins and needles are stabbing him softly on his stomach. Logan's lips are hard but smooth, and he can feel how breathless he is due to the soft kiss.

When they separate to breathe, he can see pink dusting his nerd's cheeks and the dazed stare with which he looks at him. It is in that moment that Remus decides he is going to marry this man. No matter what his brother says, he is going to marry this nerd. Unluckily, his unrested body decided to cockblock him, and he let out a tired yawn.

"Are you tired?" Logan asks.

"Just a little, I been travelling since yesterday," Remus explains. "But it's nothing. We should keep going," he leans back in, but Logan stops him.

"We can continue this when you are better rested," he tells him with a soft smile, that makes Remus feel gushy inside. "Come, I will lend you my room for you to sleep," Logan takes him to the left side of the apartment, and to a blue door that had the name 'LOGAN' written neatly on the front.

"Have a good rest, Remus. I will wake you for dinner if needed," he tells him as he opens the door for him.

"Thanks, but before you go..." he wraps his arms around him, and gives him another kiss. The two get lost in each other's lips, and before he can stop him, he takes a bite out of Logan's neck, and then sucks on the skin. His nerdy wolverine is the most exquisite blood-red colour. He grins at his reaction before going inside the room.

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

When he wakes up, is to the sweet sounds of his twin brother in pain. He steps away from Logan's room, that smells like ink and crofters, and goes to the living room. All the roommates are there. The guy with the bakery is cooking, and the painter is looking down at his brother on the floor. Logan is putting his book back in the library and the hickey he gave him still red and proudly presented on his neck.

"So, now that he knows, can we have that D appointment?" he asks as he wraps his arms around Logan's waist. His brother lets out a pathetic wheeze, and the emo pats his head in comforts.

He's got to admit, moving here was one of the best ideas he ever had.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

First Kiss, But Not On The Lips

Pair: Tony/ace!Loki (platonic)

Warnings: mentions of insomnia, nightmares, panic attack, isolation and alcohol.

Notes: Basically, the idiots in love trope is my favourite. Tony is a bi mess, Loki doesn't care about a thing (or cares about too many things), Thor is a himbo and Steve is trying. Also, yes, Loki has the ace ring (and a pride flag in his room) and he legally cannot sit like a normal person. And Steve lost the bet because he didn't expect Tony to find out about his crush on Loki within a month.

Read on AO3

"You know what, I get it. We all deserve second chances and blah blah blah, but can't Loki redeem his name on another solar system? What about Jötunnheim? He did a genocide there too!" Tony argues. At least he moves past the redeem part.

"I told you they would not accept me," Loki sighs at Thor, trying to appear stoic. But Tony sees the disappointment in him. Because he knows how to spot it in the mirror.

"Fine, he can stay for a month as a testing period. But if he causes trouble, he's gone," Steve decides. He loves speaking out the decisions even though no one will disagree.

And Thor smiles widely and hugs his brother. But Tony can still see the disappointment in Loki.

~~~

Sleeping is hard while knowing he's in the same building. Tony expected it, but it's still annoying.

"You know he was a victim too, why are you so afraid?" He asks himself but no answer is given.

He knows he won't be able to sleep, and there is a broken suit waiting for him in the lab.

Well, if he's about to pull an all nighter, he better be productive.

~~~

Tony had gotten his all nighter on a schedule. He would wait until Steve is asleep, go to the lab, and return to his bed only one hour before Steve wakes up. Of course and they all noticed his dark circles and moodiness, but he would blame nightmares and get away with it. Not that he was lying.

And, apparently, Tony is not the only one with sleeping issues.

Thor was claiming that Gods don't need sleep or nutrition. But Thor is also a sleeper and eats every time like it's his last time. But Loki doesn't. He barely touches whatever food is placed in front of him or drinks a little water and he looks more sleep deprived than Tony. But no one has the guts to say to a thousand years old powerful cranky god to go sleep or to eat, not even Thor.

And he doesn't talk. It's been days since his voice was heard. Thor doesn't like it, but the few times he mentioned it or tried to get Loki to speak or take part in a talk, he only got a glare. And Tony still doesn't know how Thor still makes Loki even get out of his room.

~~~

Once again, Tony is working on a new suit, during his favourite inhuman hours. Because two things come out at 3am, the devil and Tony Stark.

But the first dude is not helping Tony with the non functioning leg that's driving him insane.

"It's not going to work," Someone comments from the lab's door. Who the hell is up that late?

"Excuse me?" Tony turns around, only to face Loki leaning against the door frame.

"Remaking the joint to resemble a human's is not going to work. You need less strength and more flexibility, probably even another material," Loki explains, staring at Tony. He makes a small nod. Loki then straightens himself and walks closer.

"You know about mechanical engineering?" Tony asks.

"Science, magic, it's all the same on Asgard… and I happen to be the Master of Magic, and therefore…" He trails off, something sad blooming in his eyes. Homesickness, Tony recognises with ease.

"Alright, so, how do you think we'll make it work?" Tony asks, a grin on his face. But instead of answering, Loki just lifts his sleeves and grabs a wrench.

Tony watches as Loki plays with the machine—he looks more like he plays than like he's repairing something—and uses his magic to change the elements on the materials, green glows appearing and disappearing. And, after the five minutes it took him, the leg is perfect.

"Wow…" Tony whistles. Loki grins and sits on the working table, spinning the wrench on his fingers.

"It will probably last for a millennium or two," He shrugs, like it's something easy. And Tony is more impressed.

And they go on with the suit, finishing it before it's time for Tony to go and pretend he's sleeping. And Tony would use this time.

"Well, I didn't know you're good at engineering," Tony trails off. Loki shrugs in response, again sitting on the table with his legs in lotus position.

"You never asked,"

"Yeah, sorry about that. You are just too…" He suddenly can't find the word.

"Cold?" Loki asks, raising his eyebrows at Tony.

"Reserved is how I would phrase it, actually," Tony responds, making Loki hum.

"You know what, nevermind. I'm asking now. What do you like? What don't you like? Just rumble about things," He decides, big brown eyes staring at Loki. And he responds with another shrug.

"I don't know… it is quite late, so I'll probably head to my bed. Good morning, Stark," He jumps up and leaves, before Tony can even think of stopping him.

Right, he's just waiting for people to ask…

"So… Do you remember the rumble offer? Cause it still stands," Tony eyes Loki. And Loki responds with a smile.

~~~

The next morning, Loki didn't appear. Thor explained that he crashed on the bed. And it must be the hell of a sleep because he got out of his room three days after. Again, while Tony was working on a suit.

"Hey, wanna help?" Tony yells at Loki as he walks outside of the lab. And Loki nods a yes and gets to work.

"Still not sleeping, Stark?" He asks, his smart eyes pinned on the helmet of the suit.

"No rest for the wicked," Tony smiles. Looks like he's more talkative now that he's fresh.

"Tell me about it…" He sighs. Then, he grunts a bit, probably gotten hit by some remaining electricity.

Tony hadn't noticed before how pretty Loki's smile is.

And Loki takes the opportunity and starts to talk. Tony learns a lot about Loki during the Great Rumble. Dandelions are his favourite flowers, thanks to the Æsir library he became an encyclopaedia of random fun facts (even took it far enough to share some), he's a cat person, he loves classical music or music without lyrics, and then he starts sharing some stories of him and Thor as kids.

But Tony notices other things too. He noticed that Loki's eyes seem to glow when he talks about things that make him happy, he moves his hands around, he has this cute little smile that makes his face shine. And when he talks fast, his Nordic accent slips out—just some trilled 'r's or some harder sounds—and he also has a stutter that slips out. And Tony finds all of those so beautiful, but he can't say it.

"Your turn," Loki says. And Tony freezes.

Because his mind is nothing but simping for Loki, right now.

"I… em… Ya know, I…" He mutters, trying to think of something. But, Goddamnit, those shining green eyes pinning on him and waiting are so distracting.

"I'm actually bisexual, but more attracted to women than men," He snaps, finally finding something. But what if Asgard is not so accepting? Earth is having issues with those things and those guys live in the middle ages.

"Oh, nice," Loki shrugs after noticing Tony's brief pause. And it's enough to relax Tony.

"And… Dammit, this is so hard… I like cheeseburgers?" He squirts. "I don't know, can't think of something right now… when something pops up, I'll let you know," He gives up and rubs his nose bridge.

"No worries, you're hot anyways,"

Loki grins after seeing how red Tony's face became. And Tony clears his throat in hope of containing himself somehow.

"Alrighty… How's the helmet going? Tony moves the subject away. He sees Loki short-circuiting for a long moment, before remembering what they are doing here and grabbing back the helmet.

"It won't let me fix it… whenever I try to do something to the source of the issue, I get striked," He answers.

"Have you tried plastic gloves?" Tony asks, not even looking up from the hand he's oiling.

"For the helmet?" Loki asks, his eyebrows furrowed at Tony.

"For your hands, you idiot!" Tony screams, his head snapping heavenwards. Why did he agree on this?

"Fine, fine… Norns, dauðlegir eru svo stuttir í skapi... —Norns, Mortals are so short tempered…" Loki mutters under his breath.

"You know JARVIS can translate from Old Norse to English, right?" Tony snaps.

Loki shrugs and leaps into the working table and walks across it with three big steps, jumping back down with grace and opening shelves to find the gloves.

"They won't fit," He yells at Tony.

"Whatcha mean they won't fit?" Tony yells back.

Loki jumps on the table again and ends right behind Tony.

"I mean, they won't fit. They're too small," He answers to Tony's ear. Tony has learned how much Loki loved climbing on furniture, so he just turns around instead of jumping around and cussing at the God.

"Come on… how big are your hands?" He asks. Loki grabs Tony's hand and places his palm against his own. Tony's fingers were beginning on Loki's second joints, his fingers long and thin. And Tony licks his lips, because he knows what big hands mean…

Stop being horny over deities, you idiot! It didn't end well with Jesus and it won't end well with this one too! The, usually silent, voice of reason reminds him.

"Maybe you can magic them into fitting…" He suggests. Loki nods and stretches the left glove with his right hand, a green light making it bigger as he slides his hand inside.

"Thank you, Stark…" He smiles and climbs back on the table, eyes pinned on the helmet as he's playing with the screwdriver. It's been two weeks since he came here, and he still uses only last names. But when Clint called him Odinson, Thor, Steve and the Hulk had to physically hold Loki from snapping the archer's neck. And no one dares to call him Laufeyson or even think about it.

"Hey," Tony snaps. Loki flinches at the sudden noise but composes himself right after. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare ya," Tony apologizes.

"It's fine… What do you want to ask?" Loki shrugs one shoulder, placing the helmet on his right and the screwdriver on his left.

"Why do you call everyone by their last name but don't want to be addressed as so?" He asks.

"I'm not anyone's friend, and first names feel too familiar for such a situation. And, I won't stay for a long time…" He answers, the livid glow in his eyes fading just so.

"And, your last name?"

"I don't have one…" He whispers, with what Tony recognises as shame in his voice. Tony frowns and walks closer, staying outside of Loki's personal space.

"But you're Thor's brother and he's an Odinson," He studied his words before speaking. The last thing he wants is to trigger Loki, even as an accident.

"On Asgard and Jötenheim, last names work differently. You choose the name of the parent who you are closest to and then add the -son, -dottir or -barn. But Odin and Laufey were not close at all, and Frigga could help but she chose to keep me at arm's reach. So, no last name…" Tony can see how Loki was trying hard not to show emotions, but he is so close to breaking.

"You know, with this logic, only Thor has a last name. Don't tell Steve, but Howard was a first class terrible father. Steve's dad abandoned him and his mother, after beating the poor woman. Clint's parents made him run away and go to the circus. Natasha was given her name in the Red Room, she doesn't know who her parents are. And Bruce's was violent too. The only people with decent parents are Thor and JARVIS." Tony should move the topic away, but he didn't. At least he tries to patch it up on the last bit.

"And Dum-E," Loki adds, with a barely visible smile. A fake one. Tony hears the robot's joints moving as he lifts his upper part.

"And Dum-E," Tony agrees with a smile, and the robot makes a few happy noises. Loki laughs.

"You know, he says he loves you," He turns to Tony.

"If that's so, he earned some nice oil," Tony grabs the oil and applies some to Dum-E's joint. It doesn't stop making those mechanic noises and when Tony is over, Loki's smiling at him from the table.

"He still says he loves me, right?" Tony asks. Loki makes a slight nod, not abandoning his small smile.

"And that you are the best dad," He adds. Tony laughs and pets Dum-E before heading back to the table. But he still won't get too close to Loki, he is very strict with his personal space.

Loki grabs back the helmet and starts poking it around with the tool, now ignoring Tony.

"So, you don't feel like talking, huh?" Tony asks.

"If you mean the topic you want to talk about, then no," Loki snaps, not raising his eyes. Tony nods, he knows better than invading Loki's personal space.

And Loki didn't open his mouth for the rest of the night. The next morning, he would pretend nothing happened, but Tony would see how something changed in him. How his eyes darkened and his face became colder.

~~~

The next night, Loki is even more grumpy. So, Tony avoids speaking, or making anything that has even the slightest chance to irritate him.

"You're scared of me…" Loki finally speaks, his voice soft like a whisper and his fingers playing with the black ring on his ring finger. Tony looks up from the metal glove he's making to stare at Loki.

"Should I be scared?" Tony asks, careful not to say the wrong words.

"You are too picky about what you do around me. Why not do that if not because you are scared?" He answers. And this is where Tony lets himself frown and talks without thinking.

"Maybe because I don't want to make you feel bad?" He lets his words come out without filters. And Loki raises his eyebrow at it.

"Well, you don't lie about it. But why are you so dedicated to this?" He narrows his eyes and crosses his hands, body leaning towards Tony.

And now, he can't answer. Why does he care so much? It's not that they're old friends like with Rhodey or ex-s but still friends like with Pepper. They're not even teammates. Loki said it himself, he will leave after the one month Steve gave him.

So, why does Tony care so much?

"Hmm, nice answer…" Loki snarls and looks away, playing again with the other hand of the suit.

"You're a cold son of a whore, you know that?" Tony spits, his eyes stabbing Loki. He now raises his glare again, but he looks more confused than before.

"I beg your pardon?" He blinks.

"I try to be decent towards you, okay? The reasons behind it don't matter. Could be fear, guilt, interest, it means jack. And you question me on how I dare be decent towards you and why and what I want from you! You know what, I have a question for you. Why can't you accept being treated as a normal person? Are you that messed up in the brain or you just love so much being alone and miserable?" Tony lets his thoughts come out as they are, not giving a care how much they will hurt Loki. But the moment he sees Loki's reaction, he regrets it.

The room gets cold enough for Tony to see his breathing. Loki leaves the tools and the metal hand beside him and locks his feet on a tight fatal position, his hands on his face and pulling some hair with enough strength to pull them out and his shoulders rising and falling too fast.

And Tony knows what this means… It means he messed up badly.

"Crap! Hey, buddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things…" He sprints closer. Loki raises his hand towards him, a green glow erupting from it and sending Tony flying to the other side of the lab.

Loki mutters something to this in Old Norse, before jumping up and leaving, his feet shaking as he was trying to walk towards the exit. But he manages to vanish in the dark corridor anyways.

And this time, Tony definitely messed up the worst way possible.

~~~

For the next two weeks, Loki doesn't get out of his room. And it only makes the knot in Tony's stomach grow tighter. He asks Thor all the time how Loki is, if he eats, if he sleeps, if he needs something. It's a wonder Thor hasn't grown tired of the constant questioning. And the answer is always the same, "I don't know, he won't let me in,".

And if everyone on the tower has learned something about Loki, is that things are bad when he keeps Thor at arm's length.

Tony wants to go and check on Loki himself, but he bets his right hand that Loki will spit curses at him, and he has every right to do so. So, he has to settle down on annoying Thor and worrying with him.

"You know what? It's my fault," Tony admits to Thor the night before Loki leaves. And Thor furrowed his eyebrows.

"What do you mean?"

Tony explains everything that happened that night, and Thor smiles with sympathy and touches Tony's neck.

"You were right on your words, that's why Loki reacted like this. He doesn't want people to know too much about him… But he won't be mad at you." He answers.

"But, why do I care so much? We barely know each other…" Tony asks.

"Have you thought of love?" Thor suggest. Tony is about to smack Thor for saying something like this, but it makes sense.

"Do… you don't happen to know if he's queer, right?" Tony makes the big question.

"I know very few Æsir who are not your definition of queer, but Loki was never open about those things. You better ask him…" He shrugs.

Well, Thor has a point. But Tony can't exactly ask Loki what his sexuality is while he's like this. So, he better wait till it's time.

"Thank you, Point Break…" Tony pats Thor's back. And then, JARVIS yells at them that Steve wants everyone in the central room.

And there is everyone here, even Loki. Well, an emotionally drained and mentally exhausted Loki, but he's there.

"As you know, your month has passed…" Steve begins talking, his Captain Voice on. Loki nods and lowers his shoulders to appear smaller.

"I'll be on my way, then…" He mutters, voice low and breaking. Steve wants to smile, but Loki's reaction stops him.

"So, you don't want to be an Avenger?" He lets his Captain mask fall, eyeing Loki with worry. And every single one of the Avengers is now doing the same. Tony hadn't realised that this antisocial emo little God had become so popular.

Loki lets his lips make a smile so big Tony bets it hurts like hell.

"You mean I can stay?" He asks, his voice now louder and livid.

"Can't see a reason to kick you out," Steve smiles too.

And Loki drags him to a hug tight enough to break the poor soldier in half, smiling like a sunbeam and rumbling thank you again and again.

"Alright, can you let me breathe?" Steve wheezes. Loki makes a small oh sound and lets go of the hug.

"Sorry, Steve," He hums, not breaking eye contact.

"Steve? Where's the "Rogers"?" Clint asks, his eyebrows raised and his hands signing along even though he wears his hearing aids.

"Well, since I'm about to stay, there's no point in calling you with your last names, is there?" Loki shrugs.

"Alright, you know what we need? A party. Who's with me?" Tony claps his hands and yells, glad to see everyone agreeing.

~~~

Apparently, being an alien God makes you hold your liquor a lot. Tony knew about Steve, but he didn't expect those two to have this stamina as well.

But Thor has started losing his balance and yelling at everyone how much he loves them in Old Norse and Loki's accent and stutter are showing, but he is just sitting on the bar and watching over the chaos.

This is your chance. He's happy and drunk enough, what could possibly go wrong? Tony thinks and stumbles towards Loki before he sits on a tall stool.

"So, are you having fun?" He asks, smiling at Loki and sipping on his scotch. It's fine, he's done this countless times before and he can do it now.

"It's quite nice, yes…" Loki hums, now turning to face Tony.

"And, em… Sorry about the other night… It was too much, should have been midler on ya," Tony mumbles, trying not to lower his eyes and break eye contact. Loki makes a soft nod.

"It's fine, you don't have to apologize… And you were quite right about some things…" He gives Tony a small smile as he talks, making him relax his shoulders a bit a mouth a thank you.

"And I wanna tell you something… I also talked to Thor about it… And I think… No, I'm pretty sure I have a crush on you. And, that's why the care and stuff…" Tony rumbles, his eyes big as he searches for reaction. But Loki stays untouched.

"I am… flattered… But I'm also asexual," He breathes out, staring back at Tony for a reaction.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't want to make it uncomfortable…" Tony rushes to apologize. Couldn't he see the black wedding ring? It's a symbol of asexuality!

"You know, things can work out platonically. I mean, you do start to grow on me…" Loki responds, smiling just a bit.

"Really? I mean, you don't mind?" Tony grins at the response, his eyes big at the God. Loki shrugs.

"Yeah, If you are okay with not getting laid with me…"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" Tony gives Loki an ear to ear smile and grabs his right hand, kissing gently the black ring.

Loki's cheeks and ears get bright red and he bites his lower lip. Tony is quick to let go of his hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable…" He chunters, now lowering his glare and playing with his glass.

"It was… nice…" Loki whispers, most likely to himself. But Tony still snaps his head up.

"Seriously?"

"Yes… And…" The red blush appears back in his cheeks as he fidgets with his sleeves. "It was the first time someone kissed me…"

"No way!" Tony exhales.

"I know, embarrassing…" Loki bites his lip again, breaking eye contact.

"I'm actually honoured. Not a lot of humans had the chance to steal the first kiss of a God, you know," Tony grins, hoping the joke is not that bad.

Loki reacts with a snorting sound and a light punch on the ribs, that sends Tony straight to the floor and makes the glass scatter in pieces.

"Oh, dear, are you alright?!" Loki squirts at Tony.

"I think I need a safeword…" Tony grunts.

He is sure that Loki will grimace on the joke, but instead, he giggles like a highschool girl.

"Most definitely yeah," He sighs, handing over an identical glass with the one they broke.

From the back of the room, no one sees Thor laughing as Steve sighs at the view of Loki and Tony and handing over the twenty dollars of the bet.

[binary5tar1117]

Cold Brains, Warm Hearts

Chapter 1: Saaaaaffffe

Pairing: Yoonmin (Yoongi/Jimin)

Genre/AU: Warm Bodies AU, Horror Romance

Rating: M for mature, R

Warnings/Tags: Violence and gore, Zombies, Minor character death, unfinished (in that there are unlikely to be more chapters)

Summary:  Yoongi is just minding his own business, going about his life, when he happens to meet Jimin, the most beautiful human he's ever seen. Though, "going about his life" is more like wandering in aimless undead shambles around a mall as a literal zombie. And "he happens to meet" is really closer to he and the other zombies try to eat Jimin and his friends brains. But eventually they all live, like actually live, happily ever after! AKA An AU based on the movie/book Warm Bodies

A/N: Written for Day 7 of a 30 days of drabbles event @thirtydaysofdrabbles The word was “zombified”. I’m so horribly behind but I’m still pecking away at some! Also, while it was supposed to be a drabble its more like a chapter one of a potentially longer fic. I’m soooooo terrible at finishing longer fics though that I want to warn people that it is very unlikely it will ever be finished. I think it’s kinda cute just as a chapter 1 though. ALSO....I never actually name Jimin but it’s Yoonmin so the pretty boy Yoongi meets is Jimin.

Link: AO3

Yoongi wasn’t sure how long he’d been zombified. That was one of the many fun parts of being a zombie, there wasn’t really much of a past or a future, just the unending drudgery of now. Occasionally he’d have flickers of memories from life but never anything specific. He mostly flitted from one whim to another as he wandered the mall he unlived in. Sometimes he’d sit at the dust covered tables in the coffee shop or run his hands along the rows of records in the music store. 

Yoongi wasn’t the only zombie whose whims seemed to take him to places he must have been familiar with in life. He regularly saw a zombie in a dirty apron prowling around behind the counters in the food court and another in the tech store with black plastic framed glasses and a fedora seemingly pondering the broken displays. 

It’s also how he made his only friend, if the undead were capable of making friends. All they could really do was sit next to each other and grunt, only occasionally managing an actual word. He didn’t know his name. Something that started with an N. He never got further than “Nnnng” when trying to say it. Still, Yoongi considered them friends. They frequented the same haunts and occasionally shared their taste in music when they were feeling particularly wordy.

“Ugh,” Yoongi grunted. He pointed, with his whole hand since articulation could be hard, at an album showing some generic looking guy attempting to be generically sexy in a generically green shirt. He didn’t remember the artist's name but he could remember the annoying break up song he was most famous for.

N grunted his disgusted agreement and pointed to a different album, this time black with pink horses on it. 

Yoongi jerkily nodded his head. “Nyuuuuugh.” He tried to say nice but words never seemed to make it to his mouth. N grimaced, his upper lip pulling back awkwardly in a way Yoongi suspected was supposed to be a smile. 

They may have had this exact exchange before and it had been lost in the sludge that was their brains. It didn’t matter, once forgotten, they’d do it over again but the vague sense of “friend” would still linger. 

Yoongi sometimes wondered if they had been friends before their undeath. It seemed unlikely. N was wearing the remnants of a suit, black slacks grimy with age and who knew what else. Yoongi on the other hand had on a tattered oversized hoodie with headphones around his neck. N probably wouldn’t have given Yoongi the time of day if they were alive, but who knows. He still couldn’t give him the time of day now that they were undead.

The worst part of being a zombie though was the hunger. It would rear up out of nowhere and spread between the zombies in the mall like the plague that had initially killed them. They would start to congregate together and the groaning and growling would get louder and more frenzied until one of them would stumble toward and exit and the rest would follow. 

And so the hunt began. 

They ambled around in the group trying to find a whiff of life to follow. It wasn’t so much a smell as a feeling. Maybe the same feeling that pulled them to what they’d done as humans pulled them to humans themselves. 

So when they finally found a trickle of that golden thread, they picked up their pace as much as they could and followed it.

A group of humans were tearing through boxes in a warehouse. They called back and forth to each other in playful tones. Yoongi hated that he had no control over the hunger, once it kicked in and locked on, his little bubble of consciousness was just along for the ride. He could only watch as the humans realized too late the horde of zombies was on them. They fled; they fought. It was bloody and gory. Yoongi mostly tried to block it out. 

A few escaped but a couple went down. It was enough for the group of zombies to feast on. Descending on the poor human and tearing him to shreds. Yoongi was among them, and among the luckiest. He managed to get a few spongey handfuls of brain. 

As much as he hated the hunger and hunting and the violence and mess of it all, eating human brain was the best feeling. Whatever spark or energy it was that drew zombies to hunt the living, it emanated from the brain. One tender mouthful filled Yoongi’s senses with life, the life of the person he consumed. Visions of little league games and homemade cookies danced in his mind. 

He felt a little guilty though. If they left they brain alone, he'd rise again as one of them. If the brain is what stored that spark of life, both for humans and zombies, it meant without a brain he was truly gone for good.

Filled with the energy of the hunt, he stuffed a few handfuls in his pockets, guilt or not. He would savor them later, truly relish getting lost in the images that dances in his mind like a good drug. 

The few bites of brain filled him up quicker so he was among the first to stand up, blood still dripping from his hands and mouth. He wanted to wipe it away but he didn’t really have the coordination for it. He ambled among the boxes waiting for the others to finish. And that’s when he saw him. A human, hiding curled in a box, his eyes wide with fear. 

Beautiful. Yoongi had forgotten the concept of beauty until he saw the human but there was no other word Yoongi could have used to describe him. His delicate features and soft hair, and most importantly the feeling he gave Yoongi. All humans had a spark of life but this one… it shown so bright Yoongi didn’t even feel the need to attack in order to feel satiated by it. 

A snarl from the feeding reminded Yoongi even if he had no urge to eat this one, the others might. He couldn’t allow that. Yoongi approached the human in a slow shuffle. He looked up, and gathered his breath for a scream. Yoongi brought his finger to his lips as best he could and shook his head. The human made a choked sound but didn’t scream. 

Yoongi got closer and crouched in front of him. Up close he had to blink for a second. The human was covered in sweat and grime and blood and looking at Yoongi is such shock and horror, he shouldn’t still be beautiful and yet he was. And he shone. 

Yoongi had to do something to keep the others from eating him. He smeared some blood from his hands across the humans face. The human shuddered and whimpered softly. It helped some but Yoongi needed more. He wiped his hand through a cut he’d gotten on his arm from the fight earlier. It was slowly oozing his own congealed black blood. He spread that across the human’s chest. It seemed to work better so Yoongi put more on him until the stench of death covered the human’s spark of life. 

“Ssssaaaagghhhhhffffff,” Yoongi groaned. He frowned. He could almost feel the word slowly making its way from his brain to his mouth. He tried again.

“Saaaaaafffe,” he said.

Other zombies were finishing their meal now and starting to gather to head back. Yoongi pulled the human to his feet and groaned at him, trying to somehow communicate that he should play along.

“Prrrrrrgh… P-Prrrrgh.” Pretend! Yoongi shouted in his brain but it didn’t want to work this time. Instead he held out his arms and shuffled in an exaggerated way. 

The human was still wide eyed with shock but he nodded once and started to shamble alongside Yoongi. 

It wasn’t long before the rest were done and they started off. N came over to shuffle alongside Yoongi and the human. He looked at the human quizzically but shrugged vaguely and let it go. Some were lost and some were added every hunt. A new face wasn’t that big of a deal.

Yoongi wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do with his new pet human when he got back to the mall. He just knew he had to keep him safe.

[jeonjeonggukenergy]

Anti-Hero

summary ~ in search of wine at a party that’s so not your scene, you run into jungkook, the weeb from your film class, and become determined to learn just how much he lives up to his big reputation.

pairing ~ jungkook x reader

genre ~ fluff, light smut w/ more to come - college!au

wordcount ~ 1.7k

warnings ~ light smut, drinking/partying, mentions of dick?, basically just making out, feat. long hair jk :)))))

a/n ~ this is my first time posting a fic!!! costume idea inspired by @ddaenggtan‘s iconic weeb-ass jk in chasing butterflies lol, and I got the idea to write this in general from wondering what a scenario like @joonbird​‘s literally flawless fic passionfruit would be like from the opposite perspective bc I kept reading it (and rereading it...and rereading it...) and loving the connection but I’m much more like joon in that au than the reader oooop. anyway thank you to all the writers on here whose work i have loved and my friends who have encouraged me and made me bold enough to embrace such a fun new creative outlet xxx u know who u are :’)

next: chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 (coming soon!) 

~ read on ao3 ~

CHAPTER 1 ~ dress up

You never intended to end up at this Halloween party. You didn't even know who to expect to see here, other than your roommate's friend from high school, the host, who had invited y'all as a package deal even though she knew you didn't really do parties. At least not ones like hers, where every bedroom ended up occupied by the end of the night and nearly no one went home alone. Thrilled to break out of your lame group of friends for a taste of flirtation and fun, you tried to relax into the scene but the unspoken expectation of casual sex intimidated you the tiniest bit.

Speaking of casual sex, there was Jungkook.

Used to admiring him from afar in your "14 Films To See Before You Graduate" class, you paused to take in the sight of him in what you supposed was a more natural habitat. Everyone knew Jungkook got girls, thanks to the rumor his first freshman-year hookup had started about his seriously impressive dick. He had a beautiful body too, carefully crafted muscles obvious even beneath his usual baggy black clothes, so as the more intimate rumors spread and various co-signers confirmed every detail from length to curve to (you had always hated this word, but...) girth, getting a piece of all that became a badge of honor among the girls in your grade. You had never really understood how the awkward boy who hid manga under his desk in class could supposedly be such a sex symbol, but you almost felt bad for him. That kind of reputation following you around everywhere couldn't be all fun and games. If anything, though, it had intrigued you even more about the rest of him, all his little weeb quirks and the way he debated your points in the discussion boards like he actually cared. He wasn't exactly studious in general, but he clearly loved film and you enjoyed speaking up in class just to see how he would jump off of your observations. You hadn't really talked to him other than that, but he didn't seem to be talking to anyone else tonight either. From the corner, you let yourself appreciate the way his nervous hands tugged at the skinny black tie of his costume, freeing more of his throat from a thin yellow button-down shirt.

At least you no longer felt overdressed in your Nancy Drew outfit. The retro headband, brown loafers, and bookish plaid knee-length skirt set a much more sophisticated tone than most other ensembles you'd seen, but Jungkook's weeb ass had basically worn a full suit to channel Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. With his grown-out hair tousled and a navy pinstripe jacket cinched tight with two strips of electrical tape over his tiny waist, you couldn't deny that he rocked it. He leaned against a long plastic table left in the hallway, bobbing his head to the music in the next room and adjusting the too-slim suit pants around his thick thighs. His translucent cup stayed hidden behind a hip until he raised it quickly to his face for another sip of...red wine? Probably Franzia, knowing tonight's crowd, but anything was better than beer. You made a beeline for the one boy with taste at this party, your sole mission now to get wine drunk, sneak some Usher throwbacks on this playlist, and drop it low enough to leave some dude hard on the dance floor. #wastehistime2019, yknow.

"Hey!" You got his attention, grabbing the hand with the cup before he could lower it out of view again. His eyes grew comically wide and his mouth formed an "o" in shock before you demanded "Where is the wine?" and he pressed his lips back into a line, stuttering.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I just brought a bottle because the beer here sucks but I think it's all gone by now, I tried to hide it but yeah anyway you can have the rest of this one if you want though." Wincing at his own ramble, he ruffled the retro pouf of his hair with one hand and proffered the plastic cup in another. Both actions highlighted how pretty his hands were and you were just slightly tipsy enough to thread your fingers over his in the also-pretty black waves falling over his yep-still-just-as-pretty cheekbones.

"Aw, it's okay, I don't want to take your wine. No more liquid courage for me," you grinned, dotting the lightest kiss on his nose. It was an innocent gesture, but as your face naturally lowered so your noses touched, leaving your lips centimeters away from each other, something snapped—in him.

His wine discarded on the table, a hand curled around to clutch your ass and you practically felt his tongue before you felt his lips. Slamming your body abruptly into his, he nudged a thigh between your legs to grind it up on your center and as your arm got caught between your bodies, the tension you sensed filling his frame gave you pause. You pushed him away gently but firmly with the hand already flattened against his rock-solid abs. Looking down at the slight space restored between y'all, you removed his hands from his hair and your ass and laced them in yours to guide him back against the wall.

"I...what was that?" you almost giggled. You definitely weren't trying to laugh at him, but you couldn't hide your surprise at this first potential proof of his fuckboy reputation.

"I'm—" his whole face crumpled, both from the simple sting of your seeming rejection and the possibility that he had broken a boundary or forced himself on you against your wishes, which made him so sick he could barely face you. Squirming under your light hold but not quite resisting, he rambled again: "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to force myself on you or anything, don't worry I would never try anything if you didn't want to, I just figured we might as well get to the point if you did because, uh...when girls touch me like that or even talk to me at these things it's pretty much always just because they...want to."

"Jungkook," you breathed, pulsing your hands over his in reassurance. He squeezed his eyes shut, still distraught, and when they opened, you had craned your neck to meet his averted gaze.

"I never said I didn't want to."

His eyes widened again. "Uh...uh...then..." he trailed off, never having needed to directly proposition a girl like this before. He really had been inexperienced before the rapid escalation of college, and was at a loss for how to get to the good stuff from here via anything more eloquent than a rushed "Wanna fuck?" You shook your head silently, nose grazing his again, and let go of one hand to cup his face with care, like he was something precious you were scared of breaking.

"What? You want to get right to fucking me?" you murmured into his ear. He shivered at hearing you curse for the first time, freed from the constraints of class discussions and closer than he ever guessed you'd get to him. "Is that really what you want? Or is it what you think I do? Because if it's alright, I think I want something better. For you."

You pressed a new kiss to his nose, only slightly stronger than the one that had started all this. He held his breath and his untouched, open mouth trembled as you scattered soft introductions of your lips across his forehead, to his temples, over the scar that sliced his cheekbone. Finally inhaling a skittery heave of your shared air as you passed closer to his lips, he forced it back out in frustration when you ducked away to nudge under his jaw instead. Returning your hand to his hair, you grinned, enjoying the spike in his pulse under your thumb and skipping the tip of your tongue lightly over his neck right up to the earlobe. You lifted the choppy ends of his waves away from the dangly silver hoop they hid, tensing the strands just slightly between your fingers in an inability to hide your glee. Something told you this was going to drive him crazy.

Taking a slight detour to suck his pierced lobe between your lips, you responded to Jungkook’s low moan of surprise by wedging your tongue through the first oversized hole and letting your teeth clatter over multiple rings of metal. He was trying so hard to stay pliant under you, but the tease of slight pain in a new and unusual spot made him want your mouth more, anywhere he could get it. No one had ever spent this much time tracing so few inches of skin.

And so many girls had buried his face in their necks, craving evidence of an encounter with the Jeon Jungkook, that a strange kind of empathy caught him off guard when you showed him how good it could feel to receive. You connected your lips to the hollow right under his ear, feeling the tendons stretch as his head lolled away from you. Working him through a cascade of light gasps, you stepped away satisfied once you had sucked a dark bloom to the surface. He watched you leave with his mouth agape and chest heaving, unable to believe you could just walk away with a wave and a "See you in class!"

But you did, and he would.

"Shit!" he swore, a shaky hand darting straight to the spot. Now he had to keep his hair long for at least another two or three days. If he showed up to discussion on Monday and had to watch you admiring your work on his skin, he would probably just die on the spot. And that would not be very Spike Spiegel of him.

next chapter

[emy-loves-you]

Sanders Sides AU-gust Day 16: Treasure Hunters

Patton and Logan are husbands and partners, traveling across the globe in search of hidden treasures. The one expedition that Patton can’t attend, Logan bites off more than he can chew. Patton/Logan POV, Logicality and Prinxiety

Day 15 | Masterlist | Day 17

Patton sighed as his husband ran around the kitchen. “Lo, I can clean up on my own.”

Logan huffed as he finished cleaning up breakfast. “Your metatarsal is fractured, Patton. I do not want you performing any strenuous activities and potentially hurting yourself.” He gestured to Patton’s foot, which was wrapped up in a light blue cast. “Besides, what kind of husband would I be if I couldn’t help my love when he’s injured?”

Patton smiled. “You’d still be my perfect hubby.” He slowly got out of his chair in the dining room, using his crutches to maneuver himself. “If you won’t let me clean up, then I’ll be crocheting in the living room.” He made his way to the living room, his eyes briefly moving towards the different photos and artifacts that lined the walls. Every inch of this room painted a picture of their lives. Patton and Logan Sanders. Archaeologists/Treasure Hunters of 12 years, husbands of 10. Patton sighed dreamily, remembering when they’d met on the outskirts of Turkey. It had been love at first sight (in Patton’s opinion at least). Patton continued to reminisce as he sat on the couch, pulling out a scarf he was making. It was currently early November, and Patton wanted to make scarves and hats for the two of them to wear when it started to snow here in New York.

Eventually, Logan finished cleaning the kitchen and joined Patton in the living room. Patton made his scarf while Logan leaned on his side, reading a book. Patton glanced at the book a bit back a snort. Judging by the images, it seemed to be an instructional book for reading hieroglyphics (in Egyptian of course. Logan was so extra when it came to learning). They spent the next few hours in relative silence, the occasional clink of crochet hooks or the turn of a page lulling them deeper into the peaceful scenario they’ve created.

Eventually, Logan sat his book down and spoke. “I can still cancel my trip.”

Patton shook his head. “You’ve always wanted to go to Egypt, Lo. And who knows when you’ll get another opportunity like this. You’re gonna be the first person to see inside that tomb!”

Logan sighed. “But it won’t be the same without you there beside me.”

Patton chuckled, running his fingers through Logan’s hair. “I’m sure you’ll have fun. And as soon as you get back, we’ll have the rest of the years to ourselves. I’ll even bake you a pie for when you get back!”

Logan winced. “Please don’t. I’ll just be worrying about you getting burnt the entire expedition.”

Patton smiled softly. “Then I’ll make you something that doesn’t require an oven.” He leaned down to kiss Logan’s forehead. “I’ll be fine on my own, I promise.”

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

Patton sighed as he took in the now empty house. The expedition was set to last for three weeks. Three weeks of crocheting and cleaning and not having a worrywart husband breathing down his neck (Patton loved Logan’s protectiveness, but sometimes it was just too much). Patton hummed to himself as he sat down to finish his scarf. He wanted to get all of the scarves and hats done before Logan got back.

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

Logan sighed as he listened to the local’s ramblings. Usually Patton was the one to gather public information while Logan gathered written information, but sadly his love wasn’t here with him. Logan ignored the thoughts and focused on what the man was saying.

Apparently, one of the men had stumbled upon the undiscovered tomb of King Roman, one of the less commonly known Pharaohs. That was because he never took a lover. Well, he never took a female lover. While his twin brother Remus provided heirs and directed the kingdom financially, King Roman was the general of his armies. He was present in nearly every battle alongside Virgilius, his second-in-command. They were suspected to be in a romantic relationship, and it was rumored that after Roman and Virgilius died on the battlefield, Remus preserved both of their bodies in the pyramid. While the textbooks say it’s because Virgilius was Roman’s loyal protector, most people believed it was because of their relationship. It was said that after King Roman was killed on the battlefield, Virgilius slaughtered the opposing army single-handedly before dying. Whether he died from battle wounds or if he took his own life was up to interpretation.

None of the locals wished to enter the pyramid, lest they be cursed. Logan knew the real reason, however. Homosexuality was still illegal in Egypt. They most likely either didn’t wish to sully themselves by entering the resting place of a homosexual ruler, or they were afraid that they would get ‘cursed with homosexuality’ if they trespassed. The amount of aggression towards homosexuality upset Logan greatly, and for the first time on this expedition, he was thankful that Patton was not present. It was upsetting enough to still be using his original surname (he had taken Patton’s last name when they married, but he used ‘Croft’ in all work-related scenarios in case the country they were in was homophobic), but it was always soul-crushing to treat Patton as nothing more than a coworker on these expeditions.

Logan fiddled with the thin chain of his necklace, where his wedding ring sat under his clothes. He was only a few days in, and he was already wishing to see Patton again.

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

Patton took off his wedding ring and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves. Today was cleaning day!

Patton hummed several tunes under his breath as he cleaned the house from top to bottom. Even with a broken foot, he completed each task efficiently and enthusiastically. He cleaned the bathrooms, the kitchen, the bedroom, the guest bedroom, and now he was cleaning the living room. He whistled as he dusted off different artifacts and photo frames. He smiled fondly as he dusted a photo from their wedding day. He let his mind be pulled back to memory land as he cleaned. Everything from that day brought happy tears to his eyes. From the preparations, to Logan’s face as he saw Patton walking down the aisle, even the brief scare when they couldn’t find the rings. Patton felt his eyes water as he blew some dust off of the frame, their wedding vows playing in his head.

‘I will love you, forever and always’

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

Logan felt his eyes water as he blew the dust off of the sarcophagus. There were multiple hieroglyphics and what appeared to be old Latin written on the casing. Logan struggled to read it.

‘...find...afterlife...live again...forever and always’

Logan snapped a few pictures with his camera. Latin was Patton’s area of expertise. Maybe he could decipher it when he got home. Logan examined the sarcophagus. It appeared to be the tomb of Virgilius. Logan opened up the sarcophagus and was unsurprised to find a mummified corpse. What did surprise him was the necklace around the mummy’s neck. Logan readjusted his gloves before carefully removing the necklace. It was a beautiful onyx color with what appeared to be amethyst gemstones. Logan carefully sealed it in a plastic bag before setting it inside of his satchel. Once he discovered nothing else of value in the room, he closed the sarcophagus before making his way to the next room. He left the mummy alone for now; it would most likely be donated to a museum, and he had multiple days to analyze the body before then.

After a few more hours of searching, Logan finally found what he assumed to the sarcophagus of King Roman. The inscription on this tomb was less corroded, and Logan was able to read another part of it.

‘...find...afterlife...blood...awaken...live again...forever and always’

Logan took another photo before opening the sarcophagus. Like Virgilius. Roman’s mummified corpse had a piece of jewelry on it. It was a gold bracelet with ruby gemstones. Logan went to remove the bracelet when it suddenly moved. Logan watched as the bracelet shot up and latched itself onto the sliver of bare skin between Logan’s glove and arm. He went to remove the bracelet and quickly found that he couldn’t. It looked as if it had melded to his skin. Logan turned back to the mummy and screamed.

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

Patton screamed as he smacked the wall with his broom. Spider spider HATE SPIDERS! Patton continued to scream and smack until he was sure that the spider was dead. Even then, Patton couldn’t stop his racing heart. Not for the first time since Logan left, Patton had wished he didn’t tell Logan to go. Patton depended on Logan, just as Logan depended on Patton. They needed each other for physical, mental, and emotional support. And for killing creepy-crawly death dealers.

Patton jumped as he heard his phone ring. He smiled as he read the caller ID: Lolo <3. Patton quickly answered the phone. “Hey Lo, you will not believe what just happened-”

“I’m coming home.”

Patton was shocked at being cut off, then frowned at what Logan said. “Why?” Logan was only 3 days into his expedition. This was probably the first day he’d entered the pyramid. So why was he already leaving?

Logan’s voice was shaky as he answered. “I-I’ll show you when I get home, Pat. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you over the phone.”

Patton snorted. “Lo, I took you to a fairy circle on our anniversary. Try me.”

Logan sighed. “King Roman, the dead Pharoh? He’s not dead anymore.”

[lucarioisinthevoid]

hello good sir (sir being a gender neutral term), i'd like to send some p r o m p t s. so i haven't played ucn in a LONG time, but some ideas off the top of my head: toy freddy (would be funny), funtime foxy (cause they're a bitch), n. fredbear and maybe nightmare (cause they're twisted versions of his b e l o v e d fredbear), and maybe foxy+bonnie (cause it's a bitch). just some ideas! also, being a man of culture, i'd like to request some tortu- jk, jk (i'd say sth funny but character limit).

(I will fight you for this ask. I will come to you home and pick you up and fling your body into space and into literal Among Us. My brain was going a mile a minute trying to gather enough coins to get rid of Funtime Foxy, and keep on top of EVERYTHING ELSE- And yet I was still surprised when I finally got jumpscared. Welp, I couldn’t have predicted it, so it’s kinda fun being able to write this now. Also yes, warning for mild torment! I’m just not good at writing it- Oh, also, here’s the AO3 link to the thing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687695/chapters/67764007 You can read the whole thing there and I update it there as I do here. You can request over there to, but that’s beside the point)

Be on top of his games. Watch his shows. Check in, but only at the right times. Henry grinded his teeth. It was almost like he had a son again- dear god, this truly was hell, wasn’t it? For a moment he had thought the Helpy robot was joking as he elaborated on what the damn plastic piece of shit’s mechanic was- No. No cursing. He shook his head. That was being petty for no reason. He had a mechanic- and it was a stupid one- but that was better than nothing. It was better than being told “you will die” without being able to do anything about it. For a moment he frowned, a though manifesting itself in the back of his mind. … if he would know there was no way to escape the pain, he would grow numb to it. So whoever or whatever set this up seemed to have a keen interest in- The clock chimed, it was time to play. Instantly he pulled up the monitor. He had been gifted the leeway of being allowed to eradicate one of them- and dear god, he would not say no, not if it was the only chance to give a little bit of payback. He checked on Toy Freddy- a good contender to be murdered- and clicked the door of the- vacuum cleaner- dear god, this would make his brain rot- then he moved on to more sensible things, like checking on Foxy, who was thankfully out, then moving over to gathering coins. Laughter from the door. “Mister Miller… look at you. You seem stressed.” “Why yes, I am quite tense.” Without looking up he closed the doors, opening them up right away. “I have to admit to my distain of the character selection that currently is coming after me. They make no sense, you see?” Another, similarly as deep voice sounded, albeit with a brighter tint to it- “… oh, don’t be ashamed of that, Mr. Miller. They have more distain for you than you do for them.” Once more, doors closed, doors open. He didn’t even need to look. “I can assume that, yes, but that is hardly my issue, is it now? My issue is their reality bending and tedious habits.” For this round he would be stuck on the cameras, wouldn’t he? Once more he flipped over to Foxy, gathering coins and being quietly thankful for the fact that he and Bonnie had not switched places yet. He had to get this done in the first time-warped hour and if he didn’t- he wasn’t sure when exactly the clock would move over and he didn’t want to find out. The nightmare duo was chuckling, so he shortly put the monitor down to look inside of Nightmare Fredbear’s red eyes. “… what are you supposed to be?” “You have never truly understood your own creation, did you…? If it lives… it changes…” “The only nightmare I ever created were the suits and-“ He turned to the other side, spotting the more pinkish eyes shining from that frame. “… you. Are you not supposed to be me?” “I think you can answer that yourself.” Shaking his head, Henry dismissed both of them, closing the doors and opening the camera feed, checking once more on Foxy, helping out Toy Freddy and finally snatching up the last few coins he needed- instantly he moved over to the price corner, ordering one of the silver coins- His eyes darted to the clock- Oh god, only a few more moments before the timer skipped- The pink hellfox was peering out of its cove, grinning widely- a grin that instantly was replaced by an agonized and hateful scream as Henry used the coin, allowing himself for a moment to watch the machine literally being disintegrated into clear silver dust. From the side, Nightmare Fredbear chuckled. “… how cruel.” “This is a dog-eat-dog world. You should not try to inflict onto others what you are not willing to go through yourself.” “Oh? Are you ready for what is coming for you then?” Abruptly Henry started laughing, as he once more checked on Foxy, then moved to Toy Freddy. “What? What is coming for me? Being brought back to Fredbear’s, except this time I am immortal, have inhuman strength and can start honing my ability to move whatever I desire with my mind? What a terrible fate you are threatening me with, Nightmare! I am appalled! How dare you gift me with everything I have ever wanted!” One last time he switched back to Foxy, then deactivated the monitors, assuming it was best to be on Foxy’s camera right away, so when he pulled the camera back up- His eyes fell on the little figure of Bonnie that was now on the table. For the love of god, how could he have been that stupid!? Looking up at Nightmare Fredbear’s red eyes, he saw a bit of bemusement in it- that and a deep, underlaying level of pure disgust. “… will you ever learn, Mr. Miller? Will you ever realize that the resistance you have been met with was not from nowhere? Will you learn that you cursed them?” “NONSENSE.” Henry HISSED. “I considered you smart. I was wrong. The only reason the children were struggling against me because I could not yet accommodate them well enough- propaganda against me and my mission was spread. William seemed to have been just fine with his joke of a family that he had gotten himself in a flight of passing fancy. What made him different?!” There was only silence from the outside, as Henry glanced once more at the figure. Still Bonnie and it wouldn’t change. Muttering more so to himself than to the Fredbear, he stressed his point. “Nature has turned on me for taking what I desired, much like the ocean, the skies and the land has turned against humanity at every opportunity. Even in the different religious texts, humanity and to steal and take with violence what it needed to become what it was meant to be. One god banished the species in fear of them becoming immortal, much like the being itself- another wanted to deny us fire as petty retaliation, because fire brings creation- and it had to be taken back by theft.” Not quite, but close enough. He didn’t want to recount the stories. “… if you want to grow, you have to feed, and if you feed, you destroy. And so, destruction brings new creation. We feed off the old gods and create new rules. Nature does not like to be controlled and abused- all it wishes is to slowly burn itself out. Until nothing is left. But we humans preserve- we are a species who is so defenseless, yet have made it this far, by preserving knowledge, by learning early, early and as much as we can- eventually however it will come to a standstill. You can only learn so much with the time given. Until said time become infinite. Some ills of humanity can only be cured by allowing humans to permanently remain and learn. For that we need immortality.” There still was only silence and he sighed- He had wasted too much time. The Bonnie figure was still there, but he might as well get it over with, he wouldn’t get around him disabling the cameras. Quickly he closed the door to the left side where he knew Nightmare Fredbear was waiting, pulling up the cameras, to Bonnie’s aggressive scream- But before he could really boot the thing up, a giant black paw came from above grabbing the little tablet, cracking it. The Amalgamation was towering over him, black fur and metal broken up by the silver shine of its teeth. Baffled for a few seconds, Henry looked at him. “I… did not hear you.” “The others are not your problem anymore, are they now?” With its vile grin it picked Henry up by the head, an incredibly painful experience, playfully throwing him against the wall with full force- a crack was sounded and as Henry tried to stumble back on his feet, he quickly realized he couldn’t- something was damaged, so badly that the pain was too much- His head was still sharp though, the white pain barely being fended off by his mind trying to figure out how this creature could be HERE- It had been HIM, it was HIM, what would make him want to- Blood was dripping from out his mouth, tasting disgustingly mechanical- “… you… you are supposed to be ME-“ Smiling the monstrous bear-esque beast picked him up, causing another wave of incoherent, glowing pain to wash through Henry, his whole chest being just enough to fill the Amalgamation’s hand. “I was you. We have seen all your thoughts, all your ideas, we have shaped, and we have remembered. You are me. And we crave violence, Mister Miller. Your words were pretty to hear, but we do not believe them. We know what we are- a monster who thinks of itself too highly, an animal unable to resist the siren call of violence and blood. Our creation has not made us better than all the monsters we feared becoming. There is only one difference between us… … I am not ashamed of my needs anymore.” With that he started pulling on Henry’s arm, pulling as the delirious man convulsed under him- Ready to take a bite out of it. “But I do love creation too… and I cannot wait to see what we will turn you into. The brain is moldable, Henry. It does fantastical things under pain and pressure…” His other claw was digging into the human’s head. The other was pulling the now separated arm to his maw, biting down with a sickening, wet crunch. Happily he sighed. The few seconds of Henry’s awareness that were left only wondered quietly if his parts being consumed would mean he would never get them back- The Amalgamation seemed to hear the thought, grinning at him with its now stained teeth. “I will vomit you back… to relieve your horror…” … with that Henry faded.

[nekojitachan]

Hmm, got a new story idea the other day (actually, have had a couple in the past couple of weeks, but this one requires world building). I might be playing around with this a little - I never do too close a retelling of canon because... well, I like to shake things up a bit and make them interesting, but it’ll probably start out a little similar to TFC and then the changes will snowball from there.

I think this gives an idea of some of the world building, though.

*******

I Am Fire

******

Nathaniel stood near the old sedan while it burned, while the acrid stench of burnt plastic and rubber didn't quite mask the sickening odor of his mother's body slowly breaking down beneath the flames under his command. For a moment he almost made them burn even hotter, made them reduce her thin, worn body to nothing but ash (like he should, like she'd always told him to do if the worst ever happened... like it had happened) but the thought of losing her so completely made him banish the flames before they finished their job. Some still licked at the metal frame of the car as he reached into its ruined shell to fetch his mother's remains, the heat inconsequential to a Fire as powerful as him (not powerful enough, never powerful enough when it came to his father), to gather her charred remains.

He used a broken piece of metal from the car to help dig a hole in the sand as the waves washed onto the shore, then buried what was left of Mary Jamilyn Wesninski (nee Hartford) in the shallow grave, smoke rising from the remains. Once the sand was hastily smoothed back in place, the cold Pacific water lapping at his heels, Nathaniel used his power to turn it to glass, to seal the unmarked grave and give his mother as peaceful a resting place as possible. He bowed his head for several heartbeats, not so much in memorial as an impromptu breakdown, as despair and bone-deep weariness bore down on him.

Then he forced himself onto his feet and to take a step forward, to take another one and another, to keep moving because that's what his mother had told him to do - to keep running and to never stop. He only paused to gather the backpack he'd assembled from both their supplies before he'd set fire to everything else, which contained what he needed to survive for the foreseeable future (except a phone, which had been reduced to melted parts in the car), should help keep him alive long enough to buy a new ID in Reno. Then he unleashed the flames on the car once more, let them feed until the damn thing would be nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal and walked toward the nearest leyline without another glance.

*******

Andrew hummed in boredom as he rolled the handle of the striker’s racquet (Josten’s) he’d picked up to play with between his hands – bored and hyped-up and oh so done with everything already.

“Put it down before you break it,” Kevin ordered, perched on top of an entertainment center and busy reading through Josten’s stats yet again, as if he hadn’t memorized them in the last few days.

“Oh, what a shame if that happened,” Andrew drawled while he grinned, while he swung the racquet through the air just to annoy the bastard. When Kevin’s green eyes took on a golden cast, his grin widened and ice began to form on the racquet; two could play that game. Mindful of the reason they were in this shithole of a town and their ‘beloved’ coach’s instructions to ‘behave’ while he went off to talk to their quarry, Kevin quickly stifled his power and shook his head.

“Don’t do anything to scare Josten away, Hernandez warned Coach that he’s a bit… squirrely.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Andrew reminded the arrogant bastard as he resumed spinning the glorified stick between his hands. “And so what? Just find another rookie,” he needled with a faint shrug.

As expected, Kevin took the bait. “Another roo- we were lucky to get Josten’s tape, dammit!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “You think we’re going to find another striker who’s a fire elemental, any fire elemental out there at this point who’s unsigned, let alone with half his potential?”

“What potential?”

Kevin shook his head at Andrew’s unimpressed scoff.

“No, it’s there, it is,” he swore. “Hernandez said the Dingoes haven’t gotten this far in years, not until Josten showed up. That he hasn’t seen a Fire with his potential in all his time coaching, even if he’s still rough on the court.” Something hungry flashed across Kevin’s face for a moment as he set the papers aside to rub his scarred left hand. “He’s right, too. The way he plays, the way the team comes together whenever he’s out on court… it’s there, that promise. The Foxes need it, while Coach and I will make him better. You’ll see.”

So boring – Andrew had already heard this over a dozen times before, back when Kevin had argued for Wymack to chose Josten to replace poor, poor Smalls (maybe not so ‘poor’ since she didn’t have to suffer the Foxes now) and then as they flew to shithole Millport, Arizona. He already knew that his life was one big joke, but the past week had been a never-ending punchline of ‘oh wait, let’s really rub it in, shall we?’

Oh well, at least he could sit back and watch Gordon’s reaction when the asshole realized that Wymack had recruited a fire elemental more powerful than the homophobic druggie. The senior should have been replaced ages ago, except Fires weren’t easy to find, so any of real talent were scooped up by the many, many better teams out there.

Which made one wonder, why was such a diamond in the rough like Josten just waiting for Kevin to find him like this?

Just a little suspicious, yes?

Mistrust merrily bubbled along with the drug-fueled euphoria and boredom inside of Andrew’s head, which didn’t help with the whole ‘must not start smashing’ things. Oh, Wymack and Kevin owed him for this, yes they did.

He was swinging closer and closer to the racquet stand when there was the pitter patter of swift feet – was the little squirrel pulling a runner? Oh, clever boy, to want to get as far away from Wymack and his do-gooder self as possible, but Andrew had suffered on this fool’s errand for a reason, so that meant squirrelly-boy (or perhaps ‘rabbit’) would suffer, too.

Now things were getting fun.

Andrew braced himself in front of the nearest exit, the door leading out to the parking lot, with the ‘borrowed’ racquet held in both hands ready to lash out, but he literally felt rabbit-boy near – felt a rush of fire from the panicking kid (rabbit indeed). The tingling sense of pulsing heat laced with a simmering anger/threat made his own water magic rise, made the surrounding chill as it prepared to protect him.

A vague, shimmery shape propelled itself forward, toward the door, only to slid to a halt as fire and water slammed into each other; Andrew lashed out with the racquet but their elements, their magic, created enough of a buffer between them that the end of the stupid stick barely brushed against the kid’s chest.

Huh, maybe Kevin was right about Josten being a powerful Fire.

Andrew wavered on his feet from the backlash of their elements smashing together, somewhat inured to it after a year of collegiate Exy, of dealing with Kevin, of being somewhat prepared for the rabbiting Fire rabbit, while Josten ended up falling down hard onto his ass. He stared up at Andrew with dark eyes wide as his power receded, the shimmering effect around him fading away to reveal the lean, underfed kid with overgrown black hair and baggy, worn clothes and too-attractive features in the one picture which Hernandez had sent.

“Water,” Josten choked out as he gazed up at Andrew, as Andrew felt a traitorous flicker of interest overtake the boredom, both over that too-pretty face and the lingering feeling of intoxicating warmth from Josten’s element.

Uh-oh.

“Goddammit, Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things!” Wymack bellowed as he and Hernandez finally caught up to the little rabbit, his dulcet voice echoing through the lounge as he took in Josten sprawled out on the floor and Andrew leaning against the racquet. “Are you all right, kid?” he asked and held out a hand to help Josten off the floor, which of course was ignored.

“Oh Coach, if he was nice then he wouldn’t be of any use to us.” Andrew ‘grinned’ at Josten, who managed to stand up on his own, his attention focused on Andrew with a wariness which made it clear that he’d an idea of just how powerful Andrew was, even though Andrew had only used a fraction of his talent. Huh, someone wasn’t adding up, not if he sensed Andrew so easily, not if he’d recovered so quickly, not if he made Andrew want to lean forward to soak in that odd, tingling sense of warmth….

“Besides, he looks good as new. Or, well, second-hand new,” Andrew said with an exaggerated grimace as he motioned to the kid’s outfit, as he leaned away instead of closer.

“Fuck off,” Josten muttered as he clutched at the handles of the battered duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. “And what’s with the racquet?” His wary look morphed into a glare after a brief flare of recognition. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“So grouchy,” Andrew complained then once more grinned. “Here you go!” He iced the racquet before he threw it at the kid, and felt a rare spark of amusement over the way that Josten cursed beneath his breath as he fumbled to hold on to the slippery object.

He also noticed how quickly the Fire negated the ice without blasting everyone with steam, which required skill along with power.

“What the hell?” Hernandez demanded as he approached Josten (who skittered out of reach, which was also interesting). “You okay, kid?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said in an attempt to smooth things over as he got between Josten and Andrew in a clear sign for Andrew to back off and stop with the ‘fun’ tricks. “But he’ll behave from now on. So what about it, Neil?” Over on the entertainment center, Kevin, who had been oddly quiet the entire time, leaned forward in interest.

Josten shook his head and once more clutched at his duffel bag (hmm, security blanket or something more?) while he shoved the racquet at Hernandez. “I’m fine. Just let me go,” he insisted as he shook his head again.

“We’re not done.”

“Coach Wymack.” Hernandez seemed rather protective of a certain rabbit – how odd, especially since he’d ratted him out in the first place.

“Give us a second?” Wymack somehow summoned a measure of charm (and a good dose of his earth magic) to put Hernandez at ease (Andrew sensed a weak amount of air magic in the man) which made the Dingoes coach grumble and agree to leave after giving his precious striker one more look and a promise to be back soon.

As soon as he was gone, the rabbit found his voice again (could a powerful Fire be a rabbit? Something to ponder). “I already gave you my answer, I won’t sign with you,” Josten insisted as he gazed at the door as if desperate to go through it, too.

Sighing as if tired already (Andrew knew that he was, and eager to hit up the pathetic minibar in the hotel), Wymack rubbed along the back of his neck "You didn't listen to my whole offer," he said slowly as if in hopes that the words would sink in that time. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you then the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

There was another flare of fire magic as Josten must have finally realized that it wasn’t just the three of them in the room, as his face paled and ugly dark eyes widened yet again while he searched around the room as he stepped away from Wymack (oh, yet another fascinating and suspicious reaction). “You didn’t bring him here.”

"Is that a problem?" Wymack’s earth magic pulsed out in an obvious attempt to calm the panicked kid (to keep them all from being flambéed – well, Andrew could protect himself, and he supposed Kevin).

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion." The kid sounded as if he believed that – and about two seconds away from the flambé thing.

"True, but irrelevant.”

Ah, finally, Number Two had spoken, and as usual, didn’t appear impressed with what he saw. Yet he added his earth magic to Wymack’s, though it didn’t appear to calm down Josten at all.

"What are you doing here?" Josten asked while he continued to edge toward the door, which Andrew moved to block once again.

"Why were you leaving?" Kevin countered as he leaned forward, his attention focused on the Fire with an intensity reserved only for Exy.

Josten didn’t seem to care for that intensity – that or for Kevin. "I asked you first." Oh, wasn’t that mature?

"Coach already answered that question.” Kevin sounded a bit testy over having to point that fact out, while Andrew was almost amused over the exchange – almost. He’d need another dose of his medicinal chains soon, judging from the way his skin itched and stomach churned. "We’re waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

"No.” Both Kevin and Wymack appeared stunned over that flat denial, especially Kevin, Exy’s precious Number Two. "There are a thousand strikers who'd jump at the chance to play with you. Why don't you bother them?" Oh, Andrew might have an iota of respect for the pain in the ass, but he just wanted to go back to the hotel and start drinking instead of suffer through this scintillating wordplay.

“None of them are fire elementals,” Wymack said as he folded his tattooed arms over his chest. “We want you.”

"I won't play with Kevin,” Josten declared as he once more eyed the door. “And you already have a Fire.”

"He’s not good enough, and you will," Kevin shot back without pause, which earned him a brief glare from Wymack.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're not leaving here until you say yes,” Wymack warned Josten once he finished giving Kevin a dirty look for insulting Gordon. “Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right." The kid didn’t look happy about that.

Kevin opened his mouth again, definitely to argue more with the kid, most likely to insult him a good bit (the true Kevin Day way), maybe, just maybe to mention that the rookie striker did have some potential beneath the roughness, had one hell of a drive while out on the court (there was a reason for them to come out after him, after all, and not just because of his element), but Andrew was tired and bored and needed to get away from a certain too-attractive Fire enigma right then.

“Coach is right, he’s not going to let this go, so why don’t you, someone who supposedly plays as if he has everything to lose, save us all a lot of time and jump on the chance to get out of this boring hellhole, hmm?” Agree to sign, and then Andrew could spend the summer figuring out just what Josten was hiding, why a Fire with so much potential was hiding in Millport, of all places, and appeared freaked out by Kevin.

Was this a Moriyama trick? Planted bait?

“But… but I’m not good enough,” the kid tried to lie even as his distasteful magic kept making Andrew’s insides tingle in a disturbing counterpart to the damn drug’s withdrawal.

Kevin jumped onto his feet but one look from Andrew kept him from approaching Josten. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. Give us some time to train you and your talent, and you will get there.”

When Josten stopped eyeing the door to focus on him, Wymack piled it on as well. "It actually works in our favor that you're all the way out here," he argued. "No one outside of our team and school board even knows we're here. We don't want your face all over the news this summer. We've got too much to deal with right now and we don't want to drag you, some unknown Fire, into the mess until you're safe and settled at campus. There's a confidentiality clause in your contract, says you can't tell anyone you're ours until the season starts in August."

Josten was quiet for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped forward, a sign that his defenses were weakening. "It's not a good idea,” he announced after he looked away from Kevin.

"Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed," Wymack said while Kevin grinned in victory. "Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?" Just in case, Wymack ‘pushed’ a little with his talent, gave off soothing waves as if to calm Josten.

The kid was quiet for a few more seconds before he mumbled some bullshit about needing his mother’s permission, even though Hernandez had warned Wymack out how Josten’s parents were never around and might be abusing the striker. When he kept going on about them, Wymack glanced over at Andrew, who gave a quick shake of his head.

The kid was lying – he was interested in the contract, but it was pure bullshit about him needing his parents’ permission, from what Andrew’s magic could sense.

Wymack’s lips thinned before he told Andrew and Kevin to go wait in Hernandez’s SUV, which would take them back to the hotel. Kevin wasn’t happy about the command, but as (almost) always, obeyed their benevolent tyrant which meant that Andrew followed.

“Is he going to sign?” Kevin asked once they were outside.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and ‘thought’ about it for a moment; water elementals weren’t exactly precogs (or the majority of them weren’t), at least not beyond a vague impression of the future and people. His ability lay in knowing if someone was telling him the truth or not, if they were ‘safe’ or not – and the impression he got from one Neil Josten?

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR…..

Yet he’d felt something toward the end there which led him to believe that the young man would show up at PSU, after all.

Now that he thought about it… it was probably an impending sense of doom.

“He’ll sign,” Andrew sighed as he went to the back door of the SUV to fetch the bottle of water he’d left with his backpack while motioning for Kevin to throw him his bottle of pills, all the while ignoring Hernandez. Josten would show up just to annoy the fuck out of him, he was certain.

He used his talent to chill the water, which was warm from sitting in the vehicle for the past half an hour, then forced himself to take the pill, biological clock all fucked up (ha, more than just that) because of the time difference. After a few minutes and a cigarette, Josten finally left the building with Wymack and Hernandez at his heels, and when Josten made to walk past the SUV, Andrew opened the back door with a wide grin and a slight, mocking bow. "Too good to play with us, too good to ride with us?"

The Fire gave him a cool look (ha!) before breaking into a run; Andrew had to admit he made just as pretty a picture fading off into the distance with that lean form and long legs. Hmm, as much as Exy annoyed Andrew most days, he had to appreciate its effects on the human physique.

“Well?” Kevin snapped at Wymack once they were in the SUV, in what probably was meant to be a demanding tone but contained too much anxiety, considering that they had to sign a new striker or else.

Wymack picked up on it, too, considering how he pushed more of the ‘soothing’ bullshit while he shook out a cigarette. “He’ll be spending the summer with us, as soon as he graduates.” He twisted around in the front passenger seat to glare at Andrew. “No rough shit with the new kid, do you hear me?” Next to him, Hernandez radiated displeasure while he drove. “He’s a Fox now.”

Mindful of the non-Fox in the car, Andrew merely bared his teeth and gave his coach a two-fingered salute before he slumped back into the seat as the drug began to take effect. He hummed a little and closed his eyes while he thought about the alcohol awaiting him in his hotel room, and tuned out Kevin and Wymack arguing about the best way to go about training a rookie Fire.

Wymack could bitch and moan all he liked, but the more Andrew reflected back on his encounter with Neil Josten… oh yes, too many pieces which didn’t fit together. Someone was a too-attractive, too-powerful liar, which meant that Andrew had a new toy to play with that summer. A toy he would poke and prod and twist about until either all the pieces fit, or it was broken badly enough that any danger to him and his was all gone.

As he thought about that sharp-boned face and addicting tingle of magic… he hoped it was the latter.

*******

[ckret2]

Toxic Genes

SPOILERS for Detective Pikachu below!! Even the summary has spoilers, avert thine eyes.

Fandom: Pokémon, Detective Pikachu movie Characters: Harry Goodman, Mewtwo, and Detective Pikachu Words: 5000 Summary: Three weeks after regaining his body, Harry and Pikachu come home to find Mewtwo crouched under a furniture fort in a way that reminds Harry far too much of how Tim used to hide when he was a scared child. Harry crawls in to see what’s wrong. They talk about nature and nurture, about murder, about friendship, about guilt, about hugs—and make the first steps toward processing the nightmare they went through. Notes: Vaguely a sequel to “Medical Research”, which is available on my ao3 linked in my description or on my blog in the #my writing tag, and I’d link it here except if I included a link then tumblr would hide this post from search results. If you don’t want to read "Medical Research”, all you need to know is that pre-movie Harry asked Mewtwo to voluntarily come to PCL, because he’d been told that PCL was doing totally harmless medical research.

"What the...?"

Harry's gaze was first caught by the streetlight coming through his inexplicably broken window blinds; then by the shattered glass beneath the window; and then, as his gaze moved across the floor, by upturned books and papers, smashed mugs, a broken TV, and half his furniture—desk, upturned couch, coffee table, and a bookcase from his bedroom—piled haphazardly in one corner.

"Oh, god." Who? He'd investigated a couple of criminal organizations over the last few years, he'd helped a thug with a Geodude get arrested only a couple of days before he'd been Pikafied— "Tim? Tim!" Pikachu jumped off his shoulder and darted for the pile of furniture while Harry rushed to the door to Tim's room. The bed frame was overturned and dragged halfway to the door, the mattress was missing—

"He is not home."

Mewtwo's appearance always came with what felt like an atmospheric change inside Harry's head, like a low pressure front heralding a coming storm. Its voice was a rumble of thunder: booming, inescapable, everywhere. Harry could clearly feel Mewtwo's pressure on his mind now; had he been too distracted when he came in to notice it sooner? "Mewtwo? Where are..."

Pikachu squeaked to get Harry's attention. He turned back to the living room just in time to see Pikachu's crooked tail disappear under the furniture pile.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he muttered.

Harry knelt in front of his desk. (Hoo boy, his old knee injury did not like that; maybe Mewtwo really did change atmospheric pressure wherever it went.) He bent down, peering under the desk, deeper into the furniture pile—

And there, in the dark, was Mewtwo. Sheltered beneath a fort made of upturned furniture, the couch and bookcase propped precariously over its head, sitting in a nest made with Tim's mattress and the couch cushions, huddled with arms and legs crossed in a way disturbingly reminiscent of how Harry had seen it curled up while in containment at PCL.

"Uhh... hi?"

"Hello."

Harry tried to shuffle on all four under the desk. "What's—ow." His back had banged into the bottom of the desk. He dropped down to army crawl in instead. "What's up?" He stopped when his forearms bumped into Tim's mattress and looked up at Mewtwo.

Mewtwo looked down on Harry like an alien surveying an Earthling for the first time, with vast violet eyes that seemingly held all the vast space and potential of a distant star-birthing nebula. It was humbling and terrifying, the profoundly powerful mind that could be glimpsed through those eyes.

And with that unearthly mind shining through its massive eyes, Mewtwo gazed down upon Harry—and with a voice like the thunderous warning of an inexorably advancing storm, it spoke—

"I wanted company," it mumbled.

"Oh," Harry said. "Under—under my furniture?"

Mewtwo adverted its gaze, like any embarrassed human would. "I—wanted a cave," it said. "But not to be alone in one."

"Oh," Harry said again. "Got it."

Pikachu had already climbed into Mewtwo's lap and settled there, nuzzling its crossed arms.

"I apologize for the mess," Mewtwo said. "I did not intend..." It started to trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished; but before it could truly leave the thought behind, it finished, "... to turn your home upside-down." It hadn't needed to finish the thought. Maybe, Harry speculated, a telepathically-transmitted thought came all in a package, and you couldn't just... stop one in the middle? That made sense to Harry, at least.

"Ahhh, this place has looked worse," Harry said, although it wasn't really true. He'd had a hell of a time getting his files reorganized after he got his memories—and his body—back; but he hadn't needed to worry about straightening out pieces of furniture that were precariously propping each other upright. But he'd worry about that later. He wasn't about to scold the most powerful Pokémon on the planet for making a mess.

Especially since, Harry figured, right now, Mewtwo probably needed its "cave" more than Harry needed a neat apartment. Harry wasn't as good at reading Mewtwo's body language as Pokémon he was more familiar with, like Pikachu or Ludicolo. But from what little Mewtwo had said so far, and from what Harry could see in the dark of its eyes, curled shoulders, and drooping tail, Harry got the impression that it was tired. Tired, and more than a little shellshocked.

When Tim had been four or five, he'd gotten a cheap blue toy tent, kept up with plastic white rods, with a big swirly Polywag face on the side. They'd set it up in a corner of the dining room for him. He'd loved to play in the tent. But when he'd started school, or when a babysitter was coming over, the tent gained a new purpose: it was a hiding place, where more mornings than not he'd run to hide when his parents looked for him to get dressed for school, or when the doorbell rang indicating the babysitter's arrival.

The phase hadn't lasted long. He soon got to know the kids and had fun at school. He always remained suspicious and distrustful of his babysitters, but when his grandma had retired and taken over babysitting duties he'd happily latched on to her. He outgrew the tent.

But Harry still remembered when his little boy had used it—how he'd curled up under the tent, crying tears of anger and fear, terrified to be taken to a strange place or left with a strange person.

Mewtwo was calm, quiet, subdued—almost abashed at its own behavior—but Harry was reminded so much of Tim in his Poliwag tent.

So he said what he'd always said when he found Tim hiding: "Do you wanna hang out?"

Mewtwo hesitated. "Yes."

Climbing into Tim's child-sized tent had been hard enough, and that had been when Harry was fifteen years younger. The furniture cave was a little roomier, but the underside of his tilted bookcase was a lot less forgiving than a vinyl tent when he bonked his head on it. Mewtwo hovered a few inches to the side to give him more space, tilting its head under the slope of the upturned couch, and Harry eventually managed to squeeze into the space beside it, turn around, and sit. At this close range, he was uncomfortably aware of Mewtwo's scent, which was something between "urban alley overrun with wild Meowth" and "Machoke that missed a shower after a good work out." He tried to breathe shallow breaths and told himself he would get used to it. He'd gotten used to a Pikachu in the apartment. Granted, Pikachu wasn't nearly seven feet tall and taking up half the space in a poorly-ventilated furniture fort.

Now that he was properly situated, he moved on to the second question he'd asked whenever he'd been permitted to enter Tim's tent: "You wanna talk?"

Tim had usually shaken his head and hid his tearful face in his crossed arms. So he wasn't surprised when Mewtwo replied, "I do not know that there is anything for us to discuss."

It was wrong, of course.

They could talk about Howard Clifford's pending trial, and whether or not Mewtwo was willing to appear as a witness. It was rare for Pokémon to provide testimony in trials, but it did happen, more frequently when the Pokémon was a telepath that could directly speak for itself, or when the Pokémon didn't have a trainer or partner who was involved in the trial and so couldn't be suspected of having been coached in its answers by a human—both of which circumstances applied to Mewtwo. But Mewtwo might not want to go to the trial, where it would be the center of astronomical attention and possibly a target. Having suddenly burst out of the tabloid pages into the streets of Ryme City, already tourists, scientists, and collectors were flocking to the city with hopes of catching a glimpse—or more—of the hitherto-unproven Manmade Miracle, The World's Only Clone Of The Mythical Mew, The Most Powerful Pokémon In The World.

Or they could talk about where Mewtwo was going to go now. Did it want to go back to Kanto, where Harry had found it and persuaded it to come to PCL? If so, did it want to fly all the way back itself, or would it be willing to ride? Harry would be happy to pay for whatever means of transportation Mewtwo was happiest taking—hell, Harry would buy a used car and drive it all the way back to Kanto himself, it sounded like a great road trip anyway—if Mewtwo even suggested that it was nervous about traveling, visible and exposed, all by itself, all the way home. It would be a valid fear, now that it had made international news. Or did it not want to go to Kanto? Did it plan to hang around a while longer? Or maybe go traveling, see some other regions, perhaps find somewhere new to live?

Or they could talk about the phantom pains Harry still had. They'd improved steadily during his first few days back in his own body, but the recovery had hit a plateau, and he felt like he'd been basically the same for the past couple of weeks. Even though Mewtwo had restored his body in perfect health—even reducing a few (but not all) old aches and pains he'd picked up in the course of his detective work—at times he still faintly felt the burns, the injuries, the broken bones, that he'd had when he'd dissolved into Pikachu. Like a second body, ghostly, superimposed over his own, still carrying his fatal wounds. Would these psychic hurts fade over time? Or otherwise heal? Was there something Mewtwo could do about them? Not that Harry wasn't grateful beyond words for everything Mewtwo had already done to save him; but it was exhausting to keep waking up feeling fire on his back and broken glass under his cheek and hands, to realize that the fire was his comforter and the glass was his mattress.

Or they could talk about what plans Mewtwo had now to protect itself. Early on, after Mewtwo had come to PCL but before they scientists had discovered the treasures hiding in its genes and demoted it from "volunteer research participant/consulting geneticist" to "harvestable cache of R," it had mentioned—and downplayed—its concerns about the organized crime syndicate that had pursued it before discovering its new location. Surely that fear had been multiplied tenfold, now that every eye in the world was peeled for a sign of Mewtwo. Anybody who spotted it would know what it was; any information about its location would spread much faster and farther without being dismissed as a hoax or urban legend. Was it going to withdraw from civilization completely again, find another cave or a deep jungle to hide in? Harry had been approached by an agent of the International Police a few days after the whole incident, interviewed, given a card in case he thought of or found any information to share with her, and told he might be contacted again later for more details. He could pass on Anabel's contact info to Mewtwo. She'd said she had experience with incredibly powerful and nearly unknown Pokémon, and that where Mewtwo was concerned, her top priority, above all else, was to ensure that it was safe and not about to end up in another lab. Harry felt like they could trust her; and if Mewtwo really did fear some crime syndicate coming after it, it could find few better allies and defenders than the International Police.

Or they could talk about whatever internal turmoil had driven Mewtwo to break into Harry's apartment, to trash the place in its frantic efforts to make a safe "cave," and to huddle there all alone for however long it took Harry and Pikachu to get home.

But Mewtwo said there was nothing to discuss.

So Harry said, "Okay. We can just sit for a while. How's that?"

"Very well."

And so they sat. Harry doubted the silence would last long. It rarely had with Tim.

Pikachu had been looking back and forth between them as they spoke, but now that things were settled, he returned to nuzzling. In the dark under the furniture, Harry could see tiny sparks where he rubbed his cheeks against Mewtwo's arm; and then faint spectral psychic light rippling through Pikachu's fur. Was Mewtwo petting Pikachu telekinetically? Pikachu started making that faint, high pitched, whispery "piiiii~" he always made when Harry found just the right spot to scratch under his chin, so apparently so. Wow. That was a new one.

Mewtwo held out longer than five-year-old Tim ever had. But eventually, it said, as quietly as a fleeting reminder of a subconscious memory, "My genes are toxic."

It was so quiet that it took Harry a moment to recognize the absurd statement as a rumble of thunder rather than some strange flicker of his own brain. "What?"

"The R," Mewtwo said. "It was derived from one of my own genes. Did the doctor tell you what she named the gene?"

"The doctor" always meant "Dr. Ann Laurent." Harry found that Mewtwo had difficulty telepathically conveying human names if they weren't also words with definitions. It had called him "Hairy"—which sounded the same as "Harry," but he could feel the difference in the way Mewtwo thought the word—until he'd persuaded it to stick to "Good Man" or "detective" instead. "Ann" or "Laurent" were far beyond its communicative capabilities.

"No, she didn't say."

"The Berserk Gene," Mewtwo said morosely. "It makes Pokémon vastly more powerful, but—confuses them. It makes them lose their minds with fury."

Harry nodded. He knew all that, of course—far too well. He and Pikachu had seen R at work in the streets, and they'd tracked it back to the source. His stomach had filled with lead every time they'd uncovered another clue suggesting the drug came from PCL, where he'd thought he'd left Mewtwo to safely work on developing medicine. But if Mewtwo felt the need to re-explain all that, even though it knew Harry knew—

"And this gene is inside me. This gene, that makes Pokémon powerful, but dangerous. And I, the carrier of the gene, the most powerful Pokémon..." Mewtwo could have trailed off there; but it again went on anyway, shame and regret tinging its thoughts: "I have been very dangerous." During the car wreck, Harry's nose had been clogged and singed by hot ashes, and he'd felt them coat the back of his tongue; carried on Mewtwo's thoughts, he tasted ashes now, but he didn't think Mewtwo was remembering the wreck. "After everything—is that, then, my nature? Is that what is foundational to me? To what I am? Danger, and an inborn incapacity to control my own anger?"

"No!" Harry said immediately. "No, no, that can't be— Look, you saved my life, didn't you? And the whole city. All while not destroying PCL in a fit of fury, or—or snapping Howard's neck." Harry had called him "Howard" the whole time he'd been working for him, back when Howard had been claiming that his work at PCL with Mewtwo would be used to create medicine for Pokémon and humans based on Mew's genes; now, after everything, the name felt wrong coming out of Harry's mouth. It sounded too familiar.

Even now, Harry still wondered if Howard Clifford had been lying, if he'd always planned to use Mewtwo to forcibly fuse people and Pokémon together; or if at one point he really had been planning to make medicine, and only zealously seized upon his new plan when the lab accidentally stumbled upon R and started working out what it and Mewtwo's powers were capable of.

"There's a whole lot of people you have some really good reasons to be furious at—even me, I'm the one who got you into this mess—but you never lashed out. You didn't punish—you saved. That's your nature."

"No, that's my nurture," Mewtwo said. "My nature is—destruction. My first conscious act was a massacre." It flinched, tail twisting and thumping against the wall, and it jerked its head to look away from Harry again, as though it hadn't meant to spill that revelation out. Pikachu hopped back at the suddenness of Mewtwo's motion, landing on the mattress in front of its crossed ankles.

And Harry was suddenly aware, once again, of Mewtwo's scent, of the weight of a thunderstorm pressing down on his mind, of the way the tilting furniture seemed to trap them together, of how thickly Mewtwo's presence filled the air surrounding Harry.

Mewtwo had killed people.

Harry swallowed hard; and asked, with a twitchy crooked smile, like he was trying to make it a joke: "Well—well, did—they deserve it?"

Mewtwo still didn't look at him. That was answer enough. But still Mewtwo replied: "No."

Harry tried to process this. He tried to lean back a little, to get some space to think; his head thunked against the bookcase again. "Ow."

Mewtwo flinched again, then shifted, and the furniture shifted with it. "I shouldn't have intruded."

And once again Mewtwo wasn't a killer but a self-conscious child. "No, no wait, hold on—" Harry automatically reached out and grabbed its arm. Mewtwo went still, and so did the furniture. "Hey, you came here because you needed company, right? What kind of friend would I be if I turned you out just like that?" ... Were they friends?

"Are we friends?" Somehow, when Mewtwo asked the question, it came across like a Pokémon one fifth its height.

Which sealed the deal for Harry. "If we weren't, we are now. How's that sound?"

"Even though I've killed humans?"

"What's a couple of murders between friends?" Harry asked, unconvincingly. "Hey. I'm a detective. I've worked with the police more times than I can count. You're far from the first murderer I've met."

Although it was the most terrifying murderer he'd met. And honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to get over that knowledge.

Mewtwo didn't leave, but it did shrink back from Harry's touch, pulling its arms and legs in closer to its body. Pikachu scooched closer to it, but didn't try to get on its lap again. Harry wondered if Mewtwo could feel his doubts.

"Okay—it's scary," he admitted. "You said you killed a bunch of people who didn't deserve it, that's scary. But you know what's scarier? The killers who say their victims did deserve it. That's—I don't know if it's possible for people or Pokémon to be 'dangerous' in their very nature. I honestly feel like it isn't possible, personally—no matter what genes you happen to have. But, if it is possible to have a dangerous nature—I think the only people with that nature are the ones who'd kill someone else, and then, looking back on it years later, say that they were asking for it. And that's not you. Right?"

Mewtwo lowered its gaze, thinking that over. Pikachu tentatively climbed back into its lap.

"Perhaps," it said grudgingly. Then straightened its back and snarled silently. "This is foolish. I decided years ago that I was not going to let who I was be dictated by how I was created—or what I was created to be. That what I am is determined by what I choose to do, and nothing else."

"Yeah!" Harry nodded encouragingly. "Exactly! That's the exact right attitude."

"But I had hoped that, for once, I could—find something in my nature to be proud of," Mewtwo said. There was an edge of desperation, of grief in its voice. "I wanted to—be something inherently good. The source of medicine. Not merely something inherently bad endlessly striving to try to become good. I thought I could be different. Even after they found the Berserk Gene, I thought—if I stayed long enough, if they kept looking, and found something else... they might find... it."

Mewtwo sounded unsure what "it" was supposed to be. Like it had no idea what, exactly, it had been hoping for.

"I don't know," it said. "I don't know. I wanted something good to come from me. Instead—I—permitted atrocities. Who knows how much R is still out there? Everything that has happened to Rhyme City is my fault."

Harry sat up straighter. (And, for the third time, bumped the sore spot on his head against the bookcase. Ow.) He'd had no idea Mewtwo blamed itself. He'd thought, if anything, Mewtwo would blame him.

(Harry elected not to explain that "Ryme City" didn't have an H, he knew it didn't make a difference to Mewtwo.)

"Hey," he said softly. "You didn't know. How could you have? You were trapped in there, remember? If you'd been able to get out of that tank, you would have."

"But I wasn't contained at the start," it said. "I had a choice. I could have chosen to leave at any time after they discovered what the Berserk Gene did. But I stayed, even while they were experimenting with what would become R, and I saw them losing interest in other avenues of research—because I thought I could make up for it. Until they sealed me up for good." Its tiny nostrils flared. (Harry found itself wondering whether Mewtwo could adequately breathe, seven-ish feet tall with those little holes. Was it getting enough oxygen?)  "I'm not naïve around humans. I should have known better. I allowed myself to be deluded by hope." In Mewtwo's venomous mental voice, "hope" came out like a dirty four-letter word.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. It felt cruel to try to tell Mewtwo it shouldn't have worried so much about proving its DNA was "good" when its actions were what mattered, when Mewtwo itself had clearly already learned that lesson and was disgusted with itself for forgetting it; it felt disingenuous to try to reassure Mewtwo that it was indeed a good person regardless of what weird side effects one or two of its genes held when, suddenly, Harry himself wasn't entirely confident he thought Mewtwo was good after learning just a little bit more about its past; and so he said the only other thing left he could think of to say, the only thing that made sense and that he felt was true.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Everything they did to you, everything they made you feel about yourself—it's my fault. You never would have gone to PCL if I hadn't tracked you down and talked up all the great research they were doing. Whatever you blame yourself for—I don't blame you. I've never blamed you. The experiments they did on you, the R, the—the weird Poké-fusions—all of it, every bit, was my fault."

He paused.

"Okay, that's—that's not true, it's Howard Clifford's fault, and I can't wait to see his trial, but—that's not the point! I was the middle-man! I let you fool yourself into thinking that PCL was gonna do great things by playing around with your genetics, because—because I thought they were, too. I fooled myself. I—I really, really wanted to be doing something good."

He'd wanted, so much, to think he was doing something right with his life. He hadn't been able to somehow miraculously save his wife from a slow, declining death. He hadn't been there for his son when he'd needed a dad—not when he was grieving, not when he was struggling through puberty, not when he was trying to figure out how to be an adult. Even as a detective, he felt like half of his jobs were jealous spouses asking him to follow around their partners and see what secrets they were keeping—that wasn't fighting crime or helping people, it was just paid stalking.

And then Howard Clifford had asked him if he wanted to do something revolutionary for both human- and Pokémon-kind.

And Harry had gone and proudly asked Mewtwo the same question.

"You know—murdering aside," Harry said, "from what I've seen, I think, overall, you've been a much better person than me."

Mewtwo tilted its head, considering that.

"If you consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you brought me to PCL," it said, "then you must also consider yourself responsible for everything I did because you rescued me. I could not have saved myself, much less Rhyme City, if not for you."

"Well," he said grudgingly. "When you put it that way." Now he was the one avoiding eye contact. He could feel Mewtwo's gaze on the side of his head.

"You find that difficult to accept."

"Well, I mean—I guess."

"Feeling guilt is easier than feeling anything else. If multiple emotions are in competition, guilt wins." Mewtwo spoke with the authority of someone who had decades of experience and careful study to draw upon. "Is that true for humans, too?"

A lump formed in Harry's throat.

Howard Clifford had said Mewtwo had been made about twenty years ago—it might be younger than Tim, even if only by a few months.

Harry thought again to Tim crying in a tent by himself because he was scared to go to school, and tried to imagine someone younger than that being a murderer.

Surely, Mewtwo hadn't been responsible. How could it have been? It might have been its fault, but that didn't mean it was responsible.

Harry said, "Do you do hugs?"

"What?"

"Is that—is that a thing that Mewtwo do? Or that Mew do? I don't know where that behavioral instinct would come from. You, do you do hugs?"

"I—don't know," Mewtwo said. "Nobody has ever tried to hug me before."

"Oh, that's heartbreaking."

"I have been cuddled," Mewtwo offered. And dropped its gaze demonstratively to Pikachu, who was still snuggled up in its lap.

"Yeah? Cuddles are good, then?"

"I suppose."

"Great, then we're trying out hugs. C'mere. If anyone needs a hug, you do." He scooted over, looked Mewtwo up and down, tried to figure out the least awkward way to manage this—after a pause, Mewtwo helpfully leaned a few inches away from the couch—and at last, he slid one arm around Mewtwo's upper back, and another just below its crossed arms, so he wouldn't pin its arms in place. He'd pet a hairless Delcatty once. The texture wasn't quite the same, but it was close. "There. Good?"

For a moment, Mewtwo tensed; and then after another moment, it started to relax. It didn't uncross its arms, but Harry did feel a very light telepathic pressure around his torso, which he figured was probably about the same as getting hugged back. It was honestly a little disconcerting, but not bad for a first effort. "Thank you."

"Listen," Harry said. "You've had an incredibly rough time lately. And—throughout life in general, from what little I know about your whole mysterious history, but—especially lately. And I get that you're an independent Pokémon, you don't wanna be tied down by a trainer, that's fine, but—just because you're a loner doesn't mean you have to be alone, you know? You've got friends here—me, and Pikachu—"

"Piiika!"

"—and Tim too, I know he's grateful for all you've done to help us. If you ever need something—company, a safe haven, anything—you're always welcome to do just what you did tonight, and come right back here. I'll leave a window unlatched for you, okay?"

"You would let me take refuge here?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Mewtwo looked at Harry, then at Pikachu, then at Harry again; then finally looked away, and repeated, "Thank you." The words hung heavy with a multitude of conflicted emotions. Harry hazarded a guess that this was what Mewtwo being choked up sounded like.

"Any time."

After a moment, Mewtwo said, "I should tell you—because of the Berserk Gene, I am literally toxic."

"Yeah. That's the first thing you mentioned. It's all right. It doesn't define you. And hey, maybe it isn't even active in you? I mean, I've got the genes for my dad's blue eyes, but they don't show up in—"

"No. I mean I am toxic. At the lab they found a pheromone in my perspiration caused by the Berserk Gene. I sweat diluted R."

Harry jerked his arms off Mewtwo. After a moment, he scooped up Pikachu too. Pikachu squealed in surprise. "Thanks for the head's up."

"I should have mentioned it sooner."

"We'll do hugs with blankets next time, okay?" He wagged a finger at Pikachu. "And you're getting a bath." Pikachu whined.

He could see Mewtwo curling in on itself again. "Hey, c'mon. Don't be like that." He figured if he was mildly infected, it wasn't going to get any worse if he put a reassuring hand on Mewtwo's shoulder. "Vaguely poisonous sweat isn't a death sentence. It's—sure, it's a challenge, but—" Everything about Mewtwo's life seemed like a challenge. Who did it torque off in a past life to end up with such a bad hand in this one? "But now you know about it, and you can adjust. Right? And you've still got friends here."

Mewtwo didn't reply, apparently sunken into its own thoughts again. It was a melancholy thing, wasn't it? 

Well. It had a lot to process. Harry didn't blame it if it had to spend a lot of time just trying to think things through.

They all had a lot to process. Mewtwo, Harry, Tim, Pikachu—the whole city... They'd hardly even started.

Harry was exhausted.

Mewtwo looked exhausted.

"Stay the night," he said. "You can sleep in here. And you should have something to eat. I have poffins, got any flavor preferences?"

"Grepa and occa berries make me sick."

"I'll check the ingredients." He set Pikachu down to let him exit first, and then awkwardly crawled out after him.

As he walked to the kitchen, he pulled out his phone to text Tim a warning about the state of the apartment. Tim could sleep on Harry's bed. Harry was used to roughing it.

He wondered if there was a place nearby where he could buy a small tent to set up indoors.

Comments/reblogs are welcome! If you want to leave a tip or like the fic on AO3, the links are in my description!

[particularnervous]

Welcome Home

summary: Shawn and Ella have been dating for a few months and he comes home after being away for a bit 

a/n: This is a continuation of Crowded! To read part one, click here 

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Ella cursed as she almost dropped the eggs she was carrying, arms full as she tried to open the condo door. She had forgotten a bag when she went to the store, and in an attempt to do the right thing had declined a plastic bag and opted to carry her groceries a block to Shawn’s condo. It didn’t seem that far in distance, but with about a dozen things cradled in her arms, it was definitely an adventure. Ella was aggravated for many reasons though, not just the pile of food she seemed to be dropping. She was attempting to do something nice for her boyfriend who had been out of town on a small two-week promo trip in New York and LA for his newest song. She had Brian expedite ship her his key to the apartment and decided to bake Shawn homemade cookies for when he got back. His mom had been there an hour before to drop off soup and had texted Ella that she had left a cookie sheet and parchment paper. As she made more and more steps in this plan, however, Ella felt extremely stupid. What is Shawn didn’t want to see her right away? He probably just wanted to shower, change, and chill before their plans later in the evening. He was due home at 6:30 and they had planned that he would be over to hers around 9:00.

“I wish I could just fly the plane right to your house. Parachute out of it and be at your front door. I miss you”

That’s the text Ella had received a few days prior, to which she had replied that she’s working on a teleportation device.

Shawn: I’ll be over around 9:00 on Sunday? We can watch a movie or just sleep

Ella: Sleep sounds good, I know you’ll need it. Can’t wait to hear all your travel shenanigans though

Shawn: Can’t wait to tell you them. It’ll be late when I finish the show tonight, will you be up?

Ella: It’s live, I’ll be watching on the corner of my seat silly

Shawn: I’ll call you on my way back to the hotel then. Talk soon, sweetheart.

Now, around 5:00 on Sunday, Ella was second guessing their entire conversation. On the phone that night he had gotten slightly emotional, the lack of sleep and home-sickness catching up with him. Ella had tried her best to console him, her heart aching from not being with him. He had told her probably one million times that night, and since, that he couldn’t wait to see her. But now, as there were only hours until he was home, she wondered if he wasn’t feeling that way anymore. Maybe it would be like when you black out at a club and do some dumb shit and wake up the next morning hungover and guilty wishing you hadn’t done any of it. Not to mention, they had only been dating for close to three months and she had basically broken into his condo without his knowledge.

Ella went about her plans, though, and when the cookies were finished and cooling on a plate she sat back and texted Shawn. She saw she had a few messages from him saying that he had landed and was almost home. She replied, and opened her twitter to look at pictures of Shawn with fans at the airport. Before Shawn, she had followed a few stan accounts, but ever since pictures of them kissing at the club leaked, their entire relationship had been fairly public. It had taken a bit to get used to the hate in the beginning, but she usually stuck to twitter where things were usually nice and mild, and made her Instagram private. She loved interacting with fans now, it made them happy and Shawn loved it. “My favourite people talking”, he would say, “I should bring you on tour with me, they’d want to see you more than me.” She would laugh, but truthfully as much as his fans liked her, she was in awe of the way they cared for her boyfriend. For some, it may be annoying to see girls and guys fawning over your partner, but for Ella it filled her with pride. He was the greatest guy, and she was so happy that everyone saw that. Plus, the stuff that they would say about him physically made her laugh. It wasn’t uncommon for her to reply to a tweet about how hot he was with a witty remark about how she doesn’t know how to control herself around him. Seeing him with fans at his hometown airport, though, brought her another level of happiness. He looked so happy and relieved with his arms around the people in the pictures. She grinned when she saw a tweet with a video of him, the caption ‘oh my god, I love them so much’. She opened it and her heart squeezed listening to him. A fan had asked if he was going home to Ella, and he had replied “I’m seeing her later tonight, I can’t wait to hug her”. Her nerves calmed a bit and she continued to scroll, saving a couple pictures of just him.

Shawn: Just getting home, I’ll text when I’m on my way xo

Ella’s heart started to beat faster as she heard the lock click and the door swing open. Shawn walked in, and it took him a second before he noticed her. He messed with the key, grumbling something about it never cooperating, and put down his guitar, before he turned and finally noticed her standing in the hallway in front of him. The look on his face was priceless as he stared at Ella, mouth wide open.

“I hope this is okay. I wanted to make you cookies because I know you said you were craving the ones I made you that one time, and Brian sent me his key so that’s how I’m here, but I can leave if you want.” Ell rushed out, wringing her hands together in front of her. Finally, Shawn moved, rushing forward and grabbing her into the air. With a shriek, Ella wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him. She inhaled his familiar scent, her favourite, and felt tears spring to her eyes. It was only two weeks, but she had missed him so much. Pulling his face out from the space between her neck and shoulder, he grinned at her in awe. “Ella,” he breathed, before kissing her hard. He pulled back quickly, placing jer on his kitchen island and stepping away to admire her. She was wearing leggings and one of his sweaters, her hair braided behind her head, but she looked gorgeous. If he could have framed that view right then and there he would have.

“You’re not mad?” She asked, quietly and he shook his head wildly. How could he be mad? He had wanted nothing more than to take an Uber right to her apartment from the airport but he figured he should bring his stuff home first. He wasn’t expecting this at all, but now that they were here, he realized that it’s exactly what he had wanted. It was something he could get used to, coming home to her.

“Not mad, princess. How could I be? This is the best surprise, you’re the best surprise.” He stepped forward again and wrapped her in his arms, holding her there for a minute.

“Well, in that case, I made you cookies and the soup your mom brought over smells so good.” Shawn laughed, and pulled away, helping Ella down from the island. He went over to the cupboard and grabbed two bowls while Ella took two spoons out of the drawer. Sitting down next to each other, Shawn began telling her about his flight and the airport.

“I saw the video of you saying you were excited to see me, very cute.” Ella teased, and a blush appeared on Shawn’s cheeks.

“Shut up, I wasn’t even that excited.” He muttered and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, okay Mendes. You’re the one that said you wish you could parachute to me.”

“I said to your apartment, not you. What if I really missed your roommates?” He said, defensively, and she laughed. He had a great relationship with my roommates, and it was something Ells was thankful for. She wouldn’t be surprised if he missed them.

“I’d say, if you missed them so much go hangout there and I’ll enjoy these cookies myself.” Ella huffed, and Shawn laughed, pulling her stool closer to him so that he could wrap his arms around her.

“I think I’ll stay here with you and the cookies.”

A few hours later, they were quietly getting ready for bed in Shawn’s bathroom. Ella had left a toothbrush here officially a month ago, as well as her face wash and moisturizer. When Connor and Brian saw, they made fun of Shawn for a good ten minutes before Connor cracked and told him honestly that he was happy for Shawn. Brian continued to make fun of him.

“I love doing this with you, babe.” Shawn admitted, watching as she ran his brush through her hair. He had finished his routine before her, as usual, and was sitting on the toilet trying to memorize her routine. Hair up, wash face, brush teeth, moisturize, hair down, brush hair, lip chap. It all seemed so domestic he thought his heart might burst. He loved just watching her live her life and do the normal, small things. He was so enthralled.

“I do too,” she replied softly, knowing exactly what he meant. “Makes me feel safe.” She muttered, voice shy. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into him. Their eyes met through the mirror and Shawn’s heart skipped a beat. “You make me feel the same way.” He told her, kissing her neck softly. Ella closed her eyes and leaned back into him. They stayed like that for a moment before he pulled away and made his way into the bedroom. She joined him a minute later, having changed into a t-shirt of his. She climbed into bed as he stripped down to his boxers and he stopped short when he turned around and saw her in his bed. This wasn’t a new sight, she had spent the night more than once, but after two weeks apart she looked like a new type of gorgeous all wrapped up in him like that. His shirt, his sheets, he thought he could cry. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and stood at the end of the bed in the middle, snapping a picture of her. He took a moment to admire it, how soft she looked in the light, the way her face lit up in the smile she always has behind the camera, shy but happy.

“You’re so beautiful, Ella, I’m so lucky.” Ella felt like she might pass out, so overwhelmed with the sweetness of their evening. She couldn’t believe she had been so nervous earlier that night, it seemed pointless now. Shawn tapped away on his phone for a minute, and Ella’s own phone buzzed from beside her. ‘Shawn Mendes as made a post’ her Instagram notified her, and then ‘Shawn Mendes tweeted: I’m in Toronto and I’ve got this view’. The picture he had taken moments before was attached. Ella grinned, commending Shawn on his caption skills. In retaliation, she climbed on top of him and snapped a picture of him looking up at him. She posted it to her own social media, captioning it ‘my view’s better’. They giggled over the replies and comments together, liking and replying to a few of them before putting their phones down.

Shawn turned on his side and pulled Ella into him, kissing the back of her head. “Goodnight, honey.” He whispered, and Ella squeezed his hand as her own goodnight. The two of them slept better than they had the past two weeks.

[pixelatedrose]

A Rose For A Valentine

Part 1/Part 2/???

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety, Logicality, background Demus, background Remile

Cast:

Lochesis Lodgick (logic). Lo, Lochy, Sisi for nicknames

Pandora Morralitie (morality) Panda, Pan, Dora, Pancake for nicknames

Rose Kreativve (creativity) Ro, Princess for nicknames

Valentine Anxxiatie (anxiety) Val, Valen for nicknames

Dahlia Desceat (deceit) Dahl, Di, Dahli for nicknames

Ruby Kreativve (Remus/intrusive thoughts) Ru, Ruru for nicknames

Riley Sleapp (Sleep) Riy, Lili for nicknames

Emily Picani (Emile) Em, Emmy for nicknames

Trigger warnings: uncensored swearing, high anxiety, fighting verbally, being left alone, breakdowns

Chapter 2

Valentine Anxxiatie threw herself onto her bed. She had just gone to public school for the first time since second grade and she'd had the best worst day of her entire year.

  It was her best friend, Pandora Morralitie, and her two moms that had finally convinced her to go back.

  "Come on, Val! It'll be fun! And at the very least you'll have me!" Pandora had said.

  "Yeah right…" Valentine muttered through the thick blankets. She rolled over and closed her eyes, thinking over everything that'd happened that day. She opened them again and stared at the ceiling, letting panic and anxiety wash over her as she started to sob.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. I thought this was going to be fucking good…

~~•~~

  Valentine had gotten to school and received her schedule alone, unable to find Pandora and the school's Wi-Fi blocking any connection she might have had.

  She looked the paper over and over and over, her high strung anxiety working overtime in her mind.

  Valentine had art first period, followed by math, English, computer animation, orchestra, and chemistry.

  The day was pretty slow and they seemed to do no work at all. All they did was play stupid get-to-know-you games and read stupid rules. Valentine shared lunch and her chemistry class with Pandora, so that was a plus.

  Things started going off for Valentine in her English class when a popular redheaded girl sat down next to her and tried talking to her.

  "Hey!" Rose, the popular one, hissed. "My name's Rose! What's yours? Are you new around here, I've never seen you before."

  Valentine pulled her hood up over her head. "...i don't like talking…" She breathed to herself.

  Sure, Valentine had teased the girl by ignoring her deliberately, but she really didn't have any interest in talking to the plastic girl.

  However her desire to see the bitch suffer outweighed and was used as a mask to cover Valentine's anxiety and she was able to mock and gather a small video of blackmail on the redheaded Rose.

  But everything was all downhill from there.

  Valentine waited against the hallway wall for her one and only friend, Pandora.

  "Vaalll~!" A familiar and happy voice chirred delightfully, pretty blue eyes sparkling through her big round frames. Pandora bumped playfully into Valentine's shoulder. "Heya girl! Sorry I wasn't there this morning, I couldn't find you and my girlfriend wanted to wait for our other friend."

  Valentine drew a smile to her face. "Nah, it's fine, Pan." She reassured the honey haired girl.

  "You found your classes Okay? Did you meet anyone nice? See any cute girls? Anything you need explained to You?" Pandora asked fervently, her mom mode activating.

  Valentine chuckled softly. "I'm doing just fine, Pan. The only real problem I had was with this one chick in my English class. Bitch's a classic plastic doll. Got a kick out of messing with her though."

  Pandora frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry Val…" something caught Pandora's eye and she smiled widely. "Well you can tell me all about it right after you meet everyone else!!"

  Valentine faked a smile and walked ahead with her friend. She really didn't want there to be an everyone else. It was just fine with her and Pandora. That was all she needed.

  "Hey hey hey y'all I'm here~!" Pandora called, bouncing up to two other girls. "And this is my friend!"

  Valentine looked up and instantly froze. "...oh hell no…" She cursed under her breath.

  "Valentine!" Pandora finished with a flourish.

  Right in front of Valentine's eyes was the preppy plastic from her english class. Her stupid red hair bouncing as she looked to the emo girl.

  Their eyes narrowed at each other and like a battle about to begin they pointed at each other and yelled.

  "YOU!!" Their voices twined in one another as they mirrored each other's offended disbelief.

  "You're the chick from English!!" Rose yelled.

  "And you're the princess from my nightmares…." Valentine groaned.

  Pandora looked from Valentine to Rose through her pale blue and white frames. Realization dawned on her face and she clapped her hands and jumped with delight. "Oohhh~!! You two know each other!! This is great oh my god we're all gonna be best friends forever!!" Pandora laughed and hugged the contrasting friends.

  Valentine seethed poison from her eyes staring at the preppy redhead.

  Rose glared furiously through the energetic hug at the dark haired emo.

  "We don't know each other!" Valentine yelled, pushing out of the hug. She was so excited to maybe make some actual friends. Now, seeing that fake preppy princess of a girl, Valentine was on the brink of a breakdown.

  Rose turned to the tall girl she'd been with, pointing again at Valentine. "That's that emo chick I was talking about!!" She turned back to Pandora. "You're friends with her?!" Disbelief and agitation dripping from her voice like honey from a spoon. Her words were thick and poisonous in Valentine's ears. "Why are you friends with her?!"

  "Weirdo" "You have two moms" "idiot" "loser" "whisper girl" All the names came back to Valentine. The reason she didn't go back to school at the start of 3nd grade. The only thing stronger than her anxiety was her anger and spite, and Valentine was riding on fury.

  "It's none of your business who Pandora is friends with!" Valentine shouted. "And who's to say that maybe she'd rather be friends with someone who's deeper than a puddle on the sidewalk!"

  "Are you calling me shallow?!"

  "If by shallow you mean that I wouldn't get my feet wet if I stepped in you with no shoes on then yes."

  "Bitch!! Who the hell are you to tell me who I am?!"

  "I don't have to; it's written all over your everything!"

  "At least I try and be friendly instead of hiding in the back of the classroom and sulking like someone just killed my dog!!"

  "Well at least I know my friends want to be my friends!!!"

  Rose stopped for a moment.

  "What? Aren't you clever enough to-" Pandora put a hand on Valentine's shoulder. When she looked, Valentine saw her friend shake her head at her, a look of what could be horror on her face.

  "Valentine, stop…" she said quietly.

  Rose turned and started to walk away. The tall girl stared at Valentine with such a look of cold disapproval it could have broken her had she been made of glass. The girl turned after her red haired friend, Pandora jogging after them.

  And Valentine was alone, the once busy and loud lunch room had grown quiet to witness the fight, seeing Rose leave, the commotion picked back up. But it was cold now.

  "Did you see That? That emo chick?" "Rose is so sweet, what a bitch." "How could she do something like That?" "What a bitch." "Idiot loser." "Jerk." "Brat." "Nobody." "Scarecrow girl with the patchy hoodie." "Scarecrow." "Scarecrow." "Scarecrow."

  How could a nickname spread so fast?

  Valentine pulled her hood up and stormed away. She pushed through the doors and planted herself onto a bench.

  Her eyes stung with the threat of tears and her hands shook. All she could think about was how badly she'd messed up.

  What had Valentine been thinking?! I insulted and mocked and fought with one of Pandora's friends...and by the looks of things she's gonna take Rose's side over mine… Valentine fought back tears, looking up to the sky and blinking furiously. If she cried here, her eyeshadow would run and everyone would know.

  I thought this was supposed to be good for me; I thought this was supposed to fun. Thought high school was gonna give me friends not make me lose them…

  And in the quiet of the outside world, Valentine waited painfully for the bell to ring.

~~•~~

  Valentine's next period was slow and empty as she dreaded her next class with Pandora, who now no doubt hated her. The hours drug on, but the bell eventually did ding it's ring and Valentine reluctantly moved to her next class.

  Valentine opened the door to her chemistry class and felt her breath catch in her throat. Near the back of the classroom sat Pandora...and Rose.

  She pulled Pan away from me. Valentine felt anger simmer up to the surface and she felt ready to spit fire at the girl who had seemingly torn Valentine's world apart. But she let her anger go. There wasn't any point anymore. Whatever dumb thing they had been playing, Rose had won.

  Valentine resigned herself to emptiness again and started walking to the back of the class, opposite of Pandora and Rose.

  Pandora was the only real friend Valentine had ever had in her entire life. She'd been with her since before Valentine could recall. And if Pandora didn't want to be-

  "Val!!"

  Valentine stopped and looked over to the honey haired girl waving to her, a bright goofy smile plastered across her freckled face.

  Pandora bounced up to the emo girl and took her hand. "What'cha doin, silly? Come on and sit with us!"

  Valentine felt her heart lighten and rise, free of the heaviness that the void of emotions bring. "But don't you-"

  Pandora shushed her friend. "Whatever happened at lunch, don't worry about it." Pandora stopped tugging at Valentine's sleeve and faced her, kind, warm blue eyes comforting and easing her friend's now decreased anxiety. "We've been friends for years, Valentine. You think I'd end it because you had a fight with one of my other friends?" Pandora continued before Valentine could give a false answer. "Besides, I want to show Rose that you're nowhere near as bad as she thinks." Valentine was happy at this. Correcting the plastic's wrongness would- "And I want to show you that Rose isn't as shallow and plastic as you seem to think she is." Pandora jeered, letting Valentine know she wasn't going to be let off the hook that easily.

  "....fine." Valentine relented, a joke I'm her voice.

  As Pandora and Valentine walked up to the redhead, Rose seemed to sink lower in her seat, shrinking and sulking like how Valentine would have done herself.

  Rose glanced between Pandora and Valentine. "Waddya want…" she mumbled depressively.

  In fact, Rose's tone was so much of a contrast to how she'd been before it almost startled Valentine.

  Rose seemed to notice and sat up. "What?" She seethed. "Shocked to find out I had feelings?"

  This was a bad idea this was a bad idea this was a bad idea, it always was, God, Valentine, you're an idiot… Valentine shifted her weight and sunk back into her hoodie. That's what Valentine had made it to do; consume and hide her face and emotions behind fabric and string.

  "She knows you have emotions, Ro," Pandora said. "She just gets a little…Antisocial. And snippity. You know. She got-"

  "It's okay, Pan," Valentine put a hand on in her friend's shoulder. "I can speak for myself." She turned to face the redhead and opened her mouth to explain how her defences had shot up instantly, how her natural reaction is to sneer and jest and tease to hide how scared and nervous she actually is, how she was upset at what she'd said to the preppy girl at lunch. "See, Rose, I'm sorry for what happened, I just-"

  Ding!! Ding!!

  "Alright class, take your seats." The teacher said, getting up from his chair and picking up a stack of papers.

  No!! Valentine thought, panic setting into her chest. No, no, No! Why?! Couldn't the bell have rung just a little bit later?

  Class was slow and Pandora had sat between Rose and Valentine, preventing any real whisper conversations to happen between the two girls.

  Class ended and the bell dismissed school.

  Valentine tried to talk to the red headed girl. "Rose I-"

  "Save your breath. I know what you think of me."

  Rose's words stung more than Valentine thought they would.

  Valentine set her jaw and mind. "Listen, I just want to-"

  "I have a bus to catch. I'll see you later, Panda." And Rose left the classroom.

  Valentine stared after her. "..."

  "Listen, Valentine…Rose-"

  "Is a whiney mellow-dramatic bitch…" Valentine finished for Pandora in the most profound sounding voice, you'd think that God himself had sent the sentence down wrapped in revelation and divine truth; Rose is a whiney mellow-dramatic bitch.

  "Uh...No...Not what I was gonna say, but-"

  "No don't worry, Pan, I'm sure there's something good down there. You're friends with her after all, so I'm sure there's a bit of like glitter or some shit hidden in her bra or something."

  Pandora snorted and threw her head back and laughed hard and loud. "I can't believe you remember That!!"

  "I can't believe you did That!" Valentine laughed lightly.

  Pandora calmed herself down and the girls started walking. "Hey, it was only the one time though." She paused and thought for a moment. "...I'm gonna do it again and show Lochy." She said matter of factly.

~~•~~

  Valentine sobbed alone on her bed. Despite having laughed with Pandora at the end of it all, every little bit of what had taken place washed over her and she couldn't take it anymore.

  "You're friends with her?!" "Why are you friends with her?!" "Did you see That? That emo chick?" "Rose is so sweet, what a bitch." "How could she do something like That?" "What a bitch." "Idiot loser." "Jerk." "Brat." "Nobody." "Scarecrow girl with the patchy hoodie." "Scarecrow." "Scarecrow." "Scarecrow." "Valentine, stop…"

  It all hurt so much.

  And it felt like it was unfixable.

  Rose had walked away and didn't want anything to do with Valentine.

  But Pandora was Valentine's only friend, and the two of them seemed close.

  So if Valentine wasn't able to make up with Rose and become friends with her, or at least pretend to be her friend, then Valentine would lose Pandora who would undoubtedly take her other friend's side, and then Valentine was sure they'd start spreading rumors or calling names, and then inevitably Valentine would drop out of high school only a week after joining, then she'd be alone forever and end up dying probably curled up under a bridge or something.

  So obviously, not making up with Rose meant inevitable death.

  ….eventually.

  But in all realness, for Valentine, she felt like she'd just failed the world. Like she'd taken someone's trust and twisted it and contorted it so beyond recognition that it looked like a deceitful shadow of what it once could have been.

  So Valentine sobbed and panicked alone in her room until she fell asleep from the exhaustion.

Hey you guys!! I’m having a ton of fun writing this fic! I don’t know when part three will be out due to the fact that I’m becoming very busy very quickly, but hopefully I’ll have something maybe by Christmas, maybe sooner? I’m not sure right now. Anyway, hope you enjoyed part two of A Rose For A Valentine! And do tell me if you’d like to see this fic with the original male characters instead, I have the first chapter all ready if that’s what you’d rather. Thank you all so much, love you!!