#i like to draw him as a normal computer more but some ideas require him to have a body Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[jeremygndr]

electric dreams art.. and a bit of oc x canon in the last two, that’s my oc, tommy. she’s objectum and edgar is really special to me so i thought it’d be fun to doodle them ^_^

[caramelarchive]

could I request something like the reader deciding to give L a lil massage. It started out in their head as smth sweet/relaxing until it became high-key concerning cuz every press of their hands draws out a deafening crack

Let's Try a Massage ╾ L

BAHHAHAHAHHAA the fact that this is not somehow canon is a crime, I cannot. anyway, thanks for asking! let's go! I have moved to my main @lawlietscaramels please follow there for new content!

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

"Boo," you say, coming up behind L to rest your hands on his shoulders and your head besides his. He gives a quick hum of acknowledgement and you peck his cheek.

"Hello, there." After a minute, he turns away from the computer's bright screen, rubbing his eyes and rolling his shoulders as he turns to look at you. L gives a yawn, one of the rare signs he trusts and loves you enough to let his stoic guard down, and blinks sleepily at you.

Your hands brush along his shoulders.

"Ready to take a break yet?" you tease gently, poking at his neck.

"I suppose so." L turns back towards his computer, one finger tapping against the j key and the other prodding at his lip. "I don't think I can do anything else at the moment," he decides, and turns the monitor off, scooping a forkful of cake into his mouth as he does so. "Did you want something?"

L spins his chair around to face you at this question, his head tilting up as he peers at you from the seat. One of his hands reaches up to rub at his shoulder and he gives a cross groan, not breaking eye contact.

"...Did you want something?" you ask, smiling and poking at his shoulders. L groans again and bats your hands away.

"I am simply a little sore."

You grin as a wonderful idea comes into your head: something sweet and cute, to help L relax after yet another long day of hard work.

"In that case, I can help!"

It's a difficult feat to pick L up, so you just roll his chair over to the couch and push him onto the cushions.

The detective turns his head to the side, so he is able to keep his eyes on you, but does not make any move to protest. L just shifts around a little, groaning unhappily, and waits for you to do... whatever it is you're going to do.

Pressing your hands together for a minute to warm them up, you eye your partner up and down.

...Definitely, a massage is required here.

You decide to plonk yourself down on his back for easy access, your hands reaching up to L's shoulders. Your fingers probe into the skin and L gives a small sigh of gratitude. A smile spreads across your face, as you're obviously able to remove some of the stress he has placed on his body by scrunching it into a ball all of the time.

And then a crunch.

You almost fall onto the floor, scared out of your wits. "L! The human body should not make that noise!"

"My apologies."

You sigh and stroke his hair for a moment. "I think this proves that you need some sort of assistance with your back, my love."

The gesture, which you thought to be sweet, becomes more and more concerning as you continued. Wherever you place your hands, there is a dramatic crunch, a crack, all very loud and very not normal.

"L, when was the last time you saw a doctor? Or an acupuncturist or a chiropractor or a physiotherapist?"

He just shakes his head.

You press your hands into his back and it cracks in protest. You take your hands off him and wring them in dismay.

"I just wanted to give you a massage, and now you sound like a whip-person..."

L gives a little chuckle. "Yes... Perhaps a different approach is in order, my dear Y/N." He shifts again, turning to look at you once more.

"I'll run you a bath."

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

what if I wrote a little bath scene? nothing nsft as I have said but I mean,, rose petals in the water, bringing in a rubber ducky or a plastic ship... lemme know if you want that as a part two!!

[crepes-suzette-373]

【Dengeki Blue Game Stream】Battle Fruits Nine w/ Stealth Black - Dengeki Blue carries the level while Stealth Black is Useless as always [off-camera view]

A kind of fanfic version of that one drawing I made of Niji and Sanji being Vtubers. There's no real plot. Just modern AU chaos and rambling and general silliness. Everyone's normal/happy, the Vinsmokes are a good family, no sad, no angst, no painful drama.

This all basically just a big joke because "Nijisanji" is a Vtuber company name.

[AO3 Link]

----

He’d brought this upon himself, Sanji had to admit. The last time Niji nagged him to “guest” in his livestream, Sanji said he’d do it if Niji got him Vegapunk’s new mini combi oven, just to get Niji off his back. All Vegapunk appliances are expensive, and even if their family was well-off he figured it’s still high enough up there in price to make Niji leave him alone for a while.

The oven showed up in the brothers’ shared apartment within 2 days.

Sanji wasn’t sure if he was more baffled about Niji having that much money to spare, or that Niji wanted him on the stream that badly. He still felt guilty about it, though, so he’d told Niji he promised to agree to be a guest without protest 10 times, as long as he’s not tied up with more important things to do.

Naturally, he got ambushed the very next day.

That was how Sanji found himself sitting and waiting for Niji to set up whatever it is that was required to have a second person on his livestream, and hoped that it wouldn’t be a “talk stream” session that day. Chattering idly with anyone for an extended amount of time without there being some other activity involved, like eating or watching TV or him cooking, always made him feel awkward. With a gameplay stream, at least there was the game they’d be playing.

Not to mention, “his” virtual character apparently had a specific backstory associated with it, and being on a talk stream tended to involve having to adlib some kind of fictional story on the fly. Fortunately, he wasn’t required to keep up play-acting the character the whole time, no, and he left most of the wild details to Niji. He still had to include the fictive anecdotes, though, because of… some reason he much preferred to not know.

It was very confusing the first time he got dragged into this. Niji sat him down and explained in great detail about the backstory of his virtual persona, and Sanji still had no idea why he didn’t immediately run away then. It was a complicated setting with superheroes (or was it supervillains?) called Germa 66, mad scientists, clones, and quite honestly he wasn’t sure he remembered all of it.

Niji did set up their characters to have mundane daily lives, like all good classic superheroes do. That way they can also mention some things about things they did in reality and pretend that was part of the mandatory “lore”-talk, and not have to constantly make up random stories about aliens and robots.

They still had to be careful not to reveal things that are too personal or private, though. Sanji almost called Niji by his real name instead of Dengeki Blue a couple of times at first, and Niji kicked him in the shins every time that happened. As thankful for the save as he did, he still always kicked back.

“Aaalright, and here ya go.” Niji finally finished fiddling around the computers and handed Sanji a controller and headphones.

“What’s the game gonna be?”

“We’re continuing Battle Fruits. Still remember how to play that?”

“Of course I do, damn you, I’m not a techno-peasant!”

Niji cackled. “If ya say so,” he said with an oh-so-smug voice, putting on his anti-glare goggles and rolled his chair to face the screens.

Sanji doesn’t reply. Yes, he played by random button mashing and can’t remember any skill combos. Yes, Niji usually does most of the work in clearing the missions. He still knew what button does what, though, so that still counts as knowing how to play. 

“Starting in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… And—Loyal Germa fans rejoice, Dengeki Blue is back with everyone’s favourite guest: Stealth Black!”

There’s a reason why Sanji was very glad his character was just a static image, and not a moving model like Niji’s, because he doesn’t have to worry about his movements making the model behave weirdly. Niji’s opening babble were always ridiculous, and he could never not have the urge to cover his face and groan.

The character image was not actually him, but some of his friends were regular viewers of this stream, and they will make fun of him for any character hiccups. There was that one time the image was for some reason displaying upside down, from the top of the screen, and Usopp then called him “ninja” for days upon days after.

“Black, say hi to yer fans.”

Sanji removed his hands from his face, and saw that it was not the game screen that was on, but the setup normally used for the talk stream. Immediately suspicious, he asked, “Aren’t we playing Battle Fruits?”

“It’s just a little chat. I’ll open the game in a sec. Just say hi for a bit.”

“Do I have to?”

“They already heard ya talking, so ya might as well. Come on, say something nice, or yer fans will cry.”

It was an annoying testament that he had been here for too many times when he looked at the chat box and actually remembered and recognized a lot of the names among the flurry of comments. Still, he wouldn’t deny it was flattering to see the excited welcoming remarks.

Oh, there’s Usopp. The name “GodSogeKing” flew by, and he said, “Hello SogeKing” instinctively.

“Oooh, ya said someone’s name!” Niji crowed, “Ya done did it now.”

“What? Why?”

“Yer not playing fair. The others are really mad jealous now~”

“How is that any different from saying ‘Hello everyone in the chat’?” Sanji protested.

Niji shrugged, grinning. “I don’t make the rules.”

The chat was, indeed, now peppered with new comments saying the varying forms of “Stealth Black say my name too”. Once again, it was somewhat flattering (if a bit weird), but he would never loudly admit that.

“Say, what if we make that a chat donations thing? Nothing special, ya can just say ‘thank you whoever’.”

“Are you trying to use me for cash bait? No!”

“Fine, fine, but speaking of yer fans though, ya ok with having merch of ya, at least? One Dr.Death has been a pest about Stealth Black merch forever.”

Sanji huffed a laugh. “Dr.Death? What kind of edgy junior high online username is that?”

He immediately realised his mistake, but it was too late. Niji was already hysterical beside him.

“Ya heard that Dr.Death? He said your name! I know yer there. Bet yer drowning in happy tears, aren’t ya?”

“What the hell? Did you just trick me to say that? What merch are you even on about?”

Niji shook his head, still howling with laughter. “No, really, that right there is your biggest fan. Back me up chat, tell Black what Dr.Death said. And here’s merch.” He then pulled out his phone and showed a picture of a little Dengeki Blue keychain.

Well, if it was just the illustrated character and not him having to dress up, then it’s no issue. “Okay by me, about the merch, but...”

“Yes!”

Niji proceeded to go on about the logistics of the merch, so Sanji looked at the chat box again. Lo and behold, there actually was a Dr.Death in there. The aforementioned user was vehemently denying the barrages of comments providing so-called proof that Niji was right and other teasing remarks.

Dr.Death: Hey, Black, if you’re seeing this, I was NOT like that!

It was immediately followed by a ton of more comments, all saying “lies lies”.

SuperFrankyR0b0: Bro, the previous stream chats are all still there. Everyone can see it.

Damn. With even Franky saying that it was true, Sanji decided it was definitely too weird and ignored the chat until Niji finally started the game.

Despite even the game’s tutorial recommending using different Fruit Battlers for each stage, Sanji always picked the Orange Battler. She was his favourite and no amount of whingeing from Niji or the viewers about her being useless in certain levels could change that. Niji selected the Banana one this time, probably because that’s the actual best character for the level.

“The banana matches your hair,” Sanji said.

“Shut up!”

That was true of both Niji and Dengeki Blue, so Niji couldn’t kick him. Rather, he shouldn’t have a reason to, but still tried to kick anyway. Sanji dodged it.

Many minutes into the game later, the conversation topic had turned to future streaming plans, which was mostly answered by Niji.

Someone suggested another cooking talk stream, and this was the only kind of talk stream Sanji had no problems with. One stream session long ago, he’d been dragged onto a talk stream that he’d tried to leave multiple times, until somehow the viewers and Niji conspired to finesse him into talking about cooking. He ended up staying for 3 hours. Aside from the chat being flooded by people whingeing about getting hungry, it otherwise went pretty well.

(The viewers in that session, of all people, happened to include Luffy and Ace, who both came to him demanding to be compensated with real food the first chance they got.)

Another suggested a live cooking stream. That would be a no; not unless there’s some empty kitchen they could borrow or rent. Everyone in the apartment agreed that the livestreams should never show their building. Not even inside Niji’s room.

“Winch Green? Eeh, probably doable soon. No promises on Pink.”

Then the topic turned to guests. There were frequently requests for the other “Germa 66” members to show up. Niji had set up Dengeki Blue as a part of a team to make it easier to cover up slip ups when he accidentally mentioned overly-revealing real life things in his early streaming days. The 4 of them brothers share an apartment, besides. The backstory served as a handy excuse in case of noises of people walking around or talking can be heard through without breaking character. Yonji, especially, can be rather loud.

Getting Reiju to come on the stream was naturally difficult, since she lived with their parents and had full time work, but she was otherwise very agreeable. With Yonji, it’s only a matter of catching him between homework and classes and bribing him with a ton of food.

Ichiji, well…

It was just then that Sanji looked at the chat that he had been ignoring, and noticed that there was a wall of comments about “Sparking Red”, a.k.a Ichiji.

“Why are these people so obsessed with Red anyway?” he asked, “Is it because he’s the only one who’s never been on stream?”

“Oh that…” Niji said distractedly, his fingers hitting keys furiously to execute a combo attack, “I never told ya, huh? Hold on.” He didn’t speak again until after the Banana Battler on the screen mowed down a field of enemies, and “Objective Cleared” flashed on the screen. “Red came in yelling at me once, and everyone heard him. Chat’s gone insane ever since. It’s like those crazes over trying to catch a phantom beast or something.”

That was news. It was one thing to just hear about a character through the lore talks, but Ichiji has actually been heard clearly and not just vague noises through the door.

“How long ago was this?”

“Maybe almost two years ago? Around… around after that time ya crazy weirdos kept saying I was a zombie.”

Ah yes, the Zombie Niji incident—wait a second. Sanji straightened up. Wasn’t that also around the time when…

“Red’ll murder me if I ask him to come on, but eh, figured there’s still ya guys,” Niji babbled on. “The chat love it.”

That was about the time when Niji started pestering him and Yonji to come on the streams. To think that the entire reason for it was Ichiji—Ichiji!!

Sanji fumed. He decided it would be his mission to somehow, by hook or by crook, drag Ichiji on to the stream as well. Damn it all, even if it actually would make Niji and his weird chat group happy, he would still get it done. Ichiji caused it, so he should get to experience it too.

Maybe he’ll get Yonji and Reiju to team up for this mission later.

----

The quadruplets are still in uni/college, and they live in this apartment away from home. Ichiji working at the family company, whatever it is, part time. Reiju already working there full time. Niji is a Vtuber on the side when not in school. Sanji works at Baratie part time. Yonji is just a student full time. Sora still alive. Not sure how Judge would be like TBH, maybe just a normal standoffish dad, but otherwise okay.

I'm so sorry Law, but the meme of him being a Germa nerd is too funny.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @ajpendragon

From @ajpendragon to @emtb319

Happy Holidays! 

Secret Santa

“John, what is this ‘Secret Santa’ that you have in your calendar? I know about Santa, but he is not a secret?”

John paused where he was buried headfirst in an electrical panel. “Secret Santa is a Christmas tradition we do. Each person is in charge of buying a present for someone else in the family, but no one else knows who is buying for whom. It’s a supposed to be a surprise, but we always try to guess who has your name.”

“Can I play too?”

“You’ll have to play fair. No peeking through emails or computers to see who has your name, no finding out and telling people who has them, no using the security cameras to watch everyone.”

“But I need to have access to the security cameras in case of emergency.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t use them. Just don’t use them to cheat.”

“Ok.” The AI sounded oddly offended that John would question her. 

“And no looking at search history or orders to figure out the gifts, no trying to analyze everyone to see who they have, no trying to figure anything out!”

“Ok, ok.” She huffed loudly. The familiarity of the sound was concerning, and John made a mental note to stop her hanging out with Gordon. He was clearly a bad influence. 

“I promise not to cheat.”

*****************************

They drew names for Secret Santa the next day. EOS managed to randomize the names, draw one for herself, and then print out the rest onto slips of paper, which Scott folded carefully and passed around. 

She observed them with interest, watching the way they barely glanced at the name before hiding it again. Gordon even went so far as to eat the piece of paper so no one could see who he had. They all sat lost in thought for a few minutes, clearly trying to think of gift ideas already. 

One by one, they excused themselves, each heading off back to their normal day. “John.” 

He turned back. “Yes?”

“I may require some assistance. Would it ruin the surprise if I required your hands at some point?”

“I think we can allow it. Let me know when you need me to help. I’ll be in my room for now, trying to come up with some good ideas.”

EOS waited in the lounge for a few minutes before tracking Scott’s signature. He was moving around in his room, but appeared to be on his way out for a run. She waited for a few more minutes to ensure he wasn’t coming back before switching to the camera inside his room. 

She had a vague idea of what to get him. She knew he liked old books, but which book in particular to get was the harder question. She stared at his shelf for a while, memorizing titles and comparing genres to figure out what he liked. And then she found the perfect one. The middle of a shelf was filled with a series, all beautifully bound and matching except for one paperback shoved in the middle. 

A quick glance at the title and brief internet search later, and she had found the perfect gift. It was fairly expensive, which was probably why Scott hadn’t bought it for himself, but it was nowhere near the price limit John had given her. 

The old bookstore that was selling it promised that it would arrive in plenty of time for Christmas, and so she ordered the book, and settled in to wait for its arrival. 

*******************************

When the package arrived, John was roped into wrapping it according to her specifications, which were extensive. John had to remind himself once again to talk to Gordon about their interactions, because he had clearly given her tips on wrapping. The original small package, about the size of a large book, was wrapped, put into a bigger box, wrapped, etc…

It ended up being the biggest package under the tree. EOS was incredibly proud of herself, and waited eagerly for Christmas morning. 

******************************

“Good morning, Scott Tracy.” EOS’ voice startled Scott, and his jump (that he would deny if anyone asked) splashed batter over the edge of the bowl. 

“Good morning, EOS.” Scott wiped the drips from the counter, and turned back to his mixing. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas!” The AI sounded excited, and Scott smiled. She had grown so much since they had first met her, and John had done well teaching her. It was almost like having a niece, although one he couldn’t see or touch. 

“What are you doing in the kitchen so early? You normally go for a run at this time.”

“It’s Christmas.” He replied, turning the griddle on to start pre-heating as he finished the batter. “We all do things a little differently on Christmas.”

“John told me about this. You call them traditions, right?”

“Yes. Try looking it up.”

EOS went silent for a few minutes, and he started pouring circles of batter onto the griddle. He had covered half of the cooktop before she spoke back up. 

“These all seem very interesting. But quite a few of them seem to conflict. How do you do all of them?”

Scott dropped blueberries onto half of the pancakes, and scooped up chocolate chips for the rest. “No one can do all of the Christmas traditions in the world. Each person or family choose which ones they want to follow, usually the same ones their parents or grandparents do, although sometimes people add new ones.”

He paused to flip the pancakes, then resumed his explanation. “We always do Secret Santa, which you already know about, and then we have pancakes for breakfast before we open presents. Dad used to make them, but since he’s gone, I make them now. Each person has their favorite flavor.”

EOS was silent for several minutes, and Scott focused on flipping the finished pancakes onto a plate and pouring new ones. 

“What do pancakes taste like?” She finally asked. 

“Uhhhhhhh…” He trailed off. “I’m not really sure how to answer that. They’re usually pretty fluffy. Some of them are sweet, if you put chocolate chips on them. They blueberry ones are a mix of sweet and sour. I don’t really know…”

He cut off as Virgil entered the kitchen. “Virgil, perfect! You’re good with words and uh…describing things. EOS wants to know what pancakes taste like.”

Virgil shot a glare at his older brother, who smiled smugly and went back to his pancake making, ignoring any attempts to draw him back into the conversation. 

*****************************

By the time Virgil had satisfactorily explained the taste of pancakes, breakfast was ready. Everyone gathered around the table, grabbing plates and helping themselves to the stacks of food, scooping fruit and whipped cream, pouring syrup, spreading butter and peanut butter. The table was quiet except for the sounds of eating. 

The pancakes that had taken nearly an hour to cook disappeared in less than twenty minutes. Plates were piled in the sink, but the rest of the cleanup was left for later as they all eagerly hurried to the lounge. 

Scott gave his gift first, a set of old star maps in perfect condition for John. Alan got tickets for a racing event he had been talking about for months from Virgil, and John built an incredible underwater camera for Gordon, allowing him to get amazing footage on his next dives. 

Gordon had drawn EOS. He had spent hours working on and coding a video of his best pranks, as well as compiling all the best videos off the internet. It would have been so much faster if he had asked John for his help, but he had insisted on doing it himself. 

She was delighted, downloading it as quickly as possible. John tried to protest, worried about the inevitable consequences of giving an incredibly powerful child access to so much potential for trouble. But before he could voice it, the download was complete, and EOS and Gordon were busily chattering away about what pranks they were going to try. 

John made another mental note, joining his long list that he really needed to start getting completed. No leaving his door unlocked for the foreseeable future, and no eating anything that Gordon gave him. 

The last of the gifts were passed out, but they all stayed in the lounge, enjoying the rare downtime and each other’s company. Gordon and EOS spent for too long plotting for anyone else’ comfort, Alan joining in eventually with a few ideas of his own, but the amount of joy they were finding was rare enough that no one had the heart to stop them. 

John, Virgil, and Scott retreated to the kitchen, watching their brothers and daughter/niece plan. “We’re going into hiding for the next few months, right?” 

Virgil and John nodded. “I’ll prep Two.” 

“Grab some supplies. Meet down there in twenty minutes.”

They split up quickly, the plotters in the lounge too busy to notice. John knew it wouldn’t last for long. EOS would notice as soon as Two took off, but at least they had a head start. 

They were going to need it!

[thestalwartheart]

Asking them about their family for 00q, pretty please! 🙏🥰

Thanks for the prompt, Alex! This is admittedly a bit of a twist on it, but you and I both enjoy a bit of ambiguity, so I thought I'd be forgiven for it!

You can read it below or on AO3.

Enjoy! 💖

It’s only Bond, Q tells himself. He’s just a man, for goodness sake. This whole situation is proof of that.

Q clears his throat and gestures for Tanner to give them some space in the lab, then wishes fervently for the ground to swallow him whole. He grips the edge of his desk. Perhaps, in the next three seconds, he’ll think of a way to give Bond some mind-reading powers so they can avoid a conversation. Hardly worth the risk, normally, but on this occasion…

“Before you go, 007, I’m er—”

“Spit it out, Q.”

“Right. Yes. I’m going to need you to change the password for your company-assigned laptop.”

Bond narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you a bit overqualified to be delivering messages usually sent by automated prompts?”

“And here I thought I still had too many spots to be qualified.” Bond gives him a look and Q remembers why jokes are a terrible idea in times like this. “You’re right, I am usually. But given the security fiasco with Denbigh and the merger, I’ve been doing some manual audits. Your password passes most requirements, but it’s—”

“—easy to guess,” finishes Bond. His hand twitches. Whether it’s out of annoyance or the desire for a strong drink, Q doesn’t know. He sympathises with the latter thought—he could certainly use a scotch or two himself.

“Yes. It’s linked to your file, and therefore a security risk. This isn’t something a computer would normally pick up, especially with the state of our backend systems. I’m sorry, Bond.”

Bond’s face remains unreadable, but he nods and promises to sort it out as soon as he gets back to his desk.

For a moment, Q is pleasantly distracted by the thought of James Bond sitting at a desk in an open-plan office, a human like the rest of them and just as subject to the indignities of hierarchy. Q wonders if he drinks coffee out of that awful, too-small company mug everyone’s got, or whether he’s put a few government-issued pens in it instead. Neither, probably. Bond has taste. Q would put money on him favouring better coffee and pens.

“Good,” says Q with a thin smile. “Good, thank you. You’re free to go, then.”

While he tries not to choke on the awkwardness in the room, Q turns toward a half-finished surveillance device on his workstation.

“Q?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” At the look Q gives him, he elaborates. “I can’t imagine everyone else who failed your security audit got the personal attention of the Quartermaster.”

That’s true. All the other agents and analysts who failed it got emails written by one of his graduate techs. Q tries not to linger on the thought that he’d probably have gone out of his way to talk to Bond anyway. Thinking about it for too long would mean interrogating why, and he’s fine with living in ignorance on that particular subject.

“Let’s call it luck of the draw.”

His discretion is awarded with a rare smile. He carries it with him until two days later, when he does a follow-up check of the admin systems. It reveals a clean sheet of secure passwords.

Q leaves dealing with Bond’s for last. He knows the man has more sense than to make the same mistake twice, so Q could leave unchecked. It’s not as if it matters whether he knows the password or not; he has full remote access to everything on Bond’s laptop anyway.

But he’d be naive to believe most passwords didn’t reveal some secrets about the person whose data they hide.

Q isn't sure he's ready for more of Bond's secrets.

No favouritism, he reminds himself. You’ve checked everyone else’s. God knows Bond already gets handed enough exceptions around here.

With that rebuke to himself in mind, he clicks the button to reveal the new password.

He taps his pen on the desk twice, then laughs. There is no mention of Delacroix, nor any other baggage-laden names in Bond’s file.

Instead, translated into an agent's approximation of leetspeak, blinks the word Temeraire.

[merv606]

Puritianverse

Daniel stands alone in his private dressing room at the Church on his wedding day, the Beta handmaidens having recently departed so he may have some time to himself, his last moments before he becomes his Alpha’s.

He looks at himself in the mirror, nervously adjusting the crown of flowers on his head, the beautiful silk and lace of the traditional Omega attire on his tiny figure. The lacy garter hitched high on his slim thigh, hidden under the long tunic, catches on his fingernails. He’s not sure why that is a requirement, and innocently asked as such of the handmaidens—but they only giggled and fussed over him, telling him he was the sweetest little thing. 

Daniel bites his lip. He feels like everyone is not telling him something, what with the garter, the “wedding night duties” and being “welcoming” to his Alpha’s “seed”. Whatever that means… 

But all that really matters is what his Alpha thinks of him. He looks in the mirror again, looking at his big brown eyes, and pink cheeks, and soft, shining hair. He hopes he is to his Alpha’s liking…

It’s tradition for Alphas to only see their Omega in their traditional bridal attire at the altar in church. There is no meeting before that—no private moment. It is not considered proper for the still unmarried Omega to be alone with an Alpha, even if their wedding is only moments away. 

So little Daniel is surprised and frightened when his Alpha unlocks the door to his dressing room where he is waiting, to see him. His Alpha stands there for a moment, looking him over and taking his fill of his Omega, his gaze growing more heated with every second. 

I have an idea similar to this but it’s after the wedding - his handmaidens/ladies in waiting getting him ready for his wedding night.

Dressing him in the ceremonial white tunic - so sheer you may as well not be wearing anything at all.

Long, NSFW, and the themes associated with this verse.

Daniel stands, slight shivers going through him despite the warmth of the room, as he stands with just his pants on.

His wedding shirt lies, neatly folded by his maidens, close by.

He raises his hands, allowing his maidens to pull the ceremonial wedding night tunic over him, not unlike an ivory drawing gown.

It hits a few inches above his knees, showing off a sliver of his thighs, and while Daniel would normally be outraged at the shortness of such a frock, it does not compute as it does not compare to the horror he has at the sheerness of the fabric it is made out of. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been this, this …. Shocked.

That is, until he’s indicted to step out of the white pants he’s wearing. He does so. Like a good omega, he was instructed to follow what his handmaidens told him to help prepare him for his wedding night.

Hesitation though, when he is instructed to remove his underwear, although he obeys. Hard not to after years of how to be a good omega training.

Although not from a well of family, as soon as he presented, not only did the news of him being a rare omega around the court, but so did the never ending talk of his beauty.

Not even a week after his presentation, his Ma was meeting with Lord Silver, and he was betrothed, his classes starting the next day.

Still.

He’s never been this exposed - he may as well be wearing nothing. From his clearly visible nipples, small and dark, to the now equally visible thatch of dark hair between his legs …. His husband will, no doubt, be able to see everything.

He asks for some underwear at least and they say their instructions were only for the tunic to be worn.

The smile indulgently, trying their level best not to laugh when he says, absolutely scandalized, that he can’t wear that in front of his husband.

“What will he think?” He asks, near tears as they well up in his large, brown eyes.

“Your husband picked this out for you to wear …. for him,” they explain.

“Whatever for?” He asks. These seems like someone a “loose” omega would wear. He’s not quite sure what that means but he knows the hushed way the older omegas of his church talk about them. Maybe Terry doesn’t realize how sheer it would be …..

“Do you know of your marital duties once you enter your wedding chamber?” one of them asks now, gently.

Another handmaidens tries to stifle a giggle and she’s hushed.

“No,” he responds truthfully but he is starting to suspect it must have something to do with his special omega place as they had to check that

to make sure he had keep himself pure for his husband, whatever that meant. They never really explained it, only saying it was for his alpha, and his soon to be alpha had been in the room when it happened and seemed very pleased.

He just knows he and Terry are to consummate their union under god, and he says as much.

“Don’t worry, your alpha will know.”

They lead him out of his dressing chamber into the wedding chamber, where the marital bed waits, adorned with white silk sheets and rose petals.

The handmaidens leave him then, with the parting advice to, “listen to your alpha, do as he pleases, and you’ll be fine.”

“There are no stories about him being cruel in such manners, only generous,” the oldest handmaiden says, the head of his little group.

“There are also stories about how well endowed his …” one of the younger ones starts but before she can finish, she’s quickly ushered out.

Daniel had no idea what they are talking about, and he watches as they depart, leaving him standing in the middle of the chamber, a sort of dread settling upon him.

He thanks god that the lights are at least dim. He tries to stand so his legs are somewhat crossed while trying to cover his upper body with his arms.

Too busy trying to figure out how the hell to make himself somewhat respectable for his husband, he doesn’t even notice said husband stepping into the room.

That is, until he hears the chuckle and stops, looking up.

His husband is in a thick robe, a dark red, with his hair down, dark waves barely touching his shoulders.

He steps forward and Daniel stands still as his husband walks around him, almost like he’s inspecting him.

“Sir, I …” he starts, face burning. Surely his husband didn’t realize how much of him would be on display.

A hand on his chin and he stops.

“You look lovely my darling. Absolutely breathtaking.” His eyes sweep up and down Daniel. “As I knew you would.”

He strokes a hand down Daniel’s upper arm and he shivers.

“Oh, have I been thinking about this.”

Daniel looks at his husband now, he can only describe him as hungry, but for what he’s not sure. There was enough food at the wedding, after all.

“You’re been everyone else’s all day,” he says, and in some respect it is true.

A wedding of someone this powerful and high in society is all ceremonial and he had to be introduced and greet the many guests.

They all fawned over how lovely and how lucky Terry was, although Daniel considers himself the lucky one.

Because his ma and Mr. Miyagi will be taken care of, and that is all that matters.

His husband is also extremely handsome. Daniel had noticed that since their first introduction and during their few chaperoned dates, he had noticed his omega parts felt funny whenever the alpha was near, especially when he touched him (in the socially acceptable way that is).

“You’re all mine now, though.” A hand strokes down his face and Daniel leans into it.

“You are ravishing, and I plan on ruining you.”

His husband bends down now, and although Daniel’s never been truly kissed, this part he recognizes, knowing what his husband is seeking.

Their lips meet - Terry’s soft yet firm; demanding, yet yielding all the same.

Pleasure and arousal go through him as large hands rove over her body, a tongue demanding entry and then slipping mouth when Daniel gasps, his husband squeezing his ass.

If this is what consummating their union means Daniel will be happy to go all night.

A hand now, rubbing a nipple through sheer fabric and Daniel breaks the kiss to whimper.

Terry kissing down his gown now, his hand slipping up to find the little omega wet with excitement already.

Daniel moans now, eyes flying open at the sensation of his husband’s fingers tracing along his slit.

Slowly kissing down, until he has to kneel, eye level with his most special part.

Slowly he guides the gown up revealing his mate to him, in all his glory.

Leaning back now, drinking his fill.

“Beautiful everywhere - such a pretty little pussy ….”

He rubs a warm hand up and down a slender smooth thigh, leaning in, resting his face there, breathing in deeply.

“I just have to taste it. And your cute little clit,” he says, and Daniel’s isn’t sure what he means by that, but then.

Gentle thumbs spread his open now and a tongue flicks out against that swollen nub and Daniel gasps - clutching his gown.

Oh, that’s what he meant.

Then his husband goes back to rubbing him there, and Daniel feels himself throb in response, and he can feel his husband’s fingers dip inside his folds and then a wetness being spread around which helps him increase the speed of his rubbing which increases the throbbing between his legs, which is almost unbearable now.

The pleasure is …. It must be a sin - this must be why they were told never to touch themselves there …. It is … it is …. He hears harass breathing and realizes it’s him and he tries to gulp in air into his starved lungs.

Terry stops, licking his fingers into his mouth, tasting the little omega’s offering, his slick juices.

Then, his husband licks up either side of his throbbing rosebud, before laving his tongue over it.

Daniel shouts now, his legs shaking when his husband’s tongue starts to flick against it, and when his husband sucks the hard nub into his mouth, he cries out, his legs giving out.

Terry catches him easily, sweeping him up into his arms, bridal style.

He doesn’t even register being laid on the bed, but he is and Terry’s face back between his legs, the wet noises that he is horrified to realize are coming from him and his omega parts.

Horrified when he realizes he is pushing up against his husband’s face; his behaviour not only improper but wonton and demanding - something good omegas do not do.

But he can’t stop, his hand going to his alpha’s head between his legs as he licks and licks / Daniel feeling pleasure mounting.

He comes, Terry pulling off to quickly rub his rosebud, prolonging his orgasm, and Daniel thinks he’s peeing himself, as wetness drops down him.

Terry stands now. His face shiny, as he licks his fingers into his mouth obscenely, as he remarks, “you taste good - like I knew you would.”

He blushes trying to cover himself now that his wits have returned.

“None of that.”

His alphas large hands on his inner knees open his legs gently and then his fingers are tracing up his omega place before spreading him there as well.

“If not for my eyes, then for whose?” He asks.

Daniel lies there, legs still twitching.

There is a bulge in his husband’s pants and he unlaces them now, not breaking eye contact with Daniel until his cock spring free.

Daniel mouth drops open. He had heard that alphas were different - that instead of an omegahood they had a manhood.

“Is it always like that?!” Daniel asks.

“When I’m around you,” he remarks. “You do that to me. Make my cock hard,” he explains.

“I’m sorry,” he says, not understanding.

Terry laughs. “You misunderstand little one.”

He cocks his head to the side, regarding his husband and his rather large endowment.

“This is what will allow me to consummate our union,” he explains, “and to bless you, of course.”

Doe eyes practically light up. “How?” he asks excitedly, as he sits up.

He reaches a hand out to touch the alpha’s cock, drawing back when the alpha groans, afraid that …. But Terry grabs his wrist, hiding it back to touch.

“How?” He repeats again, It’s all he wants - a blessing from his alpha - to start their family, telling Terry as much.

“That’s good then,” his alpha smiles. “Lie back and open your legs for me then.”

He does as told, but not before Terry helps him out of his gown so that he’s completely bare before his husband.

How put them on either side / good - although his body seems to instinct Ot know what to do his alpha guiding him along calms him

Terry teases the head of his cock up and down the omega’s omegahood, gathering the copious amounts of wetness there.

For good measure though, he grabs the pot of oil on their bedside table, pouring it over his virgin entrance.

His alpha covers him, holding himself up on one arm as guides his manhood inside his mate.

Daniel’s eyes widen, realization dawning as he feels the blunt pressure against him.

“Alpha .. wait … I …” don’t think it’ll fit is what he wants to say but Terry shushes him.

“Relax,” he hears, his alpha rubbing his spot, still wet with the older man’s spit as the head of his husband’s cock breeches his body for the first time.

He whimpers, grasping the bedsheets as he is slowly opened up for the first time, his husband’s cock large and insistent.

“The more you take me the easier it will become,” he promises. “For now relax - and let me have my husbandly rights.”

Terry leans over, sucking a plump nipple into his mouth and Daniel shifts as the cock opens him up more, his husband claiming him with each inch that slowly but surely fills him.

His husband will not be denied.

It’s pressure, never ending pressure which he cannot alleviate no matter how he squirms or moves his hips, and there is some discomfort, which increases. A feeling of his entrance being stretched beyond what it is capable off, and he thinks he can’t do it but then Terry stops, telling him.

“It’s in all the way now.”

Terry lays a hand on the omegas stomach where he bulges slightly from the massive hard length inside him.

Daniel lets out a shaky breath and Terry laces their fingers together, as he pulls back a little only to push back in, keeping his eyes on Daniel’s face before looking down to watch his cock disappear back inside his mate’s body.

Rocking in and out like that, he hikes Daniel’s leg up around his waist higher and starts to really fuck him proper. The resistance is still there but not as much.

“Let me get you with child,” he reminds Daniel. “That’s it,” he coos. “Relax for me …. let me give you what you want … what you need.”

Terry starts pumping in, smooth strong thrusts watching the little omega jolt from the force of their first coupling. Looking down at the slender form, Terry imagines what his little omega will look like swollen with child - his child - his belly full and round, his pretty little tits to match.

“Touch yourself,” for me he demands. He wants to feel Daniel come on his cock this time.

Not sure what the second part means, but his husband can’t surely mean to ….. that’s a sing

“What,” he whimpers, eyes rolling back as his husband cock fills him, everywhere all at once.

“Touch yourself,” he encourages …. “Rub your clit like I did.”

“But sir, I … tis a sin.” Daniel has already sinned enough tonight - he feels he will be doing penance until he dies.

“Do you dare to disobey your alpha little one?” There is no heat in it, but Terry knows how seriously the boy takes these things.

Sure enough, he watches as Daniel obeys, rubbing at himself harshly, with no finesse or experience for what to do.

Still, his body clenches down nicely as his little mate rubs himself.

Later on, Terry will spread his mate out on their bed and show him how to properly touch himself. Watch as he makes himself come to Terry’s instructions.

There is so much to teach him.

For now, Terry feels his balls draw up ready to empty himself inside his mate and he grabs on, with one impaling him on his cock so his seed shoots inside, as deep as it can.

He buries his face in his omega’s neck, biting down, and Daniel cries out, his fingers not stopping the motion on his rosebud.

Terry’s hips keep moving sure very drop is inside where it belongs, and he takes pity on his boy’s inexperience, quickly bringing him to orgasm with his fingers, the boy squirting a little this time, already tight body closing like a vice around his cock, as more seed is forced out of Terry into the alluring clench of the omega’s body.

“What?” He gasps out, unsure of this feeling, of what just happened.

“My seed is inside you now,” he chuckles, rubbing his stomach.

“Have I pleased you then, my lord?” He asks, wanting to make sure.

“As I knew you would,” Terry affirms and pride flows through him - that he has pleased his alpha.

Slowly pulling out, if only to amplify the wet squelching noises the omega’s cunt makes now that it’s been properly used by the alpha.

He’s sore but can’t wait to do it again which is good because Terry tells him next.

“This is your new duty as a married omega.”

“Will you bless me often?”

Terry chuckles. “As often as I can, darling.”

“Tomorrow your lessons will start on how to run the household,” he explains, although they have staff for all the day to day. His omega won’t have to lift a finger but he will have to know how to direct and manage the staff and any issues that may arise.

“This though,” Terry spreads his now, just to look at the gap his cock left behind. “This

will be taking up most of your time. This is your most important responsibility - seeing to your alpha’s satisfaction. Giving me a child.”

A soft rap on the door.

The priest steps in and Daniel realizes now, what it means when they said he would be checked after, to make sure he did his duty.

Terry puts a hand on the inside of his knee and the priest steps between them, examining him.

“It is clear you have done your duty as an omega and allowed your husband his rights.”

Daniel blushes at the priest words.

Your alpha’s seed clearly fills you but ….”

A white piece of lace fabric is produced which is he runs between his legs.

“Proof that you have joined as one as god intended, honouring the way of the church. You will be blessed shortly, as god intends.”

The priest leaves and Daniel notices his husband’s cock, which was going down, has started to harden again.

“Are you not satisfied?” Daniel asks.

“On the contrary, little one …..” he says, rolling Daniel onto his stomach, pulled back by his hips so his ass is on the air.

The blunt head of his husband’s cock at his entrance.

“I’ve never been more satisfied,” he groans as he presses inside.

Neither have I Daniel thinks. The only thing that would satisfy him more is his husband’s child inside him which, he’s sure won’t take long.

[snailor-bee]

OC Modern AU: Caged Hearts

This idea has been bouncing around my head for a while and I wanted to get it down somewhere! This mostly follows my OCs Carys and Solomon, with a bunch of friends OC's thrown into the mix! Owners are: Umi @aifozu , Maren @mewiyev , Renge @childofblackmaria , Coco @secretvoidvoid

I'm still thinking about ideas for this AU but I'm more than happy to discuss with anyone about it! So feel free to ask any questions or just talk to me about it lol. Also any mutuals who wanna discuss about specific OCs that I did or didn't include hmu. >:3c

Abyss owns a place pretty far outside of town. It’s basically a homestead even though Abyss has taken to working more and more often at his company in the city as his kids have gotten older.

Solomon and Carys have been raised as siblings, although Solomon is adopted. No one would be able to tell they weren’t blood related though, Solomon and Carys both look so much like their father.

They were originally homeschooled by Abyss and other tutors until Solomon put his foot down and demanded to go to a ‘real’ school. Carys went with him but only lasted a few days before reverting to being homeschooled.

Solomon is skinny and tall like their father, they’re all a similar shade of tan (Carys and Abyss a bit darker as they spend more time outside than Solomon prefers too). He’s got short black hair, dark eyes like Abyss, and is tattooed down both arms. He’s working on his chest currently. He’s going to college as a business major even though he’d really rather not. However, Abyss wants him to take over the family business and both know Carys would never do that. So it falls on Solomon. He’s also a few years older than Carys in this AU. What he’d really like to be though is an artist or a tattoo artist. He draws constantly.

Carys is perfectly satisfied living on their farm. She takes care of their animals every day but after being told she had to take a degree in something she is Languages major, simply because she has an ear for that sort of thing and being fluent in other languages is easy for her. She takes the courses online since she doesn’t care to attend a college in person. She looks largely the same as her normal human form however she’s a little more bulky since she works on the farm. She still enjoys singing and sparring with Solomon or their father.

Both siblings like to do underground cage fighting. Solomon a little less, since he’s honestly not much into fighting even though he’s not bad at it (for some reason Abyss knows a lot of different types of fighting styles and taught them both). It’s more for something to do, the entertainment of it all is thrilling. The energy of the crowd and being apart of something is intoxicating, and the money isn’t bad either. He gets Carys involved who does like the fighting aspect of it and hardly cares about anything else.

Solomon doesn’t really understand it but Carys has always been a little… odd. Not the greatest with society interactions and you’d think she was born in another century with the way she reacts to technology. She can call and begrudgingly text (it takes her forever) and that’s about it. Online school was initially a challenge because while Carys understood everything and could take tests, anything required to be typed (which was… everything) irritated her as she hated using a computer. Solomon eventually hooked her up with a typer, Bee, who would take Carys’ written pages and type them out for her to send in. The two become friendly.

Bee has recently gotten out of the military and is attending college as an English major. She’s older than most of the college students because of her military experience. She and Solomon had taken a few classes together which is why he thinks to ask her to help his sister out. She lives off campus with a few friends in an apartment and is a full-time student.

Their only other close friend is Maren, who was the one who originally introduced them to the underground fights. He works on their farm as a farmhand sometimes and both siblings enjoy his laid-back company.

Maren is a frequent fighter in the cages and although he loses just about as often as he wins, he loves it. He’s a big fan of the Donut Destroyer, a tall man with a huge following and always fights with a black and white striped scarf around the bottom half of his face. (People think the name is lame but everyone is to scared to tell him that). Maren later finds out that Carys and Solomon know him, like actually know him, and that he works at Abyss’ company. He begs Carys to go along with her on a random trip to Abyss’ work and he meets Katakuri there.

Solomon is on a dating app when he sees a drop-dead gorgeous woman on there. She’s got short white hair and is completely covered in blue lines of tattoos. Her name is Umi. She’s way above his league but he shots her a message anyway. They get to chatting and hit it off. They arrange a date, but it happens to be on a day that he’s supposed to be with Carys and he can’t pawn her off on Maren or Bee. In a panic because he doesn’t want to reschedule afraid that Umi will think he’s blowing her off he finds out about a Martial Arts tournament. Thinking Carys will at least find it a little interesting, he gets them tickets to that, tells her he’s going to be late, and takes off for his date.

(It goes super well and Solomon is basically in love at first sight. Umi is the coolest person he’s every met and they get along so well, it was hard to say goodbye. Solomon is EXTREMELY late when he finally manages to tear himself away and book it to the tournament.)

It’s most definitely ended by the time he shows up and he’s just in time to see Carys challenging a man to a fight. Luckily the man looks only mildly confused but that could just be his face (he looks high as fuck, what is wrong with people?? With the way he’s dressed, Solomon assumes he was in the tournament itself, how is he high). Forcibly dragging Carys away from the weirdo with the pineapple hair, he demands to know what happened.

Nothing happened, just Marco was a fantastic fighter and Carys wants to fight him, badly. Solomon gets them out of there but the next few days are torture listening to Carys drone on and on about the pineapple head. It’s clear to Solomon that she has a crush that she’s misplacing into an urge to fight the man but to Solomon’s knowledge, Carys has never really had a crush on anyone before and isn’t quite sure how to bring it up.

Life goes on except that Carys’ fights have been bringing in slightly less money. Solomon knows it’s because the crowd is becoming bored of her fights, she’s won almost all of her matches. So he goes to her, trying to beg her to intentionally lose a match. He knows she’ll never go for it and is shocked to see her think it over. There’s a gleam in her eye when she says “Yes, but only if you’ll tell me where I can find Marco.”

There’s nothing else to do. He does and she loses. Marco works at a gym named the Whitebeard Gym. Which happens to be the gym Maren attends (and is the one who gives Solomon this information). Maren ends up taking Carys and signing her up for the gym. After he explains how to use all the equipment, she goes by herself frequently and signs up for all of Marco’s classes. After being told her behavior of just… demanding he fight her was unacceptable (and would end up making him never fight her if she kept asking) she doesn’t ask but does make it a point to try to talk with him every time before or after one of his classes. At first it’s mostly fight related but slowly it becomes easier and more natural. Marco finds that he comes to enjoy their chats.

At some point, Solomon mentions that Carys must like Marco and when she asks him “how you can tell if you like someone?” Solomon tells her to ask Bee.

They discuss it together but Carys decides to show Bee Marco personally so she brings her to the gym. (Bee complaining the entire time because she does not want to go) However the class they have signed up to do isn’t being run by Marco (he’s away at another tournament) and Carys, annoyed, says they can go. But Bee has caught sight of their instructor, a tall handsome man with his long blond hair pulled back in a messy bun and the weirdest mustache she’s ever seen but hey, she’s already here. They stay to do the class and Bee about dies. After her near death experience they go to the front counter so Carys can ask when Marco should be back. Thatch, jokingly, asks Bee if she’s joining the gym and she snorts. “Not on your life.” “Not even for some eye candy?” he snaps back with a wide grin. Bee rolls her eyes. They can all see where Edward Newgate is surrounded by women from the class. When Bee finds out he’s the owner of the gym she’s impressed. Bee tells Carys to just take a picture of Marco to show her later, which Thatch teasingly says they don’t allow photos of instructors unknowingly. Knowing Carys will take that literally, Bee sighs aggressively before seeing Edward walking up to the counter. “Just do it like this,” she tells Carys before smiling at Edward and asking for a selfie with her instructor for her first and last workout. Edward of course is more than happy to oblige and she gets a selfie and drags Carys out of the gym before Thatch can make another remark.

When Marco gets back from his trip, he says he wants to watch one of Carys’ matches, which she’s thrilled about. Except it ends up against Sasaki, a powerhouse. Carys loses that fight but afterward, Marco asks her to dinner. (Unfortunately, he asks her in the backroom while she was talking with Coco, Sasaki’s girlfriend so Carys, not recognizing the offer for a date, invites them along.) The four of them go to a place nearby where Marco knows the people there.

It's just a food truck but it has tables set up outside of it and it’s still a nice atmosphere and the food is amazing. It’s owned by Renge with her partners Roger and Rayleigh. Renge is the chef and her and Roger both have highly successful Instagram accounts. (Roger with his ‘Vanlife’ that he shows off his travels, Renge when she’s not working and is traveling with him reviews food. Rayleigh is a photographer and takes nicer shots if either need more than a quick ‘aesthetic’ picture that they can take themselves.)

Marco, not super thrilled with the way Carys is bruised and battered from the fight with Sasaki, makes a few ill-placed remarks that after a while Sasaki reacts to and both women have to talk them both down from erupting into an all-out fight. Carys likes both Sasaki and Coco though and wants to have another fight with Sasaki (or just spar together) which with some encouragement from Coco, the man agrees to. And that’s all I have right now! I’m still thinking things through. :0

Notes that I have which I’m unsure where to put: Marco has a blue parrot named Moby that only gets along with his brothers and hates females. So when Carys first meets him, Marco is assuming Moby will get possessive. However, Carys handles Moby extremely well (she’s very good with animals) and Marco is amazed.

I wasn’t sure what to do for Umi job so she doesn’t have as much information as I’d like, but just know Solomon is down BAD and they are extremely cute together.

The age ranges for Solomon and Carys are in their early twenties. Whitebeard, Abyss and Katakuri are in their 40s, while everyone else is generally below that somewhere. (Thinking Roger/Rayleigh are in their late 30s though). Marco in his mid-twenties along with most of his brothers, barring Ace.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

aside from the actors being like 10 years older than the characters, and the bad effects what’s so bad about the animorphs tv show? is it worth a watch just for fun?

Short answer: No.  Not worth it.  It’s so bad on so many levels, and has fundamental writing problems that make all of the characters stupidly inconsistent (if they’re yeerks) or morally reprehensible (if they’re Animorphs).

Longer answer: The Animorphs TV show is unfortunately quite badly written and also quite limited by its own budget, to the point where the characters and plots and themes simply do not translate.  The yeerks aren’t threatening, the battles aren’t violent, the team isn’t close, and 0% of what makes Animorphs unique — from the body horror to the humor — makes it to the final product.

However, in the interest of fairness, a few things I do like from AniTV:

• Stealthy yeerk tech.

I love the detail that the dracon beams look like flashlights.  Yes it’s cheesy, and yes the decision probably came from budgetary constraints and/or censorship.  However, it just makes so much more sense to me than the ray-gun design from the books.  The tube shape not only looks harmless — allowing controllers to arm kids as young as Karen without drawing attention — but it seems like it’d be much easier to use for hosts with hands as small as taxxons’ or as large as hork-bajir’s.  The ray-gun look seems a little too ergonomically correct for humans in particular.

Also, the use of yeerks-in-thermoses, yeerks-in-thermometers, and yeerks-in-phones all makes the threat so much more flexible and immediate.  Rather than having to go through an elaborate process of luring humans to yeerk pools, AniTV controllers only need to come up with an excuse to press an innocent-looking object against your ear.

• Paranoia and uncanniness.

Richard Sali as Chapman might be the best performance on the show.  He does this cool thing where he has completely normal-looking reactions to Melissa asking a question or Marco misbehaving... only the reaction always comes a solid 2 - 3 seconds too late.  It’s unnerving as hell, and it really sells the idea that this is an alien playing a part.

Plus, the use of minor background characters who are just... walking by.  Once the show hammers home the idea that every single passerby could be a controller in the opening of the second episode, it can increase the tension in a scene just by having a few extras wander by in the background of the frame.  It’s an effect that works well in visual media, and one that doesn’t require a big budget.

• Having Elfangor just hand Tobias a physical CD of his hirac dilest instead of messing around with mystical andalite bloodline crap.

Honestly I prefer the “space CD o’ intel” device because it’s a problem the audience can immediately get behind.  We understand instantly why it’s useful, why just plugging it into Jake’s computer won’t work (although it’s adorable they still try), why it’s dangerous to have, and why it’s going to take some additional plot time to figure out how to get it open.

The plot itself that comes out of the disc is frequently kinda cool.  The Animorphs and controllers go back-and-forth over it for a while, only for the controllers to get it, only for the controllers to discover it’s biometrically locked to Elfangor’s DNA, so only Ax can get it open, so there are a bunch of controllers gunning for him...  And then there’s the twist that it’s biometrically locked not to andalite-Elfangor’s DNA but human-Elfangor’s DNA, meaning only Tobias, not Ax, can open it.  Great plot fuel, and much easier to understand than the whole “utzum” thing that Elfangor uses to give Tobias his hirac dilest in book canon.

(Technically, it’s incorrect to say Elfangor hands Tobias the CD, because he waits until Tobias has already walked like 50 feet away and then attempts to throw Tobias the CD, only to miss and have it fall in a hole... but I’m doing my best not to criticize AniTV in this list.)

• Dead. Grandpa. Tuxedo.

The best characterization note in AniTV has got to be Cassie loaning Jake a tuxedo that belonged to her grandfather so that he can wear it to their school’s dance.  Cassie says she found this thing in her attic, Jake is unironically enthusiastic about the history behind Dead Grandpa Tux, Rachel threatens to disown Jake rather than have any member of her family appear at a high school mixer in a fucking tuxedo from the fucking 1940s, Jake and Cassie are blissfully unaware that “way too formal” and “50 years out of style” are concepts that exist... It’s all so beautifully in-character.

• The escargot scene.

• The secret ex-controller support group.

Obviously I’m fascinated by the lives of former yeerk hosts, but I also think that the potential for the group of them that Tobias encounters is nearly infinite.  As the kids mention in #13, even just one or two escaped hosts have the potential to destabilize the whole Yeerk Empire through showing that escape is possible.  Toby’s warriors are incredibly important for the war effort, and Eva eventually becomes a massive source of insider intel from the Empire.  The idea of a group of humans who used to be controllers all helping each other while also helping the Animorphs is so friggin cool, and I’m just really bummed that we only got like 30 seconds of screen time for them before Tobias gets them recaptured by yeerks.

All right, I think I’m out of nice things to say.  AniTV has its moments; I’ll give the show that much.

[stutterfly]

Failure to Communicate

This was a joint collab fic that @gukslut​ and I worked on, commissioned by @cypherft-v as part of our fundraising for Black Lives Matter. Thank you for contributing! Banner & moodboard by me :)

{Pairing} Park Jimin/ Reader

{Genre} Enemies to Lovers/ College AU/ comedy/ smut

{Rating} Mature - Explicit 

{Word Count} 21K

{Warnings} oral, kissing, fingering, protected sex, biting, marking, other filthy shit

{Summary} You've always had a crush on Park Jimin, but the truth is that you're just one of many. He just so happens to be the TA for one of your classes, and you're determined to make your feelings known. Whether or not he takes you seriously remains to be seen.

{Prompt} Could either of you write an enemies to lover story about jimin and y/n set in college where he was her TA and got her kicked out of her major bc he didnt give her the grade she needed and was generally unhelpful? Posted on tumblr on August 17, 2020 by stutterfly and cross-posted to Ao3. I do not allow reposting, translations, or edits, to any platform, including YouTube.

Ten more minutes. You can barely see the clock from your seat against the wall. The lecture hall isn't crowded by any means; to the contrary, this Tuesday/Thursday psych class is usually pretty empty. You could have just as easily sat in the middle, but it doesn't afford you the same view. Well, it does. But not the one you prefer. It's just that positioned front and center, your staring would look more obvious. At least that's what you're telling yourself. If you stare from the corner it's less conspicuous, which is important because you do a lot of staring in this class. Park Jimin is the TA.

The man in question sits off to the side at a table of his own, typing away on his laptop. This reminds you that you haven’t been doing much other than quietly ogling from a distance. The only notes you're taking are lackluster doodles of his appearance and the occasional squiggle of your pen at the quiet sighs he lets out when he stretches his back after sitting hunched over his laptop for too long.

Jimin is absolutely breathtaking — even in an ugly plaid three-piece suit and perfectly round spectacles that would look horrid on any normal person. You're definitely not the only one who has noticed. His beautiful features and fantastic bone structure forge a man who is borderline ethereal. With soft eyes, big pouty lips, a flawless complexion, and a flirtatious demeanor he has enraptured many over the years. He's popular... like, really popular.

You begrudgingly count yourself among those love-smitten numbers. You know it’s hopeless and illogical. He could have any person he so desired at any point in time. Why would he ever choose someone like you? If you’d been paying any sort of attention to the subject matter of this class you might know that things like feelings and life’s rhetorical questions often don’t make sense.

But you’re shit at psychology. You’re more of a blunt poet at heart, and that heart is often hidden behind twisted brambles of anxiety and sharp thorns of insecurity.

You are but a speck of dirt upon his round glasses. It’s been a hopeless, silent crush for some time, but now that he’s assisting the professor in this core requirement for your academic studies, he has to acknowledge your presence. You’re a speck he has to look at before swiping you out of sight with a wave of his hand.

He's the object of just about everyone's affections, and rightfully so. He's not just gorgeous, he's charismatic, charming, and such a smooth talker. The word on campus says those pretty lips of his can do a lot of other really wonderful things too. You've been watching him chew on them for the past five minutes straight, wondering how many times his deliciously pink tongue can sweep over them before he makes them chapped.

Maybe they're chapped already. Maybe you should offer him your chapstick? Or maybe you should never talk to him at all, because you don't stand a chance. Park Jimin would chew you up and leave you bleeding out with a broken heart, and you know it. That doesn't stop you from imagining all the ways he could take you in his mouth first. You could watch those pretty lips all day long, but you’ll settle for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Looking up as if he's been paying attention all along, Jimin attempts to figure out where the professor is in the lesson. It’s obvious that he wasn't listening at all and was instead answering messages. It would be nice if he could say they were messages for class, but that's not true and Jimin is a lot of things, but he isn't a liar. He's been talking to Chungha, his current flavor of the week.

He turns toward the students as the professor dismisses the class and there you are, eager and awestruck. It takes every ounce of self control Jimin has not to roll his eyes. Another fan, he presumes. You can't handle him, but he can tell by the embarrassed way you tear your eyes from him to look anywhere else that it hasn't stopped you from thinking about it.

Trying to seem nonchalant now is a lost cause. Jimin has no shame and although you busied yourself by packing up your neglected textbooks and darting your gaze to various points in the room for a straight minute, Jimin is still staring at you when you look back at him. He smirks when your eyes meet. It's not a flirty kind of smirk, you sadly note. It's condescending in your eyes, which further solidifies your theory: Jimin is too much for you no matter how badly you want a taste of him.

"Did you take notes?" he asks, nodding toward your backpack where you've just tucked your computer and sketched up notebook.

"I- uhh..." You panic.

"You know that was all about the exam next week. You're gonna need those notes if you want to have any hope of passing it," he tells you, shoving his own computer into his bag.

"I was just.. um, I was--" you attempt to explain.

"Busy staring at me?" He smiles and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s teasing oh gyou.

You balk at the blatant accusation and force a half-laugh, half-scoff from your throat. “No.”

"Yes," he corrects with a light and mellifluous laugh. "Is there pen on my face or were you hoping you could be?"

"What?" you choke, eyes watering at the idea.

Jimin shakes his head, laughing softly to himself as he remembers his surroundings. With a small clear of his throat and the subtle adjusting of his tie, he provides a suggestion for you. “Get them from Taehyung.”

"Get what?" you ask, drawing a blank on what this conversation was even about. It's the first time you've ever actually talked to him outside of your dreams and it’s proving to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

"The notes, Y/N. Get the notes from Taehyung, you know, the ones that you didn't take today because you were daydreaming about my mouth," he tells you, heading for the door.

Taehyung, who is the only other person left in the room wiggles his fingers at you in a wave. When you turn back, Jimin is gone.

"Need the notes?" Taehyung asks, voice free of judgement.

"Please," you sigh, relieved that he'd waited.

He spins his laptop toward you, where an email is already open with the notes attachment added. "Drop your address in there," he says standing up.

"Thank you so much," you say, frantically typing your student email into the space.

"Hey, y/n?" Taehyung asks, the bristles of curiosity or concern painting his tone with a soft comfort.

"Yeah?"

"Jimin is a fool," he tells you.

"What?"

"If you were looking at me like that, I'd at least ask for your number." Tae offers a combination of large hopeful eyes and a giant goofy grin as he holds his phone out for you.

Giggling, you take it from his hand and add your number to his contacts list. He purses his lips to hide his excitement as he takes his phone back. He slides it into his pocket before hastily packing the rest of his things into his leather messenger bag.

"Thanks, Taehyung," you say, waving on your way out the door.

"Wait!" he shouts after you, half of the contents of his bag threatening to spill onto the floor as he scrambles away from the table. He adjusts his belongings and clears his throat, instantly adopting a smooth persona. "Where are you going? I'll walk you."

"My car?"

"Wanna come eat with me?" he wonders. He's confident, but it's not the same kind of arrogant confidence that Jimin oozes. He's softer. He feels more real, more attainable. He obviously knows he's a catch and he’s definitely expressed the same about you. What could be the harm in letting an attractive man stroke your ego a little bit? If you’re being honest with yourself, you can use the boost after such a pathetic display towards your crush.

"Oh, uh... yeah. I guess so," you agree, letting him lead the way out the door.

"Cool." Tae takes his glasses off and hooks them in his shirt. Pulling a snapback from his bag, he pushes his hair back and puts it on before he swings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Damn. Why did that raise his hotness like ten whole levels?

"You like hamburgers?"

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Taehyung slips into the seat next to you on Thursday, brushing against you very deliberately as he passes.

"Hello, sugar," he says, licking his lips as he spares a fleeting glance down at your chest.

"Hey, Tae," you greet him while your eyes are still locked on Jimin.

"Still on Jimin, huh?" he asks. He doesn't sound particularly disappointed, or surprised for that matter. He's just stating a fact. You're relieved he's not offended. Letting him eat you out in his backseat after dinner was probably not your best decision, although it seems like it meant about as much to him as it did to you.

"I don't know," you say with a shrug.

"It's okay. I can't blame you. I could put in a good word for you if you want. We're close," he informs you, sitting back and spreading his legs wide under the desk.

Sighing, you rest your cheek in your palm. "I've got a plan," you confess.

"Oh yeah?" he chuckles. He playfully knocks his knee against yours as if to signal for you to spill. "Do tell."

"I think I need a little extra help with this material," you tell Taehyung.

"Good luck, Y/n. I hope he can squeeze you into his busy schedule, but hey, if he can't, I'm totally down to squeeze into yours anytime."

Looking at Tae out of the corner of your eye, you smile at the grin he wears and start to laugh at the way he wiggles his eyebrows at you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you joke.

"Please do."

The minutes drag on as you wait for this class to end. Doing your best to seem a little less obsessive this time, you make a point to take notes and look at the teacher more than the TA. Jimin still catches you staring at least three times. It's embarrassing, but not enough to stop you from approaching him as the room empties out.

"Hi, y/n," Jimin sings, giving you a knowing smile.

"Hi." You tuck your hair behind your ear, and smile back.

"Do you need something?" he wonders, purposefully combing his fingers through his silver hair.

Damn, do you ever.

"I was wondering if you had time to help me. I'm struggling with this material and I could really use some one-on-one guidance." Leaning over his desk you make sure he has a good view right down your shirt, not that his eyes wander from yours. While he shows restraint in his gaze you swear he briefly drags his bottom lip through his teeth before he catches himself.

"One-on-one, huh?" He sticks his tongue in his cheek, looking amused. "I bet Taehyung would give you some one-on-one guidance."

You're sure that's true, but it's not Taehyung you're after. Taehyung isn’t the TA. Taehyung isn’t getting paid to help teach a course. Of course you want to say that and in your head you rehearse the words but you can’t seem to find a way to phrase them eloquently enough. Why do you always get stupid brain around him? Your plan is quickly falling apart.

Jimin waits for your response with his eyebrows raised. You know he's two seconds away from leaving you gaping at him and walking out the door, so you do something incredibly rash and stupid.

"I like you," you blurt out.

Jimin smiles. He knows that, obviously. He also knows damn well that you're perfectly capable of looking back at your notes by yourself. You're definitely smart and dedicated enough to study on your own. He can't help teasing you anyway.

"Everyone likes me," he casually informs you as he plants his palms on the desk and leans on them.

He peeks over the edge of his glasses as he looks up at you, like some kind of otherworldly sexy librarian. If deities ever needed a librarian, Jimin wouldn’t even need a resume. His charm and seduction are so strong that you almost miss his rejection. Almost. You're stunned into silence when it hits you. Just as you're about to tuck and run, he smiles again.

"But,” he pauses to click his tongue thoughtfully, “I think I have some time on Saturday. I'll give you my number.” He rips a corner of paper out of his notebook. "Is it okay if I come to your place? Do you have a dorm or…”

"Oh. My apartment’s fine!" you flounder, trying to remember how to speak coherent sentences. Jimin. In your room. How many dreams have you had about this moment? "I mean, yeah, sure. You'll come to mine, yeah."

Jimin giggles and it sounds like pealing bells. You're lost in the beautiful sound of it until you realize that he's laughing at you. "You okay with that? We could meet somewhere else instead."

"I wouldn't mind you in my room," you sigh. Open mouth; insert foot.

He raises an eyebrow, giving you a chance to backtrack, but you're both well aware you meant every word of that.

"Okay, y/n. See you Saturday then. Call me."

"I’ll call you," you repeat, resisting the urge to slap your palm over your face. You sound like an idiot. Stupid brain strikes again.

Jimin barely notices, all too used to girls falling over themselves to get his attention. You’re no different to him, just another pretty face in a sea of women entranced by the way he walks, talks, and breathes. It’s not his fault he’s so damn pretty. He does note that you’re brave, however. Not many people come on to him so brazenly, and that’s something worth rewarding. Besides, he feels a sort of obligation to help you out. He is getting paid to help out the professor, after all.

He winks at you as he leaves, taking your breath and your sanity with him. You have Park Jimin’s phone number. Park Jimin is going to be in your apartment in two days. Maybe you didn’t bomb that as hard as you thought.

A slow clap beckons you to look back for the source and you find Taehyung looking back at you with his boxy grin. When he’s sure he’s got your attention he raises his two thumbs up in approval.

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Jimin is not surprised when Chungha disappears into the clusterfuck of bodies as soon as they step into the party. They may have come here together, but their fling is on its last leg and they both know it. She wants him off her couch, doesn't appreciate the feeling of tied-down-ness that comes with your friend with benefits staying over all the time. She's ready to move on, that means he has to as well.

Jimin isn't even sure whose house this is, but he’s happy to tag along for free booze and maybe a new face to go home with. Luckily, his friends are never far, and he finds them easily. Getting absolutely hammered in the backyard makes them hard to miss. Jungkook is the only one looking particularly bored as a very drunk Taehyung hangs all over him talking about the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

"Why so glum?" Jimin asks, nudging Jungkook's shoulder with his own.

"I'm the designated driver tonight," Jungkook sighs, pushing Taehyung off of him.

Taehyung slumps to the ground, immediately entranced by the stars above him. Jungkook kicks at him gently.

"Where's your girlfriend? I haven't seen you without your tongue down her throat all week," Jungkook wonders, looking behind Jimin for the woman in question.

"Girlfriend," Jimin repeats with a snort. "Hilarious. That's not a thing. She's probably looking for her next kill."

Jungkook regards Jimin thoughtfully, his eyebrows scrunching toward each other. "If you take over DD you can have the futon."

Jungkook loves his futon. It's one of his most prized possessions. He keeps it very clean and being allowed to get anywhere near it is a privilege. Jimin is pretty sure he goes over it with a lint roller as part of his nighttime routine. It's also incredibly comfortable.

Jimin releases a breath in a tortured groan as he thinks over his options. He could get black out drunk and wake up god knows where with a terrible hangover, or he could hang out and watch his friends get black out drunk and then wake up on a futon that feels more like a cloud than a mattress, a little slice of heaven in Jungkook and Taehyung's little apartment.

"Okay," Jimin relents. "Give me the keys. I’ll stick to water for the rest of the night."

"Ah, I love you man," Jungkook praises, tossing his keys in Jimin's general direction before grabbing the newly opened can of beer out of Taehyung's hand below him. Taehyung, still staring up at the sky with a glazed smile, doesn't react. It takes Jungkook all of five seconds to pour the contents of the can straight down his throat. He follows this by smashing the can in a bicep curl with a giggle and a bashful smile.

"Do it again," an unfamiliar girly voice pleads from across the table. She tosses him another can and he repeats the action, turning away when he's finished so that he doesn't have to see her reaction. Jimin knows what's going to happen once his friend gets a few more beers in him. Jungkook is going to go apeshit. There will be no trace of this shy hunk of muscle who blushes and coils away from pretty girls. He'll be chest thumping shirtless and picking up everyone who gets close enough to touch. Half of them will probably end up thrown in the pool, if history is anything to go by, and he'll most likely have the hottest girl at the party slobbering all over him in the backseat when Jimin drives him home tonight.

Jimin's suspicions prove true an hour later when Jungkook throws Tae in the pool. Jimin runs to the edge of it in a panic. Tae was very drunk so he needs to make sure he's not just sinking like a stone. That was his first mistake, although he'd make it again to keep Taehyung safe. His second mistake was wearing these ridiculously tight ass jeans.

Any other pair and he might have been able to pry his cell phone from his pocket the second he felt JK's hands on his back. Had he worn any other pair of pants he might have been able to throw it to safety in the grass before he hit the surface of the pool. As it stands, his skin tight jeans are soaked through, Tae is slightly more sober than he was when Jimin arrived and is swimming just fine, and Jimin's phone is totally destroyed.

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You should be sleeping. It's three in the morning. You should definitely not be awake right now. Lifting your phone up for the three hundredth time tonight, you're not surprised to have no new notifications. That text you sent to Jimin hours ago has gone unanswered.

You typed and erased it at least ten times, agonized over what to say, and how to say it. By the time you pressed send, the message was nothing like how it began and you noticed a second too late that you didn't even tell him who you were. Adding a second text saying 'it's y/n btw' seemed so desperate. You've been waiting for him to ask who you are for so long that you've convinced yourself he already knows and he's avoiding you on purpose. Who else would have said "i'm excited to see you tomorrow" in a text about meeting up to study? He knows it's you. He has to. The alternative possibility that he plans to see other people tomorrow too is too bothersome to accept. You really need to let this go and try to sleep.

Keys in the door stop you from dragging yourself off the couch. Your roommate will see you and accuse you of trying to run away from him to avoid something. He’s right, of course. You’ve attempted to flee from your problems in the past, against his advice. Now you know better than to try. It's much better to face things with Yoongi head on. At the very least, maybe he's got something helpful to say.

"Why're you up? You look sad." His words slur just the tiniest bit and he leans against the wall for stability as he takes off his shoes just inside the door. You see right through his attempts at nonchalance. He's tipsy.

"A boy I like isn't texting me back," you admit with a scowl. "You didn't drive, did you?"

"No, friend dropped me off. Is it Taehyung?" Yoongi asks, not pausing for an answer. "I wouldn't worry too much. He talked about you a lot tonight. He was really drunk though. You should go to bed. He'll probably text you in the morning."

You don't bother to correct Yoongi. Admitting you're harboring a huge fucking crush on the campus it-boy is the most foolish thing you could possibly do. It's embarrassing and naive and Yoongi would pity you for falling for someone so far out of your league. Maybe you should just date Taehyung and forget about Jimin. He sure seems to have forgotten about you.

When the morning comes and your only notifications are an email from Target and a text from your mom, you muster up every bit of courage you could possibly find in your body and call him. You’d rather know if he’s deliberately ignoring you now than agonize over other possibilities all day.

It doesn't even ring. His phone goes straight to voicemail. You try again, and a third time. Voicemail, voicemail. Could it be you rushed putting his number in and did it incorrectly? You dig through your backpack for the slip of paper he gave you to double check, and sure enough, it’s his number. He's ignoring you. He turned off his phone to solidify that fact in your brain.

Last night, laying awake waiting for his name to light up your phone, you felt pretty damn bad. In the daylight, with rest and a clear head, you're absolutely crushed. He was supposed to come over. You had plans. It was stupid of you to think you could earn space in his mind or time in his schedule. He played you, and it hurts.

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Studying on your own proves more difficult than you imagined. With only Tae's notes to go by, you feel like you're quizzing yourself on things you already know. Turning to the textbook doesn't give you the specialized knowledge you need for the exam. You could never hope to memorize enough of it that you'd retain something pertinent.

On top of that, your heart hurts. You were so close to spending time together you could practically smell the subtle scent of his cologne. He pulled the rug right out from under you so fast, your ass is sore from falling on it so hard.

Sunday and Monday pass miserably in their slowness as you continue to nurse your tender rejected heart. You spend two days mulling over how you're going to face Jimin on Tuesday, let alone how you’re going to pass this exam when you're so disgustingly focused on figuring out why he stood you up and ignored you all weekend.

Tuesday comes too soon and you find yourself lingering outside the lecture hall for way longer than any sane person should.

That's what bothers you the most about this whole thing with Jimin. He's stolen your sense. How on earth did you let a stupid crush, on a boy you hardly know, get between you and your grades? You tell yourself no more as you suck in a deep breath and steel yourself to march right through the door. You're not going to let Park Jimin and his cruelty stand between you and your credits.

With your resolve solid and your head held high, you push yourself forward. You don't even spare a glance in his general direction as you pass, although it would be a lie to say you didn't clock him in your peripheral. Tae sits down next to you a moment later and you thank your lucky stars you have a friend here to make you look busy.

"Ready to make this exam your bitch?" he asks, making finger guns at you and clicking his tongue.

"That remains to be seen," you say, turning toward him in your seat so that Jimin is behind you. "I couldn't get anything done this weekend," you confess. "I thought I was more prepared than I am so it really just depends on what's on the exam."

"Aw fuck, you could have called me," he says, passing you his note cards. "We could have studied together."

"Oh, Tae," you sigh, pushing his hand back and refusing his offer of notes. "You should use this time for yourself. It wouldn't be fair of me to take it from you."

"We've got ten minutes." He points to the clock at the front of the lecture hall. "Quiz me. It will help us both."

Ten minutes fly by as you do your absolute best to retain any of the information in Taehyung's carefully written cards. You take one last glance at it before someone slips it from your hand and replaces it with a test. You know it's Jimin.

Only when you look up and level him with a glare does it seem to register on his face that you're angry. Realization dawns on him as you snatch the test and lean over it on your desk.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry," he quietly whispers, but he's moving on already. The exam is about to begin. He doesn't have time to explain himself right now. He knows what it looks like. He led you on and stood you up without so much as a text message. He should have asked Tae to tell you what happened, but the truth is that he forgot about you entirely and he knows that is the cruelest thing he could possibly confess.

Nearly an hour later you set your pencil down and run your fingers through your hair. Did any of those answers make sense? Your only possible saving grace is bullshitting your way through the open responses. Maybe you’ll earn some partial credit at the very least.

You swallow the petty words threatening to spill from your tongue as you gather your things and approach Jimin’s desk with your test in hand. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t notice the anxious glances he threw your way. You swore every time you looked up he was looking at you, so you’d squint like you were checking the time, like you had somewhere more important to be than taking an exam for a core requirement course.

As you slap the packet of your evident failure down on his desk, you don your best apathetic expression. You look down at him and allow a sliver of eye contact, just enough to send the message that you don’t care anymore. You try to look bored. He doesn’t deserve to see how he’s hurt you or angered you. He’s nothing to you. You’re nothing to him, but you’re not beneath him. He’s beneath you. You don’t just look at him; you look through him.

He blinks a few times and a chill runs down his spine. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words won’t form.

“Don’t bother. I don’t care,” you whisper with a roll of your eyes.

You make sure to straighten your shoulders and keep your chin up as you turn on your heel and leave. You bombed that exam and you know it, thanks to your stupid feelings, but at the very least you achieved the victory of shaking Park Jimin to his core. So why do you feel like you’re about to sob in the bathroom down the hall?

Oh. Because you are. You spend at least five minutes composing yourself and washing your face before your phone buzzes with a much needed distraction.

[NEW MESSAGE] Tae: hungry?

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Jimin’s leg bounces uncontrollably under his desk while he waits for the remaining students to finish their exams so he can go after you. He wracks his brain for ways to clear the nervous tension dwelling within but it’s no use. Confrontation makes him so uncomfortable. Still, he can’t have you thinking he’s a total douche. He should text you. Fuck, he should call you. And he would, if he had a working phone. The second the last student drops their exam on his desk he’s going to find you and apologize.

He knows his reputation precedes him. He knows exactly what this looks like. You probably think he blew you off to get some or just led you on entirely, but he really did mean to meet up with you. He needs to clear the air. Maybe he’s a little loose with his morals at times, but he’s never an asshole on purpose. He prides himself on being a beacon of positivity and an example on how to make people feel good even if it’s only to make them feel good. He barely knows you, but it bothers him to think that you’re out there thinking he’s a heartless jerk and that he hurt your feelings on purpose.

It’s a big campus and Jimin spends the better half of an hour searching it before he finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung. You look awfully close, and he almost feels bad interrupting you, but he owes you an explanation. It’s a mystery to him why on earth you would seek out his company when Taehyung seems all too willing to be what you need.

Taehyung notices him before you do. He shakes his head at Jimin disapprovingly. “Cold, man. So cold.”

Jimin nods, hanging his head. He’s well aware. You haven’t turned around yet and don’t intend to. If Jimin can ignore you then you can ignore him too. Besides, if you turn to face him, he might notice your watery, puffy eyes. How incredibly foolish that would be to admit that you’ve been crying about being stood up by someone you’ve barely even spoken to.

“Y/n?” Jimin’s soft voice calls to you, melodic and soothing as ever. “Can I have a minute?”

Taehyung looks between the two of you while he moves a french fry into his mouth at a snail’s pace and slowly chews as if this is free entertainment.

“No,” you answer.

“I’m sorry about Saturday,” he tells you, progressing despite your refusal to listen. He plants his hands on the table beside you and leans in to try to steal a glance at your profile, but you turn your head away.

“Jungkook pushed me in the pool right after this asshole,” he says, pointing at Taehyung. “My phone was in my pocket. It’s ruined.”

“Hey,” Taehyung interrupts, his mouth open in protest and full of half-chewed fries. “Don’t pin this on me. You could have asked any one of us to let her know what happened. You never even mentioned it. Why don’t you just admit that you forgot?” Taehyung suggests, jamming another french fry into his little paper cup of ketchup before cramming it into his mouth.

Jimin fumes for a moment, glaring at Tae before he pulls out the chair next to you and spins it around. He straddles it and rests his chin on the backrest. “Y/n, I’m sorry. I forgot. I swear I never would have done something like that to you on purpose. My phone getting ruined messed up a lot of things, but if you give me another chance, I’d love to prove that I’m not the horrible person you think I am.”

Silence. You glance over at Taehyung, willing him to speak up and either back Jimin up or get you out of this. You’re ready to forgive Jimin already and leave with him right now and it’s not lost on you how bad that looks. It’s so easy for Jimin to have you wrapped around his fingers. You wish he was ugly. You wish you never signed up for this stupid class. You wish you could feel for Tae the way you feel for Jimin so that you could just leave with him instead. You’re about ready to anyway when he finally opens his mouth again.

“I think you should take her out to eat. Eating out is the perfect way to apologize, don’t you think?” Tae’s grin is so wide it makes his eyes crinkle.

You huff out a humorless laugh. If that’s what you wanted you’d stick with the original plan and be in the backseat of Taehyung’s car again in the next twenty minutes. Against your better judgement, you turn to look at Jimin, puffy eyes and runny nose no longer hidden. He’s a little taken back by your expression. He smiles at you softly and reaches out to brush his knuckles against your cheek. You practically melt into his touch.

“Mmm, I would like something sweet.” Jimin licks his lips. “How about ice cream?”

“When?” you ask, embarrassed by the way your voice cracks and by how easily you’re giving in.

“Now?”

“Well, look at the time,” Tae says, standing with his tray and messenger bag. “I’ve got to go wash my hair but you two have fun on your date. Use protection!” he calls behind him on his way toward the exit.

You’d be irritated by his blunt suggestion if his statement didn’t swirl a storm of butterflies deep in your gut. You’re so distracted by them that you don’t realize that you’re still gaping at Jimin in disbelief.

“So?” Jimin wonders, holding out his hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” you insist while taking it into yours. Although it’s probably a lie, he doesn’t call you on it. He simply smiles and gives your hand a tiny comforting squeeze.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“My car is on the other side of campus,” you tell him once you’ve stepped outside. “Where are you parked?”

“Oh, um,” he stalls. “I thought it might be nice to walk, give us more time to talk. Is that okay?”

“Isn’t it kind of far?” you ask, assuming he's taking you to that chain ice cream shoppe a few miles off campus.

"No, this place is close. It's a secret. Not many people know about it," he says with a wink.

"You say that to everyone don't you?" You narrow your eyes at him, moving out of reach when he tries to put his arm around you.

"No," he laughs. "I've been here with other people, though. I was here with Jin last week." He smiles, leading the way toward a small alley between buildings.

You follow him easily, questioning again why you have so little self preservation when it comes to him. At the other end of the alley you can see what looks like a park. Green trees line the sidewalk up ahead, creating a canopy against the brilliant sun. The walk to this mysterious ice cream place is shaded and chilly. Jimin slips his jacket off and slings it over your shoulders when he notices you rubbing at your arms.

"Almost there," he promises. In the distance, framed by two towering oaks, is a tiny little ice cream place. It looks like a mirage, something out of a board game or a fairy tale. The closer you get, the more real it becomes. The siding is faded, the roof looks like it's in dire need of repairs, and the hand-painted sign reading The Cheery Cherry has seen better days. It's clean though, sparkling in all the places that matter.

There is a stout old man behind the window with a shining silver ice cream scoop ready and waiting in his hand. Jimin greets him by name and asks for a simple vanilla cone. You're tempted to judge him, he doesn't strike you as the vanilla type, but there must be a reason. Maybe this is the best vanilla ice cream on earth. You order the same just in case, taking your first taste as Jimin pulls a few bills from his wallet and hands them over with a shaky hand.

To your dismay the ice cream is not extraordinary; it's just plain vanilla. You could probably get the same exact type from any grocery store. You should have gone with something else. You should have at least gotten the cheery cherry cone. That might have been a flavor worth tasting. Why was he so bent on coming here for such a bland ice cream?

You suppose you should be thankful for the gesture but you still feel uneasy, like he’s playing you somehow. It almost feels like he’s doing it out of obligation rather than desire. Is he doing the bare minimum because he doesn’t feel like you’re worth more than this? Your company must be the equivalent to a plain vanilla cone. Mediocre. Unremarkable. Ordinary.

Forgettable.

Jimin turns back to you with his ice cream in one hand and change filling the other. "Is it good?"

"It's vanilla." You shrug.

"Do you want something different?" he asks, counting the money in his hand.

"No, I like vanilla."

"Figures," he teases.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you snap back at him.

"Nothing, sweetheart. I just think you're soft, sweet. Vanilla suits you."

"I am not vanilla. I do all kinds of freaky shit," you argue, realizing too late that you've over shared in your annoyance.

Jimin looks you over with a smirk, bringing his ice cream to his lips and dragging his tongue around the edge of the cone where it's dripping. "Noted," he says.

"I didn't mean-- I wasn't -- UGH," you huff, embarrassed that he's still making a fool of you from the doghouse. You need to change the subject fast. "What'syourmajor?" You rush the question past your lips and he laughs at your flustered state, waiting for you to slow down and ask him in words he can understand.

"Your major?" you repeat, slower this time.

"Oh, uh. Urban studies."

"Interesting."

"You don't know what that means, huh?" He nudges you with his elbow, falling in stride beside you. Unfortunately, you had just brought your ice cream up to your mouth and his nudging caused you to smear it across your cheek.

You look at him angrily. First he stood you up, forgot about you, then he had the nerve to show up to class today looking like a fucking angel, takes you for ice cream to make it up to you, and now he's teasing you and making you look every bit the fool you feel like you are. Tears well in your eyes when he laughs at the mess he caused.

"I'm sorry," he says through his giggling. He reaches out to gently wipe your cheek with his thumb which he promptly pops in his mouth and sucks clean after. "What's wrong?"

You swipe at your eyes, ridding them of the tears that were about to spill out as your shame bubbles over. "You make me feel stupid," you confess. "You're wasting my time."

Shoving his jacket back at him, you take off in the direction you came, throwing your stupid vanilla cone in the closest trash can and kicking yourself for not leaving with Taehyung instead. Jimin winces at the action, looking like you’ve discarded a precious keepsake rather than a plain, boring vanilla cone.

"Y/n, wait!" he calls, catching up to you with ease. He takes you by the wrist and spins you back to face him. "I don't think you're stupid at all. I’m sorry I’m so bad at this.” He sighs, softening his hold on you. “I didn’t know what to think about you when you approached me at first, you know? Girls throw themselves at me all the time.”

You grimace at his words and roll your eyes, snatching your wrist back with a scowl. Of course he thinks you were throwing yourself at him, but you’re sure that you weren’t. You were just being direct about your feelings. Do you really come across as such a desperate person? Maybe you should ask Yoongi for his opinion later.

“But I definitely didn’t mean to stand you up and I don’t mean to make you feel stupid at all. I think you're pretty smart, you’re cute and you’re actually bolder than I initially thought. I'd love to get to know you better. I know I'm not doing so great so far, but I can be better. Please, sit with me?" he asks, walking to a nearby park bench.

Reluctantly, you follow, although you make a point to drag your feet the whole way there. When you sit down beside him, he loops an arm around your waist and draws you closer, offering his ice cream up to you once your legs brush against his. You reach for it but he pulls it away.

"Hey," he jokes. "Just lick it. I didn't make you throw yours away."

You shake your head and lean forward to drag your tongue over what's left of his vanilla cone.

"Forgive me?" he asks. His toothy smile catches the sunlight and it genuinely hurts your eyes to keep looking.

"Okay. One more chance," you agree. "So, urban studies?"

He relaxes back against the bench, taking another lick before he offers the cone to you again. "Yeah, it's like community development and stuff. What about you, princess? What are you studying?"

You flush at the nickname, heat rising in your face and other places you'd rather not acknowledge. You're oblivious to the fact that you're having a similar effect on Jimin. The way you're licking his ice cream is making his pants feel a little tight.

"Teaching," you tell him, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

"Little kids?"

"Yeah." You take another lick of his ice cream while he holds it, looking up halfway through.

Jimin's expression is unreadable, stunned almost. He shifts a little, crosses his legs, clears his throat.

"Kids are fun. I have a younger brother," he tells you.

"A lot younger?"

"No," he laughs. "But he's a total baby so it's basically the same.”

“Oh, does he get that from you?” you tease with a giggle.

His mouth drops open in surprise. “Hey,” he pouts. “That’s not nice.”

“I never said I was nice,” you tell him, taking another slow lick of his ice cream.

“Clearly,” he scoffs with a roll of his eyes. He drags his lip through his teeth to try to hide the smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

You manage to cram so much conversation into the next twenty minutes on this park bench, learning more about the mysterious campus celebrity than you ever thought you’d know. You hope his interest wasn't feigned, because it felt so fucking good to have his attention, to have him really listen to you and ask you about your life and your family and your hopes for the future. If you're not mistaken, you might think this was real progress.

Jimin watches you walk back toward campus with a soft smile and an unfamiliar feeling brewing inside him. You've surprised him. You're not the naive infatuated little girl he took you for. If he had a phone he'd be texting you already. He'd call you tonight, and maybe tomorrow. It's alarming to him how badly he wants another ten minutes with you. He hates that you declined his offer to walk you to your next class, but damn does he ever appreciate the view.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Thursday comes quickly. After your initial ice cream date, Jimin has found himself curiously seeking your attention rather than the other way around. With his phone out of commission he was hanging around the cafeteria all day yesterday in hopes of catching you. While it’s clear you don’t trust him and you haven’t forgiven him, you seem to have softened up a bit. You spent your meals together and allowed him to walk you to your classes, all while exchanging playful jabs at each other. You might forgive him for bailing if yesterday stood alone. Today is a whole different story.

Now Jimin is staring down a stack of graded exams the professor has dropped on the table at the front of the room. Students haven’t begun to trickle in yet so when the professor takes the opportunity to excuse himself, Jimin wastes no time in flipping through the pile to get a sense of the overall success of the class. When he gets to a test marked in thick red marker with an ‘F’ his stomach drops. He knows it’s yours before he even reads the name. He was hoping maybe you’d been lying about not paying attention.

He shuffles the exam back into place and straightens the pile just as the earliest student walks in. Jimin offers her a wan smile and a tiny bow of his head as a greeting. Although his stomach is still sinking and churning, he’s already thinking about ways he might be able to make it up to you.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin finds you in the cafeteria with Taehyung again, where he has you distracted from your misery by folding and unfolding a cootie catcher in front of your face like you're in third grade and not your third year of college.

"Pick a color now, y/n," Tae urges, opening and closing the folded paper four times after you've indicated the triangle marked 'pink.' "Hmm," he ponders. "It says you need to relax."

"What is this, a fortune cookie? I thought these things were like truth or dare, or like... who I was gonna marry," you complain, flicking the craft from his hands.

Jimin picks the paper up off the floor and hands it back to Taehyung. "Do me," he says.

After a moment of pointing and folding, Tae announces, "It says you need to apologize. Again."

Jimin looks at you while Tae packs up his stuff. After dropping a kiss on the top of your head he leaves for his next class. The action makes Jimin furrow his brows and frown. A feeling too uncomfortably close to jealousy blooms in his chest. Why did that bother him so much? He's not ready to acknowledge the answer to that. Instead, he contradicts it by reminding himself that Tae is one of his closest friends and it's cool that the two of you are getting close too.

"Princess?" Jimin's song-like voice drifts to your ears once Tae has disappeared. You've pressed your face into your folded arms on the table and it's taking everything you have not to start crying about your failed exam again. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, laying his hand against the small of your back and beginning to rub soft circles there. "I'm sorry I didn't help you."

"I wish you were ugly," you mumble into your arms.

"What?" he laughs, leaning his face down next to yours.

You lift your head to meet his eyes. "If you were ugly this never would have happened," you insist, sitting up and shaking his hand off your back with a twist of your spine. "Just be ugly! FUCK."

Jimin smiles before screwing his face up into the most unrecognizable grimace he can manage. He holds it until you start to smile then switches to another terrible expression, with his chin tucked into his neck so that it morphs into several chins and crosses his eyes for extra emphasis on its ridiculousness. When you start to laugh he sticks out his tongue to make it worse.

Once you’re clutching your stomach and doubled over with pealing laughter, he gives you the beautiful smile you're so used to again. "Let's do something fun together," he offers. "And then after that, we'll get studying and make this right. Please let me make it up to you."

"Okay," you agree, leaning into his open arms. It only took a couple days of spending time together to remove the awkwardness you felt when he touched you. He's even held your hand a few times while you walked together after your other classes. Now, his embrace feels welcome and comforting. You still can’t tell if he’s just trying to be nice or if he actually likes doing it but you don’t mind at all.

"There's a party on Saturday, will you come with me?"

"Where?" you ask, as if you have any hope of refusing him at all. You'd go anywhere with him and you know it but you want to try to play it cool. Your tone seems more tepid than you anticipate but he doesn’t seem to call you out on it.

"Jin's," he tells you, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together.

He rubs his thumb against the back of your hand while he waits for you to pretend to decide. You relish in the motion. The tingle of butterflies erupt in your belly again like a cannon aimed at your heart, ready to sink it in an instant. Instead of falling, your heart seems to fly up to your brain and a light giggle escapes your lips.

"Okay. I'll come," you say in a euphoric brain fog, looking down at your joined hands. It's scary how good it feels to have his attention like this, but you hope it doesn’t stop.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

"Why are you home?" Yoongi asks, finding you on the couch when he emerges from his bedroom. His late afternoon nap went longer than expected, leaving you believing he was out for the night. You settled in with Netflix and snacks of your own. He flops down next to you, causing you to swing your feet off the couch before they get squashed beneath his butt. He yawns and lets his head dip forward as he pulls out his phone and begins flipping through it.

"It's Friday night,” he reminds you, his tone scratchy. It makes you giggle.

"I didn't wanna go out alone and I thought you were gone. You're gonna be up all night now, you know."

"I would have stayed asleep but I've got a friend in need," he mumbles, rubbing the remainder of sleep from his eyes.

"Aww, you're so good to me." You beam, snuggling up to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

"Not you," he huffs with a disgusted grimace. “Ugh, that’s enough touching.”

You immediately pull back and scoff. “Wow. You’re lucky I know you know you love me.”

He rolls his eyes. "That’s debatable.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mock him in a tone of disbelief. You pop a chip into your mouth. “So why are you really up— if not to support your wonderful, beautiful, perfectly sculpted local couch potato?”

He smiles and steals the next chip from your hand before you can shove it into your mouth. “If you're good with it, my friend is gonna crash on our couch for a few days. His parents cut him off and he’s got nowhere to go. He’s almost got enough saved up to get his own place, but he could use some help in the meantime. Figured we’re doing alright and we have a couch. You cool with that?"

"Sure," you agree, trusting Yoongi's judgment. He's not gonna let some crazy person stay on your couch. "When?"

"I was just waiting for your approval but I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to you before I passed out. I'll go pick him up now, if that's good with you," he says slipping his feet into a pair of sandals and looking for his keys.

"What, he doesn't have a car?"

"Sold it to pay for his books this semester. He's got nothing. He's keeping all his clothes in another friend's closet. It's kinda sad."

"That's rough," you agree, blowing out a heavy exhale and turning your attention back to the TV.

"I'll be back in a few. Maybe take it to your room so he can have the couch?" Yoongi suggests.

"Sure, sure," you say, already sucked back into your show and forgetting entirely about Yoongi and his friend for now.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

When Yoongi returns an hour later, you haven't moved. In fact, you’ve crashed… hard. Yoongi and his mystery guest enter to a chorus of your snores and the Friends theme song.

“Hey, get up,” Yoongi urges, nudging your shoulder lightly.

When you peel your eyes open to look at him, you’re utterly mystified to see the object of your affections a few feet behind him, standing awkwardly in your kitchen with a duffle slung over his shoulder.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you blink a few times to clear your vision. You want to be sure it's him before you open your mouth. He's there, in black sweats with a grey hoodie pulled up over his white baseball cap. “Jimin?”

“Oh good you know him," Yoongi says with relief coating his tone. "I’m gonna get him some blankets. Think you can take your Netflix marathon to your room?”

"Yeah, I can do that," you mumble, gathering up your mess and disappearing into your room without another word.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Alone in your room, you conjure up a hundred reasons in your anxious mind that could explain why Jimin thought he had to keep this huge secret from you. He’s got nothing? Maybe he was afraid you'd tell people. Suddenly, it makes so much sense why he's always walking everywhere.

You think back to Tuesday at the Cheery Cherry. His usually steady hands were so shaky handing over those bills he pulled from his wallet. You think of how tightly he clutched his change and even counted it out afterward. If you hadn’t been so preoccupied with your own thoughts of inadequacy, you might have been able to put it together on your own. Your stomach drops when you recall the insulting way you threw your vanilla cone in the trash. The scene replays over and over again until you’re crying into your pillow.

Guilt keeps you awake until well past midnight as you turn these unsavory ideas over and over in your head, looking at them from every possible angle and over analyzing every detail of the time you've spent together thus far. Your eyes are now wide and dry, fixed on a black spot on your ceiling that you're hoping is just a speck and not a spider. The quilt in your hands is frayed, giving your nervous hands something to pick at while you let the silence drive you mad.

The soft knock on your door at half past one is a relief. Yoongi does his best cooking at odd hours, usually bringing you a plate if you're awake. It's a surprise to find Jimin outside your door instead. He awkwardly shifts from foot to foot until he finds your eyes in the dim glow of your table lamp.

"Did I wake you?" he whispers, head leaning against your door frame.

You shake your head, looking down at your skimpy sleep shorts and the university hoodie you pulled on to open the door. “I was up.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you answer, stepping aside so he can come in. Your eyes scan the room nervously, checking for underwear on the floor and counting the half empty glasses of water on your nightstand. If you knew Jimin was going to be in your bedroom tonight, you would have cleaned up. At least you didn’t leave your vibrator out in the open. You don’t think you’d recover from the embarrassment of that.

Jimin follows you to your bed, perching on the edge once you’ve settled back against your pillows.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t,” you respond immediately. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Then why did you run away?” he asks, pulling at his hoodie strings.

“I wanted to give you space. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. You didn’t tell me what you were going through and I didn’t want to…” you trail off, unsure how to articulate just why you ran away.

“You didn’t want to embarrass me? Hurt my pride?” he asks, sarcasm evident.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “You don’t owe me an explanation. We aren’t that close.”

“That’s the problem,” he whispers. “I want to explain. I want to be that close to you.” He leans towards you, resting on his hands. He looks confident despite his current situation and it worries you a little. How can he be so sure of himself when he’s crashing on your couch and apologizing to you again for the fourth time in less than a week?

The Jimin you’ve gotten to know recently seems to disappear, leaving on the smooth talking playboy in his wake. He seems too calculated to be genuine. The words he whispers don’t seem like words meant for you. He is him, after all, and money or not he’s still the greatest catch on campus. And you, much to your dismay, are still just you. Unassuming, uninteresting, unexciting you. You’re the plain vanilla cone he’d never ask for if he had the means to get the banana split.

“Why?” you skeptically ask, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Jimin bites his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth while he thinks. “You’re special,” he says. “You’re cute and funny and I like spending time with you. You make me feel like I can be myself with you.”

“But you don’t trust me?” you ask, obviously referring to the elephant in the room. He didn’t tell you he was essentially homeless. How much of himself can he truly be if he was keeping that from you?

“I didn’t want to scare you away, and most girls I… see, don’t get close enough to find out,” he confesses. “I can’t afford to take anyone out right now. I haven’t been able to for a while. But I’m so close to getting enough for an apartment. That’s why I took the TA job; at the end of the semester I should be ready.”

“Jimin,” you start, unsure what to say. You’re still thinking about that goddamned three dollar ice cream cone you threw away.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he tells you, standing up. “I just wanted to be real with you, and thank you for agreeing to let me have the couch for a few days. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Wait!”

As you scramble over yourself to reach out, you find yourself on your knees awkwardly clutching your hand towards your chest. You’re still worried about seeming desperate but you can’t let that stop you now. Jimin turns toward you, but you’re unsure of what you wanted to say. You only know that you want to be closer to him too, that you’re not ready for him to go, that if he leaves now you’ll lie awake for the rest of the night reliving this short conversation.

“Stay,” you plead, nervously twirling the string of your hoodie around your fingers as you sit back against the pillows. “Talk to me?”

“Aren’t you tired?” he wonders.

You hold out your hand and he crosses the room to take it, standing next to your bed. You pat the space next to you and tug him toward it. “Wide awake.”

Your yawn says otherwise.

Jimin smiles, climbing over you to lay by your side on top of your blankets. He looks at you expectantly once he’s settled but it’s too much pressure for you to lead the conversation. You only know that you want to keep hearing his soothing voice. You have no idea what you wanted to say.

“You look cute,” he says, breaking the silence and touching your nose with the tip of his finger. “Sleepy and soft.”

“You look sexy,” you complain, waving his hand away. “I kinda wanna punch you for it.”

He throws his head back in laughter. “So feisty.”

“I can be boring instead,” you jokingly offer, rolling on your side to face him.

He does his best to keep his eyes trained on your face, despite the fact that all he wants to do is let them wander down. “I just want you to be you.”

That sounds fake. Again, you battle against the idea that this is all a farce, some sneaky way to get into your pants once and leave you wanting for the rest of your life. He hasn’t bared himself to you enough for you to trust him, so you pry.

“Why’d your parents cut you off, Jimin?” you ask.

He looks at you for a second, stunned at your boldness. That’s definitely not where he thought this conversation was going. He takes a moment to prepare his response and sighs.

“They have this restaurant. It’s a small place right off the coast: Jeongsik. My great grandparents started it from nothing and now my parents manage it. They want me to take over since I’m the eldest, but I want to move to the city and have my own life. I don’t want to work in their restaurant forever and my brother loves it and is perfectly capable. They love me. I know they’re just trying to teach me a lesson,” he tells you. He sounds unsure of that last bit. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that he’s got nowhere to live and he’s penny pinching for meals and they’re shunning him.

“And what is that lesson, Jimin?” you ask, trying to dig deeper before he slips back into playboy mode.

“That being a part of Jeongsik is my only option if I want to be successful. That I can’t make it without them.”

“Can you?” The question is quiet and unassuming. You only want to know how bad it really is.

He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers anxiously against the fabric of the pillow. “I can. It won’t be the same, it won’t be easy, but I can.”

After giving Jimin a moment to say more, which he doesn’t take, you push him further. With your heart on the line and this miracle of an opportunity with him in your room, you're determined to learn as much as you can. You need to get under his skin. You need to know him, so you can know if you should run.

"What's your plan then?" you question, shifting closer so you're face to face against the pillows.

Jimin smirks at your line of questioning. It seems to break him from his thoughts. “Well,” he begins. “The Village has some one bedrooms opening up at the end of the semester, and by then I’ll be ready to make a deposit and lease one. After that I’ve got one semester left until I graduate. Then I’ll move to the city and live my life how I want.”

“Won’t you miss your family?”

“They still talk to me. They’re just not paying for school. Or my car. Or my food.” His heavy sigh at the end contradicts the lightness with which he revealed all of this to you.

“I’m sorry, Jimin.” You reach for his hand, familiarity in the way it fits with yours.

“It’s okay. I have good friends, and I have…” he trails off, catching himself and looking away with an awkward huff of a laugh.

“What?” you wonder, heart fluttering at the possibility that he was about to say ‘you.’ “What else do you have?”

Jimin looks up at you, rising up on his elbow. His eyes search your face for any hint of rejection. When he finds only hope, his hand moves to cup your cheek. It’s warm, adorned with rings that contrast the temperature of his skin.

“You,” he breathes, moving closer. You watch his gaze dart down to your lips before your own eyelids flutter closed. “I was going to say you,” he confesses before he closes the space between you and lays a soft kiss against your waiting lips.

He pulls away way too fast, leaving you to panic in the aftermath. You thought you had feelings for him before, but now that he’s let you in, now that he has shown you his heart, there is nothing more to deny. You’ve fallen, hard. The realization makes you feel trapped, like a frantic dying bird in a cage. But your captor is kind and beautiful and the flavor he left on your lips is the most divine thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Then say it,” you prompt him, urging him to accept the affection you’ve been so desperate to give him.

He kisses you again in lieu of words, longer, deeper, until his tongue is dragging over yours. You fist the material of his hoodie in your hands, pulling him towards you while you turn on your back. He’s hesitant to get on top of you, afraid he might be taking it too far, but you’re insistent. You pull and he caves willingly, slotting a leg between yours and letting his hand drift from your cheek to the back of your neck.

“I like you,” he pants when he breaks away. It feels like your heart flies up out of your chest and does a lap around the room, flapping its hummingbird wings like the wild thing it is before it crashes back into its place.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” you plead. “You don’t have to pretend just because you’re here now. I’m a big girl. We can just have tonight.”

You say the words but you know if he leaves tomorrow, you’ll cry all day and probably the day after that too. The truth is, you can talk all you want about how you can do this no strings attached, but you know you can’t. Your strings are so attached to him at this point you might as well be metaphorical shibari.

“I mean it,” he whispers, full, wet lips brushing the side of your neck.

You freeze. You were expecting him to drop the charade and just fuck you or something, but in this moment he exudes tenderness and consideration.

“And because I like you, I think I should go back to the couch before we do something we aren’t ready to do.”

“Stay,” you plead. “We don’t have to do anything, just lay with me.”

He slowly nods and reaches over you to turn off the lamp, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as he settles back into place. You wiggle your form down into the covers and he smoothes the hair from your face before tracing his fingers down your arm. You lean in close enough to smell the subtle clean scent of his cologne. Is it cologne? You doubt it knowing what you know now, unless he’s borrowing it from someone else. You still find yourself enjoying it nonetheless. It’s comforting. Sleep begins to claim you just as he slips his fingers into yours and gives you a tiny squeeze.

“Goodnight y/n.”

You think you respond but you’re in that purgatory state between sleeping and being awake, so you can’t be sure. At least you’re eighty percent sure you gave him a squeeze in return.

That’s how Yoongi finds you in the morning: you tucked neatly into your comforter and Jimin laying on top of it beside you, your hands clasped together in the middle.

“UM!” Yoongi shouts from the doorway, loud enough to wake you both.

Startled, you sit up in bed and look around for the source of the shout. “Fuck! Yoon. You didn’t need to scream.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to keep this from Taehyung,” Yoongi chides, looking from you to Jimin and back. “That would be quite the moral conundrum.”

“For fuck’s sake. It was never Tae. I am not seeing Tae. We are JUST FRIENDS!” You yell the last two words and chuck your pillow at him for emphasis.

“Okay cool, then Jimin can explain to him whatever this is to him. Jimin, he wants you to call him. My phone’s on the table. I’m taking a shower.”

Yoongi disappears from the doorway and an uncomfortable silence settles over the room. In the light of day, you feel nervous and uncertain. Jimin does nothing to ease your anxiety. He just lays there quietly, unsure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” You try to smile and sound as chipper as possible.

He sits up finally and turns his back to you. “I should go see Taehyung.”

He moves toward the door and you feel your chest tighten. “Jimin?”

He turns to you from the hallway, and taking in your confused expression, offers you a smile. “We’re good, princess. I’ll be back tonight, then me and you: party time.” He winks before moving out of sight.

Alone once again, you start to question things. Everything. Are you imagining things or did Jimin seem cold when he left? He kissed you last night, didn’t he? Was everything you talked about too much? Does he regret kissing you? Does he regret staying the night with you without getting anything out of it? You can feel your thoughts spiraling out of control, but you can’t stop yourself from putting up the walls you so desperately wanted to keep down forever last night. It obviously didn’t mean anything to him, despite his claim that he likes you. He probably just meant that he’d like to fool around with you. Like he does with everyone else. You can’t let one night beside him make you think you’re special to him, no matter how badly you want to be.

Knowing you won’t make it through the day without driving yourself completely mad with questions and doubts, you dig your old phone and charger out of a drawer and go after Jimin. He’s leaning over the kitchen counter staring down at Yoongi’s phone when you steal his attention.

“Please take this,” you plead, thrusting the phone and charger towards him.

He looks from the device to you and blinks a few times in surprise. “What?”

“It’s a little old, but if your sim card didn’t get damaged I’m sure it will work in this. I kept putting off bringing it to be recycled.” You laugh nervously as you try to place it in his hand. “But now I’m glad I didn’t. Take it.”

“I can’t accept this, princess. It’s too much,” Jimin says, staring down at the object in your hands.

“Take it for me. If I have to go another day without being able to send you memes I’ll die.”

“Memes?” he repeats, sounding baffled.

“Memes, nudes, the weather forecast. Who cares? I wanna text you. Please take it.”

He licks his lips and smirks at your joke. Was it a joke? It’s hard to tell. He accepts it anyway. “Thank you. I’ll call you later?”

“You’d better,” you tease, offering the grandest smile you can manage before retreating with a slow saunter back to your room.

There’s that view again. He could watch your ass sway in those teeny shorts all day. It takes every last ounce of self control he possesses to pick up Yoongi’s phone and dial Tae rather than sprint back into your room and pin you to the bed. It doesn’t stop him from daydreaming about it though, even as his friend answers.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

“What are we doing?” Jimin stands in the sprawling living room of Taehyung and Jungkook’s shared apartment. Both are from wealthy families that are all too ready to give their sons everything that matches the silver spoons in their mouths. They’ve been blessed with a bachelor pad that looks more like a college movie set than anything normal one would find around campus.

“Pick up a controller,” Tae tells Jimin, completely absorbed in the race on their oversized flat screen TV.

Jungkook hasn’t even acknowledged Jimin’s presence yet. Focused doesn’t even begin to describe the way his eyes bore into the television. He doesn’t break from his trance until he wins. Only then does he sit back with a smug grin, dropping the controller in his lap and just barely resisting the urge to gloat.

Taehyung drops his controller too, turning to give Jungkook a congratulatory fist bump. “Take his place,” he says to Jimin.

Jungkook has already vacated his place on the hallowed futon and moved to the row of cup noodles sitting on the counter. The first cup is half empty before Jimin even sits down.

“I suck at these games, Tae,” Jimin grumbles.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be good. It’s a ploy to get you relaxed enough to talk about y/n.” Taehyung smiles, knowing Jimin can’t refuse now that he’s cornered.

“What about her?” He feigns nonchalance, as if he didn’t just spend last night catching feelings along with your lips between his own.

Taehyung scoffs, half bewildered, half disgusted. “Come on, Jimin. She’s amazing. You like her.”

“I barely know her,” Jimin replies. It’s a lie he can taste like copper on his tongue. He knows your favorite food, where you grew up, what you study, and he’s already programmed your birthday into his borrowed phone so he won’t forget.

Taehyung clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Okay then. If you don’t give a fuck, I’m gonna shoot my shot. She’s funny, and nice, and her pussy is so bomb it makes me wanna get married, so if you’re not gonna do something about that then I will.”

Jungkook cackles from the kitchen. “Did you fuck Jimin’s girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Jimin grumbles, staring daggers at Jungkook, just as Taehyung says that he did not.

Jungkook takes his armload of cup noodles into his bedroom.

“I know you like her,” Tae prods. “She’s not some materialistic bitch who’s gonna leave you if you can’t afford lavish dates every other day. She’s a good, genuine person. She just wants your time and your attention. Maybe your heart. She doesn’t care about the other stuff.”

“Yeah? So I can bring her back to this futon after I buy her dinner from the dollar menu?” Jimin’s nose starts to tingle, months worth of frustrations finally reaching a breaking point. “I can’t get in a relationship right now and you know she’s not a fuckbuddy kind of girl.

“Right, because I didn’t eat her out in my car for fun last week.” He’d date you in a heartbeat if you wanted him. But he knows it’s Jimin you want and he’s more than happy to push the two of you together to see you both happy. He values friendship above all things.

“If that’s all you want from her, fine. But I think you and I both know it’s not and she’s too good for you to string along. If you’re just gonna break her heart, do it now before she falls any harder for you.”

“Why, so you can swoop in and be the good guy again? So you can get her off in your backseat?” The words are venom dripping from his mouth.

“Bro.”

Jimin softens. Tae is his dearest friend. He knows he only has his best interests at heart.

“I’m sorry.” He pauses and sighs. “We talked about Jeongsik last night. She knows my parents cut me off.”

Taehyung grimaces. “How’d that go?”

“Now she knows I’m not good enough but it didn’t seem to deter her at all.”

“‘Cause you are good enough and now she can see your true worth as a person, which is a thousand times better than the fake worth of money.”

Jimin seems to consider this for a moment but then expresses the concern gnawing at his insides. “What if she really is just another person who wants to idolize me? I’m really into her, but I need it to be more than that.”

“Jimin—”

“What if she’s after the meaningless title of being Park Jimin’s girl... like every other girl that has pursued me lately?” The words make him cringe. He’s humble and kind, not one to throw bouquets at himself, but those thoughts are intrusive and hard to ignore.

“Tch. Do you know her at all? Do you really think that matters to her?”

“No,” Jimin sighs. “But what if?”

“She admires you. You like her. Stop making it so complicated and let go of those ifs. You’ll never know if you don’t try and I want to see you try because you deserve to be happy,” Tae insists, starting a new game. “Now pick up that controller. I wanna kick your ass.”

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

You’ve spent the better part of your Saturday afternoon picking out your outfit for tonight. Yoongi only teased you twice before helping you select something a little bit more slutty than you’d normally pull out for a date. You’re going to a party after all, not some Sunday brunch with your friends.

When it’s almost time for you to meet up with Jimin you find yourself growing increasingly nervous. You run your hand over your thigh and down your calf, testing for any stubble you might have missed in your meticulous hour-long shaving session. On your way back up you tug on your skirt, eyeing it as though your gaze can simply increase its length. When was the last time you wore this dress?

You adjust and fuss over the way your tits fit inside the garment and puff air out of your cheeks. Yoongi squints at you from across the room. Your door is wide open after all.

“Stop worrying so much.” He sighs and clicks his tongue, crossing the room until he can see you in perfect clarity. “You look great.”

“I feel stupid. I should change. Jimin’s gonna think I’m weird if I wear this.” You try to turn and run back to your closet.

Yoongi plants his hands on your shoulders and spins you back to face the full-length mirror hanging over your door. “Look at yourself. Jimin’s gonna think you’re the hottest one at the party. Look at that makeup game.” He gestures to your face. “Wooo! So strong! Wow!”

Your lips twitch into a smile. Yoongi can be so sweet when he’s not busy pretending like he isn’t the softest man on earth.

“What if he doesn’t actually want me?” you ask, strings of doubt still plucking at your insecurity.

“He does,” he says with all the comfort you need in this moment. “I can tell with these kinds of things, you know.”

“That your like, weird sage sense you’re always telling me about? Reading the horoscopes doesn’t make you a fortune teller.”

He laughs. “Don’t be jealous of my power. Have I been wrong before?”

He hasn’t been, at least not with the advice he’s given you.

You exhale a huge breath and cock your head to inspect your appearance one more time. “What if you’re wrong?”

He hums a soft sound before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Then he’s an idiot.”

A knock saves him from the overbearing hug you’re about to give him. He practically sprints towards the door. “That must be him! Pull your skirt up a little, would you? You’re not a nun and it’s gonna ride up anyway.” He pauses with his hand on the deadbolt and drops his tone to a rather loud, strained whisper. “Wait. What underwear are you wearing?”

Your eyes widen and your brows furrow as you angrily march over to your strappy heels and begin to put them on. “Why does it matter?” you whisper back.

“Are they the beige ones?”

“No!” Your hushed tone threatens to break into a shriek. “You know those are my period panties.”

“Please tell me they’re not the green ones.”

“Yoongi!” You get frustrated and lift your skirt just enough to show off a bit of the black lace adorning your buttcheeks as you lift your foot onto the nearby stool to finish setting the strap in place. “Satisfied?”

He breathes a sigh of relief and nods. “Good. Those are good.”

He opens the door faster than you can register the action. Jimin catches the flash of lace and more skin than he’s meant to see as you swing your leg down off the stool and adjust your dress. Heat flushes your face as you meet Jimin’s gaze. His eyes are wide and he licks his lips before nervously clearing his throat. He nonchalantly drops his hands and holds them together in front of his pelvis.

“You-You look good,” he stammers, completely stunned by your appearance.

“Thanks,” you reply with a shy smile. Park Jimin gets flustered? Who’d have thought?

He thought you were beautiful before but he’s never seen you like this. You’re completely decked out and drop dead gorgeous. He’s almost worried he’ll feel inadequate standing next to you tonight but it doesn’t stop him from wanting you by his side, hanging on his arm. He wants everyone to know that he’s there with you.

The pair of you stand there looking at one another and Yoongi slowly turns from Jimin to you, then back to Jimin.

“Have everything?” Yoongi prods, trying to get you to move so he can get on with his evening of relaxation and lazing about.

That seems to break you from your stupor and you nod and walk forward to hook your arm around Jimin’s. Before you get too far Yoongi calls to you and tests your reflexes by tossing your keys. You’ll need those if Yoongi is dead to the world asleep by the time you get home, which is quite possible. You’re not the most dextrous person but Jimin catches them and smiles at you. When you try to take them from his fingertip he moves his hand away and you swipe at the air. He offers to keep them in his pocket and you gratefully oblige. You pull your phone from its confines against your breast and check on the status of your uber with one hand while slipping your other into Jimin’s.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jin’s party is already in full swing by the time you arrive. It looks like something out of a movie. There are glowsticks, red solo cups, a buffet table of snacks, and loud music by the large inground pool. People inside and outside of this big ass frat house are grinding up on each other, dancing, and spilling their drinks on one another. It’s a little overwhelming honestly. You’ve never been much of a party person and this is a monster-sized one.

Jimin takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring smile. “You want a drink, princess?”

“Yeah.” You grin and breathe a sigh of relief, feeling your insides melt at the sound of his voice. You know whatever happens tonight you’ll be okay with him by your side.

Jimin keeps you close all night, drinking and dancing and stealing the occasional quick kiss. It's pretty clear to everyone who's paying attention that there's something going on between you. You came with Jimin, you're there with Jimin, you're leaving with Jimin. Either Jungkook wasn't paying attention, or he just plain doesn't care. The moment Jimin leaves you alone to run to the bathroom, Jungkook steps up behind you in the chair you’re sitting on.

"Hey, y/n!" He smiles, all teeth and sleepy eyes. You can smell the whiskey on his breath when you turn to face him. "You look so pretty tonight."

"Thanks, Kook." You know he's one of Jimin and Tae’s closest friends. If you just hang with him until Jimin gets back, you'll be able to avoid the advances of all the weird guys here you aren't familiar with. "I like your boots," you tell him, looking down.

He follows your gaze to his feet. "Me too, I hope no one barfs on them tonight," he laughs, lifting his face back up to yours. The words are slightly slurred but you’re still able to decipher them.

His eyes definitely linger on your cleavage on their way back up. By the looks of it, he's on the short list of people who might end up barfing on those shoes. He holds his liquor well, but if you had to guess you'd say he's had more than he should have at this point in the night.

"So, I was talking to Taehyung recently," he starts with a mischievous glint in his eyes. The rest of his sentence seems to get lost in translation on the way to his mouth.

"And?" You smile at him and realize he’s probably too drunk to have anything of worth to say but you wait anyway.

"He told me something." Jungkook smiles so big his nose crinkles and he giggles like it’s the biggest secret in the universe.

You puzzle for a moment over what could have him so giddy before remembering that Taehyung is intimately familiar with your o-face. You'd gotten so close with him over the last two weeks that the details of your first time hanging out had completely slipped your mind. Jungkook is definitely about to say something crass.

"What did he tell you?" you ask, fearing you already know the answer.

Jungkook leans in closer so he can whisper in your ear. An amused giggle spills from his lips like he can’t contain the punchline to a joke only he knows. Somehow he gets his tone under control and finally speaks. "He told me your pussy tastes like heaven and what a coincidence," he pauses, "I haven't had dessert."

Jimin finds his way back to you just as you've moved to elbow Jungkook off your chair. Unfortunately, the alcohol in your system has your brain a little fuzzy and you misjudge the distance and location. You end up elbowing Jungkook right in the dick. Hard.

A circle clears around you as Jungkook doubles over in pain. Jimin steps up next to you, looking down at his friend and trying to piece together what might have led to you inflicting bodily harm.

Jungkook goes from bending over, to squatting, to laying on his side on the floor. He rolls onto his back still clutching the jewels despite the audience of people who have stopped to observe.

“I’m gonna throw up,” he squeaks out.

“Watch the boots,” you remind him as Jimin leans down to help him up and leads him towards something he can barf in. Through the crowd of people, you can see him just barely make it to a trash can in the kitchen. Gross.

Jimin gives Jungkook a pat on the back as he retches and reaches over him to grab a handful of jello shots off the counter. He returns with the rainbow of little cups clutched in each hand. The crowd seems to go back to their business of dancing and talking amongst one another, the random altercation just a fleeting moment in the night.

"What'd he do?" Jimin asks, holding his hand out to you so that you can make your selection.

"He came on to me." You shrug, picking a blue cup and popping the lid off.

"That's it? You elbowed him in the balls for hitting on you?" Jimin raises his eyebrows in shock and laughs.

"Well, it was kind of an accident. But," you pause to bring the plastic shot glass up to your lips, "he insinuated that he wanted to go down on me." You dip your tongue into the Jello and swirl it around the perimeter of its plastic casing.

Jimin watches you gather all the Jello up onto your tongue with rapt attention. He's growing so hard watching your tongue work like that. It’s driving him insane. He wants to feel it on him instead. He’s also now acutely aware of how badly he wants to swirl his tongue around your cunt, just like that.

"That makes two of us," he confesses with an enamored sigh. His hands are still full of Jello shots but that doesn’t stop him from holding your face between them.

He fiercely smashes his mouth to yours and you cave to the welcome intrusion of his tongue. It presses against yours, curling around it as he sucks the blue raspberry flavor from your mouth. You drop the empty cup to the floor and reach for his belt instead, pulling him against you until you can feel him pressed up against your stomach, hard and needy. He grinds his pelvis against you to be sure you can feel him.

“You feel that baby?” he asks, his tone low and sultry.

You grind back with a muffled hum. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re practically dry-humping each other next to the crowd of other sweaty, writhing couples. While Jimin likes how this feels, he’d like to regain the use of his hands. Jello shots be damned.

He pulls away for a second and looks around, depositing all but one of the unopened cups into the hands of the next person that walks by before he squeezes the chosen red one out on his tongue. He leans back in and presses his mouth to yours again. You can still taste artificial strawberry on his tongue. You're not even sure he swallowed before you started trying to lick his tonsils but you don't care. You want him now. You need him.

His thoughts are much the same as his free hand wanders down your back, dipping lower for just a second to feel the curve of your ass and squeeze. When you gasp he takes a step back and looks at you through hazy lust-drunk eyes. His lips are red from the gelatinous treat. You’d love to try and suck the color right out of them.

"Princess," he pants, his hands grabbing at your hips.

"Jimin," you breathe back, pulling him closer again. "Come home with me." It's not really an invitation. He'd be coming back with you anyway since he's currently living on your couch, but this has a different meaning and you both know it. It’s a plea for him to take you to bed.

You make out on the front lawn while you wait for the uber. You make out in the back of the uber on your way home. You make out on the way up the stairs and you leave a heart shaped love bite on his neck while he uses your keys to open the door. You make out pressed against the kitchen counter, and in the hallway.

Yoongi watches the pair of you act like he’s invisible as you stumble your way around the apartment. He has a spoonful of Fruit Loops half-lifted to his gaping mouth and finally takes his bite when you’ve made it to your room. Thank god you closed the door.

『•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••✎•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••』

Jimin isn't as shy this time about laying his weight over you once you’ve dropped down onto your bed. You’re warm and he seeks the heat of your body as your hands explore the taught muscles of his chest. They dance around his belt, slipping up over the curve of his perfectly round ass so you can squeeze and pull him against you, inviting him to grind his solid cock into you. Your movements get slower and more focused when you unbutton his shirt. He tugs it off his shoulders and throws it to the floor before helping you pull that tiny excuse of a dress over your head.

You're thanking your lucky stars you had the foresight to put on a matching set, despite how foolishly hopeful it felt at the time. The way Jimin is drinking you in wrapped in nothing but a little bit of black lace is making your head spin, or maybe that's the alcohol.

He sits back on his heels beside you, trailing his fingertips from your throat to the valley between your breasts. He skims over your belly button then side sweeps over your hip and down your thigh, leaving goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

"Wanna take those heels off, princess?" he asks, scooting toward them on his knees.

"I can do it," you insist, planning on making a show of dropping what's left of your modesty. You aren't counting on the way the room turns when you stand up too fast. Luckily, Jimin's reflexes are quick and his hands on your hips steady you before you can actually fall. Standing up is also doing something terrible to your stomach. It rolls and clenches and your anxiety skyrockets.

Parties aren't really your thing, and while Jimin might be drunk he is damn good at controlling it. On the contrary, it's becoming increasingly apparent that you are completely hammered.

"You okay?" Jimin asks, concern dripping from his tone. He stands up and turns you both so you can sit on the edge of your bed.

"I think... I'm drunk," you confess, unable to explain why you suddenly feel like crying.

"I think you're right, baby," he agrees, squatting down to unbuckle the ankle straps on your heels. "Let's get you some water."

Your stomach flips again and time slows as you feel the contents of the evening rise in the back of your throat. Panicking, you look to Jimin with wide eyes and a hand flying up to your mouth. He spins around looking for anything to catch what's surely coming and upends your little trash can. Candy wrappers and old class notes fall to the floor. He thrusts the can under your face just as a rainbow of Jello shots and reappears.

"I'm so sorry," you cry between heaves, tears streaking your make-up down your face.

"Shhh," Jimin soothes, gathering your hair away from your face. When he's sure you've finished, he disappears from the bedroom with the offending trash can and you're left with your horrible, alcohol twisted thoughts.

He's going to think you're pathetic and disgusting. Why on earth did you think you could drink that much?

Jimin returns with a glass of water before you can get much further into your self-deprecation.

"You're never gonna fuck me now," you blabber, your filter lost. Your thoughts are a jumble of sadness and muddled lust.

Jimin laughs. "Well, I'm definitely not gonna fuck you like this. I didn't realize you were this drunk," he softly says. It's a caring statement, not even a little bit condescending.

You should be grateful that he wants you sober for sex, but it only makes you cry harder because you really just want him so badly and you're absolutely certain you've ruined your chances beyond repair. So, you do the only thing that makes sense right now and cry harder.

Jimin wraps his arms around you and leans close to your ear. "I want to, you know. I want to lay you down and touch you all over." He presses a soft kiss to the side of your neck. "I want to taste you, feel you. I want to be inside you so badly, but not like this."

"Please," you whine.

"Sober up first, okay?" he coaxes. "Can I help you get some pajamas? Brush your teeth?"

"Okay," you sniffle.

Jimin smooths his hand up your back, tracing the black lace band of your bra with the tip of his finger. “Do you want to take this off?”

You nod, reaching behind you to unfasten the clasp while Jimin reaches down to the floor for the button down shirt he discarded. He averts his eyes while you shed your bra, then holds his shirt open for you. You slip into it but don’t bother to button it up before walking to your door. He helps you get to the bathroom but you insist on doing it yourself so you can clean up and assess just how fucked up you really look right now.

When you close the door behind you, he makes sure to quietly apologize to Yoongi, who is still scrubbing the trash bin Jimin brought out earlier. Yoongi reaches into the cabinet for the bottle of Advil and gestures to a glass of water already on the counter.

Jimin waits for you to open the door and when you finally do he's relieved that you haven't fallen asleep. You've washed the makeup from your tear-streaked face and brushed your teeth. You've even pulled your hair back so it's no longer in the way. You look at him through a hazy apologetic lens as he offers you Advil and water. The last thing you want to do is ingest anything but if it will help you in the morning, you'll try it for his sake.

The journey from the bathroom back into your room is a blur. All you can think about is crawling back into bed and sleeping this awful feeling away. You struggle with the covers for a moment until Jimin helps you slide underneath them.

"I'm sorry. Don't hate me," you plead in a weak voice.

"Why are you sorry? I don't hate you," he assures you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He's shirtless. He could have been naked pounding your pussy stupid if you didn't overdo it on the drinks. You hate yourself a little bit for botching this chance, but if he could just put his arms around you again maybe you’d feel okay, like you didn’t blow it.

"Will you hold me?" you ask.

“Of course,” he replies softly.

The light in the room disappears and the mattress sinks behind you. His arms wrap themselves around your waist and his fingers twine with yours.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers when you squeeze his hand.

The heat of his breath brushes against your neck but you don’t close your eyes. You’re too dizzy. Instead you focus on the soothing rhythm of his breathing until the weight of your eyelids wins out against the nausea and sleep finally claims you.

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Your ringtone wakes you late, when the sun in your room is far too bright to be any time before ten. The sound is grating and irritating and you pull your pillow over your head to block it out. Jimin reaches for the phone, you can feel his weight shift and the heat of his skin when he hovers over you.

"Hello?" His voice is gruff and coarse with sleep.

Peeking out from beneath the pillow, you look over to him. His eyes are still closed and your phone is laying on his bare chest, speaker on and screen lit up.

"Gimme your bae," Jungkook's voice calls through the phone.

"She's sleeping," Jimin tells him. Looking in your direction, he meets your eyes and smiles.

You vaguely remember him making you drink more water last night, giving you Advil, and tucking you in. It's a very pleasant surprise to find that you aren’t horribly hungover.

"Wake her up," Jungkook whines. "Bro. She hit me so hard."

Jimin laughs. "You deserved it."

"I know," Jungkook agrees. "That's why I'm calling. Can I talk to her please?"

"You're on speaker."

"Hi, y/n. I got your number from Tae."

"Hi Kook," you croak.

"I'm sorry I was a douche last night. I get stupid when I drink whiskey."

"I accept your apology. Don’t do it again. How's your dick?" you ask, scooting closer to Jimin and laying your cheek on his chest. He wraps his arm around you and kisses the top of your head. The gesture makes you feel warm all over. He likes you.

"It hurts but I'll live. Sorry. For real. Do you guys wanna go eat later?" he asks you both.

Jimin answers this time. "Maybe. We have stuff to do first. I'll text you." He hangs up before Jungkook can say more.

“What stuff are we doing, hmm?” you question with a giggle, trying to play coy.

“Depends how you’re feeling, princess,” Jimin replies, leaning over you again to deposit your phone on your nightstand. He lingers above you, prompting the cautious exploration of your fingers on his chest.

Suddenly, you are acutely aware of the awful taste in your mouth. In fact, you feel gross all over. Not exactly the way you want to experience sex with Jimin for the first time.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you tell him, wiggling out from under his body. “You must think I am the worst, most unattractive human.”

“No,” Jimin says with a giggle. “I think you’re sexy and sweet. I really like you y/n.”

“Nobody likes me.” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“It’s rude to call people nobodies, don’t you think? Especially when they’ve just confessed their feelings,” Jimin teases, sitting up beside you.

“Well, let me at least brush my teeth,” you tell him, holding his shirt closed around you while you rise from the bed. You step around the clean trash can that’s been placed at the side of your bed thanks to Yoongi, noting that there is also a neat row of condoms on your nightstand and a note that reads ‘be done by 5 i wanna watch Dragonball Z after work.’

You laugh and quickly take care of your morning bathroom routine in record time so you can make use of Yoongi’s gift.

When you come back to your room, Jimin is watching you. His lips are drawn down in a pout, his eyes are half closed, and his chest, still bare, rises and falls heavily with each breath he takes as he rakes his eyes over your bare legs and up. His shirt hangs open on your body, leaving a strip of skin visible from your throat to your panties. He licks his lips when your fingers drag a slow line up that strip.

Parting the soft fabric further, you let it fall from your shoulders and pool around your feet. Jimin sits up for a better view and you wait for embarrassment to strike. It never happens. Instead, his gaze emboldens you. He looks wrecked already and he hasn't even touched you yet.

“So beautiful,” he whispers.

His assurance pulls you forward, one foot in front of the other until you’re close enough to touch and his hands are on your hips as you climb over him. He leans back under you as you push forward, connecting your lips with a force that borders on overeager. You can feel him smile against your lips and self-consciously, you will yourself to calm down. You have all day, there’s no need to rush.

When your kisses become soft and patient Jimin decides to take the initiative. He has to have you. He wants to be inside you. He sits up and sinks his hands into the flesh of your ass and begins to pull you down so he can grind up against your clothed cunt. When you moan his eyes roll back for a second and he buries his face into your neck to muffle the sound of his own. His tongue works in circles against you, giving you a taste of what’s to come before sucking a spot that has you burying your hand in his hair and grinding yourself down on him with need. He licks a hot stripe to your ear so he can whisper in it. In an instant he’s flipping you around on your back and grinding his pelvis against yours, allowing the dark desire to consume him.

“You like that, princess? You like feeling my cock on that sweet pussy of yours?”

“Yeah,” you whine, circling your legs around his hips. You can’t manage much more than that breathy reply, he is intoxicating and already you are drunk on his fumes.

“I hear it’s the sweetest. Made me so fucking jealous to hear Tae talk about you like that. You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you? Let me show you how good I can make you feel?”

“God did Tae just go around telling everyone?” you pause when the friction rubs against your clit just right. “Oh fuck,” you moan, imaging the pillowy soft press of his lips on your more intimate areas.

He chuckles in response. “No,” he assures you. “Just Jungkook and me. Don’t worry,” he says, persuading you with a careful roll of his hips that has his shaft parting your folds despite the layers of clothing between you. “He won’t talk about it anymore, and you’ll forget all about it by the time we’re done here. I’m gonna eat your sweet little cunt until mine are the only lips you remember.”

“Please,” you whimper, drawing him into a needy kiss.

His fingers dip into the band of your panties and he teases and tugs at them until you’re squirming and begging him to take them off. His lips trail wet kisses down to your breasts and he pauses to take your nipple into his mouth as he carefully works your last remaining piece of clothing down your legs.

Nudging your legs apart again, he settles between them, ghosting the pads of his fingers up the inside of your thigh as he drags your nipple gently with his teeth. He switches to repeat the action on the other side and cautiously slips a finger between your folds, parting them and testing your wetness. Much to his delight, he already finds you soaked.

“Jimin,” you breathe out. “Please.”

“Be patient for me, princess. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” He sits back on his knees between your thighs and uses his thumbs to smear your arousal over your lips. He groans something deep and tortured when he spreads them open.

“Y/n, holy fuck,” he whispers. “You’re perfect. So perfect.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at his praise. It feels like some kind of worship the way he looks down at your cunt, watching his fingers disappear inside you. His satisfied hum is like a hymn to the divine way your hot, slick walls squeeze him, a prayer to the mere idea of having that wet heat wrapped around his needy cock.

“Tae didn’t tell me you were so tight,” Jimin admits, looking up at you under his eyelashes.

“He only used his mouth,” you tell him, throwing your arm over your eyes. “I’ll never forget his lips if you keep talking about him.”

That seems to spark a fire in Jimin. His eyes grow dark and wild. He wants to ruin you. He presses his lips to the inside of your thigh and begins sucking marks into the soft flesh while his fingers continue to pump inside of you. He slowly works his way down, making sure the red spots he leaves behind are sufficient enough to last for days. He makes sure you’ll have the reminder of his face between your legs every time you look down.

“Jimin don’t tease,” you beg, bucking your hips up to seek the warmth of his breath.

“I’m not teasing,” he chides. “I am savoring.” He curls his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit, making your legs jolt. “Trust the process.”

“Jimin--,” you start again, but you’re cut off by the first touch of his lips. It’s barely there, just the ghost of a kiss on your mound. It’s immediately followed by the flat of his tongue, pressing down as he moves it lower, slipping his fingers out as he descends. His tongue parts your folds instead, circling your dripping hole and then dipping inside it.

“Mmmmm,” he hums. “Fuck, you’re sweet.” He spreads you with his thumbs again and goes back for more, lapping at your wet cunt, swirling around your clit, sucking your folds into his lips. But it’s not just the action, it’s the drive behind it. He’s insatiable, moaning at the taste, bucking his hips into the mattress when you whine for him.

Your fingers tangle through his silver hair, twisting and pulling as he devotes himself to your undoing. He moves with you when you grind up against his jaw, stealing a glance up at your face. Jimin feels his cock twitch at the sight of you; breasts heaving, mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed shut. He’s leaking so much precum he can feel it soaking through his boxer-briefs. He’s almost afraid he’s going to lose it and cum in his pants.

“You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks, lifting his face to push his fingers back inside. He pumps them hard, curling and searching for that elusive spot while he presses soft kisses to your clit. He alternates between flicking his tongue and rubbing against it with his lips, pausing every few seconds to whisper encouragements with warm breath puffed over your swollen bud.

“Come on, baby. Do it for me. Cum for me, princess. Let me taste it.”

“Please Jimin. Pleeeeease. I need you to suck it. Suck it harder,” you beg. “Right there. There! Don’t stop! Please! I’m so close.”

Jimin keeps steady for you despite your trembling thighs. He pounds your g-spot while he sucks as hard as you can take. Your mind goes totally blank, consumed by an orgasm so powerful you can see fireworks bursting behind your eyelids. Heat spreads from your core down your legs, up your spine.

“I’m cu— cumming— Jimiiiiin!” you cry, legs trapping his head like a vice. Your fingers leave his hair in favor of squeezing at your breasts as you ride out your orgasm. You buck your hips when he doesn’t let up after you’ve come down from your high.

“Take your pants off,” you pant, shoving at his head.

He finally pops off with a grin, his chin and lips covered in your slick.

“What if I’m not finished down here?” he teases, dipping his head back down to lick a stripe up your slit. Your whole body jumps when he touches your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Oh?” he feigns shock. “Sensitive?” he smugly asks, going back for one more taste.

“I wanna suck your cock,” you tell him, lazily pulling your legs up and turning your body away from him. You keep your eyes on him as you turn just enough to hang your head off the edge of the bed.

“Are you for real right now?” he asks, standing slowly. The tent in his pants is obscene.

“Please, Jimin. Just a little bit?”

“You’re gonna fucking kill me,” he sighs, tugging the zipper down on his jeans and letting them and his underwear fall to his ankles. He kicks them off and steps in front of you, smiling down at your upside down face, a little dumbfounded to have you wanting and willing to have him like this.

Your mouth waters at the sight of the swollen mauve tip standing at attention. He’s rock hard and so thick you’re not sure you can take him in your mouth, or your cunt for that matter. You’re glad he warmed you up with his fingers because you’re already clenching tight at the thought of that thick cock splitting you in two.

He reaches for the row of condoms as you take him in your hand and give him a few pumps. Just as he rips off one of the packets, you guide him towards the entrance of your mouth. You swirl your tongue against the tip and he drops everything, focusing on the way you tease him instead.

He inhales sharply. “Fuck. Who’s the tease now?”

You run your tongue along his shaft and smile when you get to the tip, giving it a quick kiss. “I’m savoring. What happened to trusting the process?”

He drags his lip through his teeth and clenches his jaw as you put his patience to the test but lucky for him you’re kind. He doesn’t have to wait long. You close your lips around him a moment later, reaching around his hips to guide him deeper, controlling the depth of his thrusts until he learns your limits and leans over you. With his hands on your breasts he rolls his hips. He can feel the tip of his cock bumping the back of your throat. He moans when you gag around him.

“That’s it, princess. Suck it. Just like that,” he praises.

Jimin is careful with his pace, and tender with his touch when he twists your nipples. He thinks he’s in control. He thinks he can take this just fine, despite the fact that your mouth feels fucking incredible. It’s when he watches you part your thighs and slip your hand between them to finger yourself while he fucks your mouth that he realizes he’s got none of the control he was so certain of. His balls tighten and he pulls out quickly and squeezes them, pinching at the tip of his cock and leaving you gasping for the breath you couldn’t catch with him in your mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. I need a second,” he huffs, eyes closed, standing perfectly still. He breathes slowly and deeply. If you could peek into his brain you’re sure you’d see any number of boring things trying to distract him from the image of you fucking yourself with your fingers while you sucked his cock. It’s futile. He’s certain he’ll see it in his dreams.

“Did I do something wrong?” you wonder, shuffling around so that you’re laying back on your pillows.

Jimin ignores your question. He knows you’re well aware he almost came in your mouth. “I need to be inside you like, now,” he says, picking up the condom again.

You watch him tear it open and roll it on with his one knee pressed into the mattress and his other foot on the floor.

"Come on then," you coax, opening your legs for him to crawl between.

He pushes two fingers inside you on his way up, dragging them out slowly and smearing your wetness around your pussy before he lines his cock up and sinks in to the hilt in one smooth press.

You gasp as he fills you, feeling the stretch of his girth, and he hushes your whimpering and brushes his nose against yours. "I'm sorry baby," he soothes. "I'll go slow." He seals the promise with a kiss before hiking your legs up high around his waist and wrapping his arms around you.

He lies still like this, waiting for the green light while he kisses you breathless. He moves to your neck when you break away to inhale, sucking more little bruises in the skin there. "Tell me when."

"Move," you moan. "Move. Fuck me."

Jimin pulls out slowly, leaving just the tip inside. He pushes back in just as slow, repeating the action several times until it looks like you're about to cry.

You need it so badly. It feels cruel to have him rocking so gently inside you when all you want is to be ruined by him. "Harder," you plead.

"Are you sure?"

"Don't make me beg," you whine.

"What if I want you to beg?" he jokes, dropping his hips against you. It's almost hard enough to satisfy you.

"Then I'll beg."

Jimin groans, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sets a brutal pace. He pounds into you, forcing the air from your lungs with his powerful thrusts, rolling his hips like his life depends on it. "You're so fucking good for me, princess. So tight. Feels so fucking good."

"Go faster," you tell him, grabbing a handful of his ass.

Shifting higher on his knees, he picks up the pace. Sweat beads on his forehead and over his lip. It beads in the dip of his cupid's bow and you lick it away before raking his bottom lip through your teeth.

“You feel my fat cock baby?" he asks. You moan in response pulling your legs higher so he can fuck you even deeper. "You like the way I fill you, don't you? Want me to fuck you full of my cum? Take it," he grunts. "You take it so fucking well. You gonna cum for me again, baby?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

Jimin pulls out when you start to clench, not quite edging you but stealing the pleasure you were high on nonetheless. You whine at the loss of him, walls fluttering wildly around nothing.

"Can we try something?" he asks, lifting your legs and putting them to the side.

"What did you have in mind?" you wonder. You reach for his cock but he's already moving, nudging at your hips until you turn.

"Up on your knees for me, princess," he instructs. He kneels behind you once you're in position and smooths his hand up your spine, guiding you gently down onto your elbows. “Is this okay?”

“It’s good,” you assure him, wiggling your hips a little to get him moving again.

He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, dragging it through your folds and rubbing it against your clit. Finally, he pushes back inside you, coaxing a fresh wave of arousal with the stretch of his girth. It’s deeper like this and impossibly you feel even more full than you did before.

“Oh, Jimin,” you sigh, dropping your face into your folded arms. “Jimin.”

“Good?” He folds himself over you, pressing his chest to your back and sliding his hands from your hips to your breasts.

You thrust yourself back into him as you answer. “Perfect. You?”

It takes him by surprise but he follows your lead. He drives himself into your cunt while massaging your breasts and kissing your back. “Fuck, y/n…” he moans, letting his teeth drag over your shoulder before he bites down.

You hiss at the sting and he soothes it with his tongue and puckered lips.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous taking my cock like this. Feel how deep I am. You’re squeezing me so tight, baby.”

“Jimin? Jimin, I need—,” you gasp out between thrusts.

“What, princess? What do you need?” he questions, releasing a breast to play with your clit instead. “Want me to pull your hair? Want me to fill you with my cum?”

“I wanna ride you.”

“Oh, fuck.” Jimin pulls back immediately.

He lays down beside you and grabs at your waist, guiding you over his cock and holding on tight as you drop your weight and take him completely. Swiveling your hips, you set a pace slow and steady. Jimin’s thumbs rubs soft circles into your skin as you move.

“Go faster,” he urges, unable to keep his hips from rising to meet yours.

You shake your head ‘no’ and continue with your slow rolling pace.

“Please, y/n. Ride it like you wanna cum with me.”

Smirking devilishly, you slow down even more and lean over him with your hands on either side of his head.

He looks down, watching your breasts sway and the way his cock disappears over and over.

“Fuck, y/n. PLEASE,” he whines, roughly grabbing your hips and pounding up into you.

Your startled laugh quickly turns into desperate cries of his name. His cock hits your g-spot directly. It feels so good you don’t even think you need him to touch your clit to make you cum. But he does. He pinches your bud between his fingers while he slams into you, growling and moaning and begging you to cum with him.

“I’m close,” he grunts, licking his fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit.

“Me too,” you whine. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t have time to finish the thought as he takes you over the edge with him. He slams his head back against the pillows as he pumps his hips and cums to the wild pulsing of your orgasm. Your cunt milks every last drop from him and you cry his name, clutching his wrists and letting your head fall back so you can wail your pleasure at the ceiling.

Jimin gasps, picking up his head to look down at how your pussy spreads open around him. Your slick cum coats the condom and his mouth waters, remembering the sweet tang of your taste. You’ve barely stopped grinding on him when he sits up to push you down on your back.

Pulling out, he kneels beside the bed and pulls you to the edge by your legs so he can gently lick you clean. He exhales a hot and heavy breath, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up to peel the loaded condom off his softening cock.

“That was… wow,” you pant, staring up at the ceiling for a moment as you try to regain your breath.

He’s already back at your side, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you towards his chest.

“Yeah,” he agrees while softly combing his fingers through your hair. He’s tired.

You smile against his sweaty chest and plant a soft salty kiss against him. Through the corner of your eye you see the row of untouched condoms on your nightstand. “We’ve got a lot left. Wanna go again?”

He hums a deep throaty sound and laughs when your hand falls to his limp cock. “I want to, but I need a bit to recharge. I can make you cum again while we wait. Do you want that, baby?”

“I always want that. But you don’t have to.”

The groan in his throat sounds croaky as he leans in to kiss your forehead. “I want to.”

He reaches down to wedge his fingers between your thighs and your whole body jumps at the sensitive sensation. How dare your body betray you in this moment?

“Seems like you might need time to recharge too,” he teases while nuzzling against the top of your head and squeezing you in a warm embrace against him. “I’m okay with just laying here and holding you.”

“Yeah?” You smile and cross your leg over his to get more comfortable. “Mmm. You can always help me study for the next test while you’re here.”

Laughter bubbles from his throat. “Are you trying to seduce me for answers to the exam? You know I don’t grade them, right.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, barely containing your giggles as you look up at him. “I don’t think I need to seduce anyone for answers. My head feels a little clearer now.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” he prods while playfully ghosting his fingers down your side.

“Because I know I can be distracted outside of class now instead. I mean, if you wanna keep doing this,” you explain while nervously drumming your fingertips on his chest. “I know I’m not anything special, but—”

Jimin lifts your chin and pulls you into a deep kiss. “You are,” he whispers when he pulls away.

You lick your lips and blink a few times. “I was gonna say you make me feel like I am the most special vanilla ice cream cone on the planet.”

His shy, warm smile fills your stomach with butterflies even as he makes his joke. “Want me to lick you up?”

“And so much more.”

It’s a weighted confession. You sit up to look at him so he knows this. He purses his lips and casts his away. He was avoiding this conversation.

“I don’t know how much more I can give you. I want to be what you deserve, but things are so hard right now. I don’t know that I can be someone who’s good enough for you. You deserve to be showered in gifts and taken on dates. You deserve to be given flowers every day. I don’t even have a car to take you somewhere for a vacation. I’m not sure I can be what you want.”

“Just be yourself,” you state plainly, cupping your hand around his jaw. “That’s what I want. So far I like the person I see. I like you, the real you.”

“I like you too,” he blurts, eyes snapping back to meet yours. “But I can’t afford—”

You press a finger to his lips. “I don’t need expensive dates or fancy gifts. I don’t need you to take care of me— well, last night was the exception and you didn’t need money for that. I just want you to be with me. Talk with me. Spend time with me. Maybe have lots of sex? I don’t know, we can figure out the rest later.” You laugh, embarrassed by your own boldness.

“You see everything that I am and you still want me.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re amazing. Now I know for sure you’re too good for me. But,” he pauses and slips his hands into yours, “I want to keep seeing you. I like talking to you and the more time I spend with you, the more certain I feel about the choices I’ve made. No one’s ever made me feel so free. I want to hold onto that feeling. I want to hold onto you.”

You tell yourself not to cry as you straddle his waist and hover above his lips. “I’m yours then. Are you mine?”

He catches your lips between his and buries his hands in your hair. “I’m yours.”

[fruitydiaz-archived]

that's what i want for him

post-eddie begins | eddie meets with his attorney to change his will | a little feelings realization | a little pining | a little buckley-diaz family moment

4,097 words

AO3 link

The day that Eddie has his appointment with his attorney to alter his will, he’s sick with nerves.

He thought he had made peace with his own mortality a long time ago, when he enlisted and found himself pinned down, a world away from his family and bleeding out in the middle of a warzone — but something about the official stature of a will has always made him feel nervous.

He’s still young, and he has no plans to die anytime soon, but who really does? Shannon certainly hadn’t planned on it either. Dealing with grief is hard enough as is, especially when it’s the loss of a parent, and if Eddie can make that experience any more bearable for Chris, then that’s what he’s going to do.

Ever since Shannon died, he’s had his parents down as Christopher’s legal guardians should anything happen to him. It wasn’t a decision he ever felt comfortable with — but he didn’t have anyone else, and he didn’t really have a choice. He had to make sure that Christopher had someone in case things went wrong on a call.

But since the well came down — well, before that actually. Ever since the tsunami, ever since the lawsuit, ever since the skateboard accident — Eddie’s known that he needs to adjust his will, because in none of those situations were Eddie’s parents around to make sure Christopher was okay.

Buck was.

It wasn’t that they didn’t care. They certainly called Eddie after they heard the news about the tsunami. They asked if Christopher was okay (not him, Christopher), and made their usual comments about how Texas would be so much safer for him — they hadn’t had both an earthquake and a tsunami over the last year. They made sure they did their best to let Eddie know that he was making a mistake keeping Chris there, that he was making a mistake not relocating him after he lost his mom, that Chris was going to get seriously hurt one of these days and it would be his fault. They said all of the things he knew they would.

But they weren’t there.

The well was a close call — too close — and in that moment when the mud came down on top of him and the water started to fill his lungs — he realized he couldn’t leave Christopher with them. Not when there was someone else right there, someone who loved Christopher the way he did, someone who would do anything for him, someone who understood him.

He’s still reeling from the accident a bit, as he sits in the office, bouncing his leg up and down and trying hard to tamp down his nerves and failing, as you do after near-death experiences. He keeps having to remind himself that he’s not down there anymore, that there isn’t water all around him, that he can breathe perfectly fine, that he’s on solid ground now.

He has to remind himself that when he fell, Buck and Hen were there to grasp his hands and pull him back up. He’s okay.

“Mr. Diaz?” A voice calls to his left. He looks up to see his attorney in the doorway, standing with her hands clasped in front of her. She smiles at him politely.

She’s a tall, fairly nondescript woman, with soft, quiet features, and thick curly black hair that’s always pulled back into a bun. She always comes dressed in suits but leaves her suit jacket draped over the back of her chair, moving about her office and greeting clients in soft cashmere sweaters.

She always seems to be wearing a smile — but not in an unsettling way. When Shannon was still around, when Eddie was warming up to the idea of welcoming her back into his life, Eddie had made some comment about her having middle school teacher energy — the kind of middle school teacher that still enjoyed working with kids but also took them seriously and didn’t allow any room for bullshit — and Shannon had laughed at him for using the word energy. She said something about Buck rubbing off on him and he rolled his eyes.

It’s just that she reminds him of someone, someone from his past — but he just can’t ever place her. He’s always been bad with faces. But there’s something familiar and grounding about her, something that helped Eddie feel calm when he first met her. But today, she doesn’t calm his nerves.

He feels sick.

He hasn’t seen her since Shannon died.

He stands up and wipes his shaking hands against his jeans, following her into her office.

When Eddie imagined an attorney’s office, when he was a little younger and more naive, he imagined it being small, cramped, with overflowing filing cabinets against one wall and bookshelves filled with boxes of legal documents and binders and books filled with rules and statutes that he could never dream of understanding. He imagined it as something that would make him feel small and cramped — and that the lawyer on the other side of the desk would peer over their tiny wireframe glasses at him and scrutinize every decision he made.

But Stacy’s office is different — it’s calmer, more minimalist. Her walls are a cool white that contrasts against all of the black furniture. The boxes on her shelves are a uniform grey with white labels with little script that’s illegible to Eddie. She even has a little bonsai tree on her desk. It reminds him of a therapist’s office — one that Shannon tried to make him see earlier on in their marriage, between deployments. Sometimes he can appreciate the universe’s weird sense of humor. Today he doesn’t.

He hates having to be here, having to deal with all of the weird legal aspects of living and dying, but he’s doing this for Christopher, so he swallows his nerves.

“I understand you’re wanting to change your will?” Stacy begins, pulling Eddie’s file onto her desk and flipping it open. He nods.

“Yes, I just want to make an adjustment to the legal guardianship — for Christopher,” She nods for him to continue. “After last year, I changed it so my parents would be his legal guardians. I’d like to change it again.”

Stacy smiles softly at him again before pulling something up on her computer. She opens a drawer and retrieves some blank paperwork and sets it on her desk.

“And who will you be changing it to?”

“His name is Evan Buckley. He’s...my friend. Coworker, actually, but...he understands Chris better than they do. Or ever could, really.”

Stacy nods, writing Buck’s name down on the paper before setting the pen down, folding her hands together again, and studying Eddie.

“So, last year when we adjusted your will after your wife passed, I remember your parents being here with us,” She says, and it’s not unkind or pointed in any way, but her words still make Eddie shift in his chair, like he’s done something wrong.

“That’s right,” Eddie says, clearing his throat.

“And Mr. Buckley isn’t here with us today.”

“No,” Eddie says, picking at a loose strand in the hem of his jeans. “He’s working a shift today.”

“I see, are you sure you don’t want him to be present for this? It’s a big decision.”

Eddie blinks at her before shifting his eyes around the room.

“Does he need to be here?”

“No, not at all. We normally encourage both parties to be here, but I’m sure you’ve gotten his consent already, it’s just a formality, really,” Stacy smiles and turns back to her file, picking the pen up again, and opening her mouth to ask another question, when Eddie interrupts her.

“Do I need to have, um, written consent or something to do this? I don’t remember my parents having to sign anything.”

Stacy looks back up at Eddie. For a moment neither of them says anything. She slowly sets her pen back down.

“It’s not required, but it is recommended. This is a big decision, as I’m sure you’re aware. Trusting someone as your child’s legal guardian isn’t something to be taken lightly — especially when they’re not family.”

Eddie frowns — he’s not taking this lightly. It’s all he’s been able to think about for weeks. Every morning when he sits down with Christopher to have breakfast it’s a reminder that he almost lost this. Every time he comes home to Christopher after a long day of work there’s a sense of relief that he’s never felt before — he got to come home again. When he sees the drawings of Shannon that Christopher did that Eddie keeps locked in his nightstand — unable to throw them away, but definitely not keeping them anywhere where Chris could find them again — he remembers how close Chris came to losing another parent.

When he thinks about Chris being uprooted, ripped out of this life they built in California just to be dragged back to Texas, with parents like his who always think they know what’s best but never allow room for adjustments, with parents he knows will stifle him — it’s heartbreaking. He knows this is the right decision.

But Stacy doesn’t give him the opportunity to say all of that, and she continues to press, gently.

“You have had a conversation about this with him?” Eddie shrinks in his chair a bit.

“No, we haven’t — we haven’t talked about it. But, look, you don’t know Buck, okay? This isn’t,” He pauses, waving his hand while he tries to figure out what to say. “A couple of weeks ago, I was in an accident. It was pretty bad, and — I could’ve died. I was drowning and all I could think about was how I couldn’t leave Chris alone. And then, if I did die, how miserable he would be with my parents. I mean, you met them.”

Stacy doesn’t respond.

“Well, I was raised by them, so — I know what they’d be like, and I don’t want that for Christopher. Buck would do anything for Christopher. Already has. He’s...it’s him. I want him to be Christopher’s guardian, you know, if anything ever happens.”

Stacy nods and sits back in her chair.

“Eddie,” She starts, breaking formality. “Listen, I understand. This kind of thing happens more often than you’d think. There’s a kind of clarity that comes to people when they have a close encounter with death. I imagine it was especially clarifying for you, so soon after your wife’s death.”

She sits up again and studies Eddie carefully.

“I just want to make sure that you’re aware — if something happens and you haven’t told Mr. Buckley, he could refuse.”

Eddie shakes his head vehemently.

“No,” He says confidently. He looks at Stacy again, dead in the eye so that she knows he’s serious. “He wouldn’t do that. Believe me.”

“And if your family tries to fight it?” Eddie looks away then, and his eyes get a little distant. He smiles a small, private smile, before looking back at Stacy.

“They won’t ever fight as hard as him. Trust me.”

Stacy holds his gaze for a moment.

You learn a lot about people when you’re in her line of work — people come in all of the time and show her their hands, inadvertently pouring their hearts out, and revealing everything that’s most important to them as they sort out their estates. She’s seen plenty of people make weird, terrible, stupid, and callous decisions in the event of their death. She’s seen plenty of people come in after a close call and make hasty, half-baked decisions that she doesn’t have the power to counsel them against.

But, with her admittedly limited understanding of who Eddie Diaz is as a person, he’s not the kind of person who makes hasty, half-baked decisions, especially not when it comes to what he loves most — Christopher. They’ve only seen each other a few times: when Eddie first moved to LA and was altering his will, and when Shannon died. She’s seen him worn, tired, dragged down by grief. From what she sees, he’s a man who’s burdened by the need to do what's right for everyone else around him.

When he came in with his parents the year before, he had seemed small, and it had struck her. She remembered him from their first meeting as an army man with strong shoulders and a jaw set with stubborn determination — but then he just seemed like a child.

The man in front of her now is somewhere in between, softened by the home he’s clearly made for him and his son here. He’s still worn, a little shaken after his incident, still clearly grieving the loss of his wife, but the look in his eyes is strong and sure.

And as much as she would prefer that Mr. Buckley, or Buck, as Eddie keeps calling him, were here, she can clearly tell the difference in how Eddie feels about him versus his parents by the way he talks. He didn’t say much when his parents were in her office, just nodded along to what they said and made quiet, reserved comments to affirm their decisions. At the time, she wasn’t sure if it was the grief or their presence that was making him small — but she gets it now. Buck clearly understands Eddie in a way that few people have before.

She just hopes that Eddie talks to him about it soon — because the man does seem to be a kind of magnet for life-threatening situations, and she would really prefer not to have to break the news to a surprised, grief-stricken Evan Buckley herself. That’s her least favorite part of the job.

But she doesn’t press any further — Eddie’s made his case and Stacy’s certain she won’t be able to convince him to hold off any longer to at least talk to Buck, and they finish sorting out the paperwork.

Stacy sends Eddie off with the promise to get in touch with him when the changes to his will are finalized, and a gentle suggestion to talk with Buck soon.

He’s out the door feeling a dozen pounds lighter.

Eddie considers telling Buck after that, he really does. He understands that it’s probably something he should hear about sooner rather than later. But something holds him back, something makes him want to keep those cards close to his chest, and he’s not sure why.

He doesn’t tell anyone, not for a while. He really should tell his parents — and he will, eventually — but he’s not really looking forward to that particular conversation. He can already hear their arguments in his head, how Buck is in just as dangerous a profession as he is, how Buck is a stranger — not family, how he’s barely known this man for two years when they’ve known him his whole life — that one will make him laugh, he’s sure.

The first person he tells ends up being Carla.

It’s a few weeks later and he’s chatting with her on the phone, chopping up vegetables in the kitchen, helping prep dinner while Chris and Buck are playing games in the living room.

He’s been thinking about broaching the topic all night, now that he’s gotten a chance to be alone with Buck, but he feels a little anxious at the idea — even though he knows Buck won’t refuse. It just feels like a big thing that they probably won’t ever have to deal with — it’s not like he plans on dying.

But the idea is fresh in his mind, so it shouldn’t be that surprising when Carla asks him what’s new and he responds, “I changed my will.”

She doesn’t say anything for a second, and Eddie glances down at his phone to make sure the call didn’t get disconnected on accident.

“Oh?” Carla asks, clearly surprised. “What made you change it?”

“The well,” Eddie says, sliding some chopped carrots off the cutting board and into a bowl. He hears Carla hum in acknowledgment, then smiles as he hears Buck shout from the living room. Chris beat him, again. He’s alive, he’s okay.

“What exactly did you change?”

“Christopher’s legal guardianship...you know, if anything like that happens again and, uh, I don’t make it,” He tries to say this casually, but his throat starts to close up again at the end. He coughs.

“Who’d you change it to?” Carla asks, her voice soft. Eddie pauses, then steps away from the counter, peeking around the corner to check on Buck and Chris. The volume of their game is loud — too loud, really — but they’re engrossed in it, and Eddie’s comfortable with the thought that they can’t overhear his conversation. He walks back to his phone.

“Buck,” He admits quietly.

“Did you talk to him about this?” Carla asks, eventually, and it strikes Eddie how well she knows him. She doesn’t even sound surprised that he made Buck Christopher’s legal guardian.

When he doesn’t respond, he hears Carla sigh.

“Eddie, this is the kind of thing you should talk to him about. If something happens and he suddenly finds out from your lawyer—“

“He’s not gonna refuse,” Eddie says confidently.

“No, and I didn’t say that he would. It would just be fair to him to tell him before, God forbid, something happens to you and he has to hear it from a stranger instead of his best friend.”

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon, Carla,” Eddie says, and he wants to feel confident as he says it, wants it to come off light-hearted and joking, but he’s still terrified and his voice betrays him.

“I know you’re not, honey,” Carla says sympathetically. “But we both know that anything can happen to any one of us, any day. I know I don’t need to remind you of that.”

Eddie nods, even though Carla can’t see him, and continues chopping vegetables.

“It’s just,” Eddie pauses, working out his words. “I don’t — should I tell Christopher? Maybe he should know first.”

“How did you do it when you changed it with your parents last year?” Eddie shrugs.

“Wasn’t really my decision. They were here, they decided it should be them, they told Christopher, we went to my attorney and made it happen. This time...this time it was my choice. And I don’t really know what to do here.”

He lets out a shaky laugh and finds himself, surprisingly, wishing Shannon was here.

It’s one of those things that happens after you lose someone you love — you forget all of the bad parts of your relationship and start to miss the good. He wishes she was here right now, chopping vegetables, teasing him for being useless in the kitchen. He wishes he wasn’t having this conversation right now. He wishes he didn’t feel so old, so marked by death.

He hears Christopher’s victory shout from the living room again, and his heart races to latch onto it. As long as he has his kid, everything’s okay. He wouldn’t take anything back — not for this. Christopher’s happy now.

Then he hears Buck laughing good-naturedly, hears him lowering the volume, and then listens as Chris tries to wheedle another round out of him.

“Come on, buddy, it’s time for me to start dinner. I gotta make sure your dad doesn’t burn any of our dinner in there, or accidentally chop a finger off cutting vegetables. Let’s go get you washed up and then we can help him out, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t hear Christopher’s response, he imagines it was something like a groan and a not-so-subtle eye roll, but he registers the sound of the TV cutting off and Buck’s weight lifting up off the couch. A couple of seconds later and there’s the sound of running water in the bathroom down the hall, and Christopher giggling over the noise.

Everything’s okay.

“Look, Carla, I’m sorry to cut this short but — Buck’s here and he’s about to come help me out in the kitchen, so, I gotta—“

“Just breathe, Eddie. You’ll figure it out, okay? Just make sure you tell him soon.” Eddie hums, noncommittal, and he’s pretty sure he can hear the way Carla shakes her head fondly. “And give that boy a kiss for me, will you?”

“Christopher or Buck?” Eddie jokes before he can stop himself. He freezes, knife hovering mid chop. He hears the water in the bathroom shut off and starts to panic, for some reason he can’t explain. That’s a normal joke to make about your friend, right? Carla would totally kiss him if she was here.

“Whichever one you want,” Carla says after a while, quiet and knowing.

“Hey, is that Carla?” Buck asks as he enters the kitchen.

“Great, thanks Carla, bye,” Eddie rushes, flustered and scrambling to end the call. He turns back around to face Buck, who’s looking at him quizzically.

“I was just gonna say hi?” He says, tilting his head to the side. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Great,” Eddie says, unconvincingly. Buck raises an eyebrow. “Um, fine, just — not sure...how many...potatoes you need me to chop?”

Buck doesn’t take his eyes off Eddie. He studies him, eyes flicking over his face, mentally running through his memory to see if Eddie’s been off lately. And, well, he has — he almost died a couple of weeks ago.

Eddie’s caginess isn’t hard to read — but Buck’s gotten pretty good at knowing when’s the right time to push and when’s the right time to sit back and wait, let Eddie come to him. As much as he doesn’t like it, this is a sit back and wait kind of situation.

He regards Eddie one last time before stepping up to the counter next to him, his hand hovering behind Eddie’s back. Eddie really wants to know why that makes him nervous all of a sudden. They’re close to each other all the time, practically touching each other constantly, but right now proximity to Buck is making it hard to breathe. Buck’s only got a couple of inches on him but it feels like he’s towering over him. It’s making him a little dizzy.

“I’m pretty sure this is enough,” Buck says, sliding away from Eddie and pulling a tray out of the cabinet by the stove, blissfully unaware of the way Eddie’s heart is racing in his chest. “I told Christopher he could help so I figured he could season the vegetables? I’ll measure the spices out for him so we don’t end up eating pure salt like we did last time.”

He sends Eddie a wink as he says that and then turns around, pulling spices out of Eddie’s cabinets and grabbing these tiny bowls that Eddie didn’t even know he had. He’s stunned, watching Buck move around the kitchen with ease, like this isn’t the hundredth time Buck has been over to cook them dinner.

It feels a little like he stepped into some alternate reality, like everything is exactly as it should be but something’s just slightly off. Something’s shifted, but he’s not sure what.

When Christopher comes in moments later, Buck gets him set up at the table easily, letting him sit himself and setting his crutches to the side, placing the tray down in front of him with all of the spices in reach, and pointing out what each of them are and explaining how they flavor the food.

He drizzles the oil over the vegetables and then lets Chris go for it, dumping the bowls over the tray and then getting in there with him, using their hands to coat them all evenly. And that, of course, is Christopher’s favorite part. While Eddie’s still processing, the kitchen’s filled with the sounds of Christopher laughing and Buck laughing along with him, encouraging the way he tosses each vegetable around to cover it in spices.

Eddie stands at the counter, still stunned, but warm all over. This is the kind of thing that keeps him going, the kind of thing that keeps him fighting when things get hard. It’s the kind of thing that Eddie will tuck inside his heart as a precious memory that will come back to him in the future whenever things inevitably get dark again.

He doesn’t want to tell Buck about the guardianship yet. He’ll tell Christopher first, and then his parents, and then, whenever the moment’s right, then he’ll tell Buck.

He’s not in any kind of rush. Things are perfect right now, and he just wants to enjoy that for a little bit longer.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Colour symbol prompts

Fluff: black: protection

John protecting Scott

The Role of Protector

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: John, Scott

Uh, so I kinda maybe missed the "fluff" part of the prompt. Whoops. Ah well - this prompt intrigued me a lot so who knows, I might write some more protector!John at a later date - hell knows I love it when Scott's being protected by little brothers for once, and there's a large scope for that out there (I already have a second idea for John, which might actually tend more towards fluff than this one - not that that's particularly hard...)

4am seems to have snuck up on me without warning, so while I have proof read this I can't guarantee it was a perfect proof read... But some protective!John (and a nice side dish of Scott!whump as well).

Colour Symbol Prompts

It wasn’t often that John found himself in this position. Spending most of the year on Thunderbird Five had something to do with that, of course, but it was hardly the only factor at play. The fact that the only brother with him at the moment was Scott was another – a younger brother, with the possible exception of Gordon, was somewhat more likely to put John in his current position, but Scott was a different matter entirely.

As big brother and former military with the skills to match, even if he didn’t like to show them, Scott was the protector of the family. It was a role he hoarded viciously, because if it had fallen to one of the others then, to Scott’s mind, he’d failed.

John would disagree. Their big brother was still only human himself, and John had a long list of grievances attached to the way he seemed unable to step back and recharge even for a moment. There were times, though, where the choice was stripped from Scott, leaving him vulnerable and leaving the role of protector to settle elsewhere temporarily.

It was normally Gordon, for all that he was fourth out of five. Military steel skipped over Virgil – too soft, Gordon had confided in him before, although John knew it wasn’t a complaint, or sleight against the brother between them at all. Being soft against a world determined to tear itself and everyone inside it apart on a regular basis took its own strength, and Gordon knew that better than most. The steel skirted around John himself, too, although he liked to think he still had sharp edges when he needed them – the fact that he was rarely there in person was just another reason for the role to pass him over. None of them were ready to let the steel go near Alan.

Gordon wasn’t there, off on the other side of the world with Virgil rescuing yet another fishing trawler in distress. Alan was stuck in the world of homework, leaving John alone with his big brother.

His barely-conscious big brother, slumped against a cave wall where John had deposited him despite Scott’s best efforts to the contrary. Blood was blotching the bandages hastily applied to his shoulder; those would need changing soon, but John had other priorities to worry about first. International Rescue didn’t carry weapons, but both Scott and Gordon had proved that with enough creativity most of their equipment could be utilised as such. Given the situation, John had taken a leaf out of their book – and the grapple gun from Scott’s hip, which he was currently aiming with less surety than he’d like at the narrow entrance to the cavern they were hiding in.

The distress call had been a set-up. John was beyond relieved that he’d been nudged out on the rescue by Scott, who’d declared that he needed the practice with Earth-rescues and it was just a simple one so it would be good to get his eye back in. Their assailants had been prepared for Scott.

They had not been prepared for John.

Although, to be fair, John had also not been prepared to see Scott collapse a little way ahead of him, nor for the gunshot that had immediately preceded that. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got both himself and Scott out of there without either of them taking any more bullets, but if pressed his guess would be that they’d been too surprised that Scott wasn’t alone to shoot immediately.

John had dragged his brother back, away from the assailants, and run through the cavern system as best he could with Scott injured and unco-operative to the sounds of angry shouts and pursuit. EOS had chirped in his ear that unauthorised personnel were attempting to gain access to Thunderbird One – she’d locked down the Thunderbird before anyone successfully got inside, but that had still meant that their only way out was blocked.

Instead, it was a waiting game – although it felt like a particularly dangerous form of hide and seek, if he was honest. He’d got in contact with the GDF via EOS, and they’d promised they were on their way. He just had to keep both Scott and himself safe until they did.

The small cave with its narrow entrance had been a find by EOS. Scott, of course, had tried to make him hide in there while he claimed he’d draw them away, but while that had made some sense in the form of the trail of blood leading right to them, it also made absolutely no sense for the same reason. John’s response had been to manhandle his unsteady and rapidly paling big brother into the cave and push him to sit down before he fell down.

His brother had not been best pleased, but John had been far more worried about the bullet and blood loss than keeping Scott happy. Still was, because despite the painkiller and bandaging, Scott was slipping further and further towards unconsciousness. John estimated he had two more minutes, at best, before Scott passed out entirely.

The GDF were more than two minutes out. It was touch and go if the blood trail would lead their assailants to their current location within two minutes. John tightened his grip on the borrowed grapple gun and swallowed.

He didn’t know if it was Scott in particular they were after, or if they’d just been planning to attack the first IR operative they saw. The lack of reliable data rankled; John despised being blind. EOS was digging, but so far nothing of note had come out of that.

But at the end of the day, what they wanted didn’t matter. They’d hurt Scott, they were hunting both of them, Thunderbird One was under assault, and John wasn’t normally the one with the role of protector on his shoulders but today he was, and he was going to do it justice.

They wouldn’t hurt Scott again. It didn’t matter if John had to use the grapple gun in ways it was not supposed to be used, or if he had to use his own body as a shield. He’d keep Scott safe.

The sound of something soft hitting the floor, which had to be Scott passing out because there was nothing else to fall, came at the same time as the voices. Angry voices, clearly following the blood trail, and John tensed.

All his instincts as a rescue operative were screaming for him to hurry to Scott’s side and check his condition. Common sense kept him where he was. Scott was around a craggy corner from the narrow entrance, impossible to see from the main cavern. As long as John didn’t move, there was no way they could get to Scott without going through him.

He kept his breathing low and even, counting his breaths silently to keep them under control. John wasn’t a fighter. Give him a computer and he’d destroy his target before they even realised what was happening, but in person was another matter entirely. He’d never even been able to scare off bullies at school, let alone armed assailants when all he had was the rescue gear in his and Scott’s uniforms.

There were many ways to win a war. Scott or Gordon would tackle the problem head on, offence the best form of defence, but they were trained for that. John wasn’t. John just had stories, some pranking experience, and his brain.

He didn’t need to beat their assailants. He just had to hold them off until the GDF arrived.

The voices were getting closer. Closer, closer, closer. John’s breathing hitched despite his best efforts to the contrary. Timing would be key. If he was even slightly out, then he’d have to fight for real, and while he’d stand his ground, he had no delusions about being able to win. He was too soon down from orbit for that, for starters.

They were close enough now for him to make out the words. Any chance that they had no idea where he and Scott were was destroyed by their discussions about the blood trail they were following. A blood trail that led straight to Scott.

John swallowed again. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he didn’t dare raise an arm to wipe it away. Both hands were locked around the grapple gun, still aiming through the narrow entrance. He couldn’t mess this up. Scott was – unconsciously, unwillingly – depending on him.

He could see them now. They hadn’t spotted him, too intent on the blood trail across the stone floor, but that could change at any moment. Three people, and he knew there were more but hopefully the others weren’t on hunting duty. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best chance John was going to get.

It was the only chance he was going to get.

He pulled the trigger.

It was Scott he had to thank for the extensive knot knowledge, his big brother coaching him through the Rescue Scouts badges even when he just wanted to get the stargazing ones and leave it at that. Grapple cables weren’t rope, but they were strong and sturdy yet still malleable enough to loop over and around as required until he’d managed a makeshift net. Cable ties from his own baldric, meant for repairs in space, had been deployed as reinforcements.

Lay the net just so, set up large chunks of rocks to fall when hit in the sweet spot, and a rudimentary pulley system from yet another grapple cable – Scott’s baldric had been scavenged bare of useful items, including the trauma kit that was trying and failing to keep the blood in his body – and he had a way to contain the first wave of approaching assailants.

Hopefully.

John watched with bated breath as it all snapped together, cable-net wrapping around the assailants and hoisting them dramatically into the air, counter-balanced by the weight of as many rocks as he’d been able to shift in the short timespan he’d had to set up the trap. There was furious yelling.

A gunshot sounded.

More furious yelling.

The trap held.

How long it would hold for, John didn’t know, but he did know that he’d hear it if they escaped, so with a shaky exhale he backed away from the narrow entrance, clipping the now-empty grapple gun to his own baldric, and hurried to Scott’s side.

The bandages needed changing. John rolled him onto his side, putting him into the recovery position to keep him stable, and dug out fresh supplies. Scott didn’t stir as he stripped away the old, bloodstained, linen and replaced it with fresh strips. A check of his pulse told John what he already knew – Scott was still alive, but had lost far too much blood.

If John had managed to capture all of the assailants, his plan had been to get Scott back to Thunderbird One and head straight for the nearest hospital. Unfortunately, that had not been the case, so he was forced to accept Plan B – wait for the GDF to show up and hope they arrived before any other ill-wishers.

John had only had enough equipment for a single trap.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: This Is A Test (standalone)

Summary: Gaster has always been a loyal subject to Asgore, always obeyed his word and order. Until today.

Notes: I had this idea a long time ago of Underfell Gaster working for Fellgore because he didn't really have a choice, shoving down all his emotions and working as an unfeeling scientist, doing his experiments and following orders like a loyal subject...until he can't. Not anymore.

This story contains mentions of past failed experiments in the form of created children, essentially children dying or being stillborn, not explicitly so but it is there. There are also mentions of experimenting on created Monster children, again, not explicitly so. I consider this to be a prelude to a good Dadster-type story.

Tags:  Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Found Family, Pre- Good Dadster, Medical Experimentation, Bad Fellgore, Babybones Red and Edge

~~~~

Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

~~*~~

None of the lab technicians could ever hope to match Royal Scientist Gaster when it came to typing speed, but to be fair, it was hardly their fault. When one had numerous magical hands to assist, one was understandably more proficient than someone with only two.

Standing at the keyboard, repurposed from a derelict at the dump for his needs, Gaster added the last formula and hit enter. There was a moment of concern as he waited to see if the old, forgotten machine still worked, an uncomfortable amount of time drawing out to the tension of a piano wire before in an abrupt surge all the dusty lights in front of him came to flickering life. With a belch of grinding sounds the gears began to turn, slowly dimming to a loud hum as it began processing the inputted data, the monitor filling with characters scrolling too fast to be seen as it churned through hundreds of thousands of possible coordinates in seconds, searching for possible matches to his if-then qualification.

Gaster took a step back, watching his abandoned creation’s rebirth so intently that he didn’t hear the door opening behind him, nor the shuffling footsteps. It took a single word, the voice rising over the droning machinery to give him a pause.

“doc?”

He turned around to look at experiment S-23 standing by the opened door, shuffling their bare feet nervously on the dirty floor. In truth, that voice should be far too deep to come from such a small body, but extensive testing confirmed their accelerated growth cycle had already ended. The experiment was a failure and termination should have been the next step. None of the other experiments had required it; their systems shut down after the failure of the growth process ended. This one, though, clung stubbornly to life years after they should have dusted.

Terminating defunct test subjects was simply a part of experimentation, Gaster knew it well, and did not appreciate being prodded about it. He’d curtly informed the very few techs who dared question him on his decision to forgo termination that S-23 was still being monitored because of their unusual longevity. Such a thing could be quite useful in upcoming studies, there was no reason to sacrifice a possible source of information so hastily, and their careless disregard for the patience of longer termed studied would be noted. Those questions quickly stopped and now the technicians tolerated S-23 as a sort of mascot, mostly ignored as they went about their duties.

S-23 shifted to scratch nervously at the back of one leg with the toes of their other foot, wobbling unsteadily until they caught their balance. Their lack of grace was forgivable; at their side was S-47, clinging tightly to their hand with only one crimson eye light visible as they peered out around S-23’s billowing gown. S-47 was only two days out of the incubation tubes and already walking, part of the accelerated growth process. Talking should have been next and tests confirmed at least rudimentary understanding, which was all Asgore required for a soldier. Should have been talking, but S-47 said nothing, only clung to S-23’s small hand, still standing so they were half-concealed by the other. They were already nearly as tall as S-23’s shoulder and would continue to grow. Estimates were promising, putting them at nearly twice the previously attained heights.

Strong and able, capable of understanding orders. All that was necessary for an army waiting to be grown.

“Thank you for coming,” Gaster said. Even alone, it was difficult to allow his stiff professionalism to ease. “I’m aware it’s earlier than you’re normally awake.”

S-23 only nodded silently, well accustomed to disruptions of their sleep. They slipped an arm around the shorter one’s shoulders, pulling them closer. “i think he’s hungry.”

“I expect so,” Gaster said, almost absently. “That sort of growth consumes a great deal of magic. Here.” He crouched by the heavy pack that was leaning against one of the walls and pulled out a cinnamon bunny purchased that morning. It was no longer warm, but the smell was still enticingly fresh. Such a thing was a rare treat and S-23 brightened visibly, the expression faltering as the younger beside him grunted eagerly and reached for it.

Gaster watched, unable to prevent himself from cataloging S-23’s reaction. They unwrapped the treat and gave it to the younger without saving even a small portion for themselves, swallowing hard as they watched S-47 devour it. Before they finished, Gaster retrieved another from the bag and handed it over silently, watching with a sort of wearily resigned amusement as S-23 started handing it over as well.

“Stop,” Gaster told him, and S-23 froze, looking up at him with wide sockets. It was rare that Gaster spoke sternly. It was normally unnecessary, S-23 was always near pathetically eager to please. No, he told himself, not pathetically. Childishly. “Eat at least half of that yourself, food may be scarce for a while.”

He could see S-23’s confusion, though they did as they were told and the supreme enjoyment on their small face as they relished the treat made a lump form at the back of his throat, viciously swallowed away.

Gaster turned back to the machine, his eyes skipping over the crumpled missive on the nearby table. Despite the destruction, the royal seal was still visible and Gaster did not need to read it to know what it said. The order was too brief to be forgotten.

Bring them.

Bring them, the first soldier for his perfect army. After all this time, the experiment worked and…no, not experiment, the child. If he was done with the lab then he could be done with that as well. The child was thriving, growing as expected, their long-fingered hands were tipped with the demanded sharp claws, their teeth wickedly sharp as they tore into the small pastry. Asgore was eager to begin their training, teaching them the skills they would need in the war against the Humans. Teaching them to be a killer, filling their tiny soul with LV.

S-47 looked up at Gaster with wide eye lights, their face smeared with crumbs as they offered him an incongruous, innocently happy smile through those jagged teeth.

Gaster turned away again, back to the pack, and he roughly pulled out two pairs of small shoes and some mismatched clothing. All of it would be too big for either of them, but when he’d begun bringing clothes to the lab months back, a single piece at a time and no more than one article a week to be carefully concealed outside the watchful eye of the cameras, he’d been unable to gauge what size might be necessary. Better to be much too large than too small and useless.

Their confusion was obvious as Gaster hurriedly pulled off the thin gowns they both wore and replaced them with shirts and trousers. S-23’s confusion was more profound; they’d never worn real clothing in their entire short life. Even the blanket in their tiny room was rough and utilitarian, their cell sterile and bare. The solitary toy in it was a worn stuffed rabbit missing one of its button eyes, given by Gaster during a test of their capacity for empathy and never retrieved. That toy was usually hidden beneath their pillow, kept out of sight of the other lab technicians, and was now stowed away at the bottom of the backpack.

He only had one of S-47 shoes tied when the machine burped out a cheerfully musical sound. Gaster nearly fell as he staggered to his feet, assisted by his own magical hands as he stumbled over to the monitor where two words stood out bluntly on the screen.

Coordinates found.

Gaster took a long, slow breath, and turned to look at…at the children. They stood there dressed in a hodgepodge of stolen clothing, confused and yet so trusting. Their wide sockets curiously watching as they waited for him to give them orders; they were accustomed to that, already accustomed to being told what to do and ready to be molded, ready for that innocence to be ripped away, to be turned into something else.

There was another, newer computer on the other side of the room with orders already typed in, waiting for confirmation. Gaster went to it and tapped in his keycode, turning away before he could watch his life’s work destroyed as the virus he’d created greedily ate its way through the servers.

“Come along, children,” Gaster said firmly, with confidence he did not feel. He shouldered the backpack with its meagre supplies and paused only long enough to tie S-47’s other shoe before he took each child by the hand, leading them to the machine. There was only enough charge for one attempt but that was fine. They wouldn’t be back and when the virus was finish with the main servers, it would infect the machine’s drives as well.

They needed to hurry now and Gaster let go of S-23’s hand…no. No, the child’s name was Sans, given to him in a barely audible whisper when Gaster first held him, still wet with sticky fluids from decanting. He’d named every one of them, all forty-five of the others, every lost child falsely called an experiment and he’d hold those names in his soul until the day he dusted. On his other side, Papyrus, once called S-47, was bouncing excitedly, lifting a foot to admire his new-old sneakers.

Gaster let go of Sans’s hand long enough to press the single glowing red button on the machine’s control panel. On the large metal pad that extended from the machine’s side, a wavering cloud of blackness formed, a portal that, according to his calculations, should lead to somewhere else. Where exactly that was could only be answered by going through it.

If it worked, wonderful, and if it didn’t, well. That might be for the best, too.

“Come along, children,” Gaster said again, and he led Sans and Papyrus to that portal, dim shouts from down the hallways already audible and growing louder. They followed him trustingly, never pausing as he stepped through the darkness with his children as they traveled to whatever lay on the other side.

~~*~~

end...?

[jettingtothemoon]

Shiggy pt 2

➳ pairing: shigaraki tomura x f!reader ➳ genre: fluff, smut ➳ warnings: swearing, smut, soft shiggy, rough sex, unprotected sex, pulling out, slight overstimulation, virgin shiggy, shigaraki being a parent to y/n for a solid chunk of this fic ➳ word count: 4900 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n is unexpectedly hit with a quirk that turns her into a toddler for a short while and has no memory of shiggy. ➳ a/n: y/n turns back before the sex because like if she didn’t that would be seriously wrong. also reading part 1 isn’t necessary but is advised ^.^

After confessing for feelings for Shigaraki, the two of you started dating. Cuddles in his room became common for the two of you. Not to mention your late-night gaming sessions. Shiggy would sit on the floor with you in his lap, a controller in both of your hands as you played until the early hours of the morning.

Kurogiri always told the two of you not to stay up too late, especially as your quirk required a lot of energy to run on, but you didn't listen. You figured it would be fine as long as you ate enough food before going out on a mission. Eventually, however, the late nights caught up on you.

It was supposed to be an easy mission and, had you been at your full capacity, it would have been. It was just you and Dabi as your quirks were the best suited for the job. Unfortunately, you were not aware of your opponents' quirks. You were being careful and, after only a couple of minutes you had figured out most of their quirks. Well, all but one. It was that one quirk that would incapacitate you during the fight. You were caught off guard when you didn't have enough neon energy to use another bust to get away in time and, as soon as their hand landed on you, everything became rather... unusual.

Everyone suddenly seemed much, much taller than you. In fact, who even where these people? And what was all that noise? Such scary noises. It wasn't until a burst of blue flames shot overhead that your fear finally settled in and you fell onto your bottom as you began to squeal out. Tears ran down your face as you sniffled, not understanding what was happening. Before you could even begin to comprehend where you were, someone was scooping you up into their arms and running away. You didn't recognise the man but, for some reason, he seemed familiar.

He ran with you in his arms as he tried to keep you safe and, when you were finally away from the scary people, your tears began to clam down.

Shigaraki was sitting at the bar as usual while he waited for your return. He sat there, playing on his switch as he waited for you and Dabi to come back through the door safe and sound to update him on how the mission went. However, when the door did open and you finally came back, Shigaraki furrowed his brows.

"Who's the kid? Where's y/n?" He asked, bringing to scratch at his neck.

"We might have a slight problem." Dabi sighed as he walked over with the child, carrying her over to his boss.

Shigaraki's eyes widened when he finally recognised that small little face, "y-y/n?"

He reached out, taking you from Dabi's arms, as h3 tried to process what he was looking at. It was most certainly you but you were, well, small. A baby almost, probably about four or five. You clung to him, your tiny hands scrunching up his shirt as you nuzzled your head into the dark material.

This man, he seemed familiar too. Although you had no idea who he was or why you felt so safe in his arms. You couldn't remember any of these people but you knew they were not your family. You remembered your family, your mum and dad. They were not here, maybe they were at work? Maybe this was an uncle you hadn't met before?

"Shigaraki." Kurogiri spoke, drawing your boyfriend's attention away from your tiny form for a moment.

"What do we do?" Shigaraki asked, looking back down to you as you fell asleep in his arms while sucking your thumb in between your teeth.

Kurogiri began to reassure him, "This is most likely a temporary effect. Not many quirks are powerful enough to have a permanent effect like this so she should be back to normal in a few days."

"A few days," Shigaraki spoke a little too loudly and lowered his voice when you began to stir, "She could be like this for a few fucking days?"

"Calm down, we will be able to look after her until she turns back to normal."

Shigaraki lifted you up, holding you at arm's length from himself as he looked over your tiny sleeping face.

Then, his own face softened and he pulled you back to his chest, "Someone needs to watch her all the time. This place is dangerous enough as it is, let alone for a child."

"Aww, little Shiggy is getting soft." Toga giggled although it only earned her a threatening glare from Shigaraki.

Only you were allowed to call him that.

Toga held her hands up in surrender but continued to giggle when he stood up and carefully carried you into his room.

He put you down on his bed, gently tucking you in before brushing a strand of hair from your face. You were so tiny that it scared him. He didn't know what to do, he wasn't good with children, but he also knew that someone needed to keep an eye on you. Knowing that he would certainly not entrust your safety to Toga or Dabi, he decided that either he or Kurogiri would need to watch you and maker sure you weren't doing anything dangerous.

He sighed and left you in bed as he went over to his computer and loaded up a game. You were sleeping for now, after all, so it wasn't like you could get into too much trouble. He wasn't sure if you remembered who he was but he hoped to find out once you woke up later.

He had been playing for about an hour when it started. At first, you began to call out quietly for your mummy, which he sympathised with as, although he didn't know the ins and outs of what happened to your family, he knew they were no longer around. You were alone just like him but he wasn't alone anymore because you had become his family. He was going to pause the game and check on you but you soon quietened down again so he continued.

Ignorant of what was happening behind him, Shigaraki continued to immerse himself in the game, almost forgetting about your current situation completely. Well, until he heard a crash.

He threw his controller down and jumped up, running over to you and scooping you up off of the bed just before a piece of the ceiling fell on you.

"What the hell?" He questioned looking up at the purple scorches that had clearly been created with your quirk.

Before he could even begin to understand what had just happened, you were crying rather loudly. Your tiny little face was covered in tears and snot as you hugged him tightly and fisted at his shirt.

He still didn't know what to do or how to deal with this but he knew he needed to at least try and calm you down. So, he carried you over to the chair by his computer and sat down, holding you carefully as you sat in his lap and contained to cry.

"y/n? It's okay, I... I'm here." He thought about how a normal person would comfort a small child such as yourself and tried his best to sound calm in hopes of calming you with the tone of his voice.

You sniffled in his arms and pulled his top towards you, rubbing your runny nose with it before looking up at him with big, red eyes.

"I- I had a nightmare." You sniffled again and suddenly it began to make sense.

You had mentioned to him before about how you were a handful for your parents when your quirk first manifested because any little emotion could set it off. That must have been what had happened while you were sleeping.

"It's okay, y/n. It was just a bad dream. You're okay." He hugged you and ran his fingers through your hair again, being extra gentle as he was still not used to your fragile form.

"W- Who are you?" You sniffled again and his heart dropped, you didn't remember him.

"I- I'm Shigaraki."

You giggled to yourself and grinned up at him, "Uncle Shiggy."

It seemed even the child you liked to give people nicknames, or maybe it was a remnant of your missing memories.

He sighed and nodded his head, "Yeah... Uncle Shiggy."

Uncle Shiggy looked after you all night. He got you something to eat, that Kurogiri prepared just for you, and even stayed by your side as you ate. While you were eating, Shigaraki explained what had happened earlier to Kurogiri, who explained that all they could do was try to keep you calm so that you wouldn't accidentally hurt yourself or anyone else with your quirk.

When you finished eating, you demanded that Uncle Shiggy carry you to bed, which Toga found rather amusing, but he did so nonetheless.

"I want to sleep with Uncle Shiggy!" You exclaimed with your arms outstretched towards him, grabbing at the air hoping for him to come close.

Shigaraki sighed, knowing that the others had certainly heard you call out and were most likely sat giggling in the other room, but he still turned his games off and climbed into bed with you.

"Uncle Shiggy?" You asked as you snuggled up to him.

He only hummed.

"Why am I here? Where are mum and dad?"

You really did want to know why you were staying here instead of going home, not that you minded having a sleepover with Uncle Shiggy.

Shigaraki didn't know quite what to say, or do, in this situation and his silence started to worry you.

"Uncle Shiggy?"

"Your parents have some business they need to take care of so you're staying here with us for a while." He explained but, had you not been a toddler, you would not have been convinced with his words.

"I get to stay here with you?" You asked, growing more excited as you thought about having more fun with Uncle Shiggy.

He nodded and turned over to turn the light off, "Yes, now go to sleep."

"But what about my nose rubbies?" You pouted, looking up at him.

He raised an eyebrow, "Nose rubbies?"

"Yes, I need my nose rubbies before going to bed." You demanded.

"Um..."

After a moment, even the child version of yourself knew that Shigaraki had no idea what you were going on about.

"This is a nose rubbies." You huffed before pressing your nose softly to his and rubbing it side to side.

Shigaraki, who was still not used to the physical affection in your normal relationship, practically froze stiff when your nose pressed against his. Regardless, he didn't stop you and even found some comfort in your small, innocent gesture.

Without realising quite what came over him, he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your nose and pulled you closer. He would have liked to have kissed you normally but, as you were currently a child, that would have been much too weird even for him.

"Nighty night." You yawned, wrapping a tiny arm around what you could of Shigaraki.

He just sighed but, smiled a little nonetheless, "Nighty night, little y/n."

When morning came, you had thankfully not had another nightmare and hadn't caused any harm or damage to the building or anyone in it. You woke up, lying against Shigaraki, who still had one arm wrapped around you.

Shigaraki was one who liked to sleep in, unfortunately, with an energetic child to look after that wasn't going to happen.

You climbed up onto him and he groaned when you dropped your weight onto his chest.

"Uncle Shiggy. Wake up, it's morning."

He groaned again, draping an arm up over his eyes before lifting it slightly to peel his eyes open and look at you.

"Shit."

He flipped his head back down onto the pillow, arm back over his eyes as he came to realise that what happened yesterday wasn't just a bad dream and that he really was stuck with a child version of his girlfriend for the foreseeable future.

"That's a naughty word." You complained, scalding Uncle Shiggy for his choice in words this morning.

He just sighed and lifted you off of him as he climbed out of bed before placing you back down. He stretched and looked at the clock before turning back to you with an almost angry expression.

"You woke me up at five to seven?"

In his tone alone you could tell that maybe you should have let him sleep a little longer but it was too late now, the damage was done. And so, you simply hung your head and mumbled, "Sorry."

He sighed again and sat back down at the end of the bed, "It's fine. Just... try not to do it tomorrow."

You grinned and nodded obediently, "Okay, I won't. I promise."

Although, when the next day came, you broke that promise.

"I thought I told you to let me fucking sleep?" He yelled.

However, his tone quickly changed when all it did was make you cry.

He immediately sat beside you and tired to hush your cries, gently wiping your tears away with his sleeve, "I'm sorry, y/n. I shouldn't have yelled at you."

You sniffled and looked at him with your big puffy eyes, "I'm sorry, Uncle Shiggy. I just had so much fun yesterday that I wanted to wake you up early to have more fun today."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest as he carded his fingers through your hair.

Although he didn't particularly find the day before to be any fun at all, you certainly had. After waking him up before seven, he made you breakfast, although he wasn't entirely sure how to do it or what you could eat. Then, once you had eaten, he pretty much just let you watch movies all day.

He sent Dabi out to get popcorn and sweets, which turned out to be a very bad idea because it just made you hyper. Not to mention, watching you watch crappy kids tv and movies all day drained the life out of him. You stood in front of the screen, singing along or calling out when the characters on the screen asked you something. You literally stood on the spot, bouncing up and down constantly until hours had passed and you were finally drained of your energy. 

By that point, Shigaraki picked you up and tucked you into bed, hoping that this would have tired you out enough to get some more sleep the next day. He was wrong, however, and you had somehow managed to wake him up even earlier than before.

You were now onto day three. Three days of looking after a toddler. Three days of his life that Shigaraki was never going to get back and it didn't look like you would be turning back any time soon. He just missed you, the older you. He missed your kisses and cuddles. Holding such a tiny version of you in his arms just wasn't the same. You would fidget and try to take off his gloves even though he told you how bad it would be if you did so. He was starting to understand why so many parents seemed so exhausted all of the time. Only, he wasn't looking after his child. He was looking after you, his girlfriend, who should most certainly not be a toddler when you were really a fully grown adult.

"How much longer will she be like this?" Shigaraki asked, still holding you in his arms as he spoke to Kurogiri.

Of course, you were too preoccupied with the toy he had made Toga buy you to pay any attention to their conversation.

"It shouldn't be much longer. To be honest, I thought she would have already turned back by now."

Shigaraki looked down at you, "What if she never turns back?"

"She will. No quirk is that strong." Kurogiri reassured, although it didn't help ease Shigaraki's nerves.

When it was time for bed, Uncle Shiggy tucked you in like usual but was surprised when your little hand reached up to touch the dried skin around his eyes.

You tilted your little head to the side and asked so innocently, "Why is your skin like this?"

Shigaraki was taken aback by our question, not really expecting you to bring it up because you hadn't even bothered to ask when you were adult.

He frowned a little and began to scratch at his neck as he sat down on the bed beside you, "It's, um, some kind of skin condition? I think- I don't really know. Allergies or something?"

"Oh."

That was all you said, your only reply and, somehow, it was the best one you could have given. Your lack of interest in it made Shigaraki feel better somehow because it was like it lacked importance. As if it didn't really matter that his skin was dry and, as he had heard so many times before, gross. He had always hated it, especially when he was younger and actually cared what people thought of him. He just wanted to look normal, like all of the other kids. He was insecure about it, not that he really showed it all that much, and was especially insecure about it around you. Because you were the only one that mattered.

He smiled when you just grabbed his hand and turned onto your side, closing your eyes as you drifted off to sleep. He sat there and brushed your hair out of your face, leaving his other hand where it was being hugged by your two little ones while he waited for you to fall asleep.

It was only ever quiet when you were asleep and he had found that he even enjoyed watching you sleep so soundly. When you were definitely asleep, he slipped his hand out and leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before walking around the bed and climbing in the other side.

The next morning, despite his scalding of you the two days before, he had expected to be woken up early. However, when you were finally shaking him awake, it was much later than those other days.

"Shiggy?" You questioned, not quite remembering how you had wound up in his bed.

You cuddled a lot but you hadn't slept in here yet, surely you would remember why you were in here in the first place. The last thing you do remember is fighting alongside Dabi.

"y/n?" Shigaraki exclaimed, sitting up so abruptly that it made you jump.

Before you could ask him what was going on or why he looked so surprised, he dived onto you and wrapped his arms tightly around you. You giggled and hugged him back despite still not understanding what was going on.

"We are never having kids." He grumbled upon releasing you, only confusing you further.

After that, he explained everything to you about what had happened and how many days had passed. Four days ago you had been turned into a toddler thanks to a de-ageing quirk but now you were thankfully back to normal.

Of course, Toga had giggled and told you all about how cute you were and how Shigaraki was so protective of you. She also told you that you had taken to calling him 'Uncle Shiggy' and that you demanded to sleep in his bed with him every night. Not to mention, you apparently liked to sit in his lap and cuddle him pretty much all of the time.

You just chuckled at it all as she told you and glanced over to Shiggy, who was frowning but blushing a little nonetheless, every time Toga brought up how he was with you in your tiny form. It made you smile as you thought about him looking after you when you were so small and confused, especially how much of a handful you must have been.

When Shigaraki had had enough of listening to everyone explaining it all to you, he took hold of your wrist and dragged you along to his room. You sat down on his bed, eagerly waiting for him to sit beside you so you could cuddle up next to him. He soon complied and nestled his head into your hair when you cuddled into his chest.

"When you were- well, little- you had a nightmare and your neon was purple. Does it change colour a lot?" Shiggy asked.

You nodded, "The colour changes based on my mood. It'll be red when I'm angry or fighting. It goes blue when I'm sad and yellow when I'm happy. Purple means I'm scared or in distress."

He hummed and seemed to think for a moment before flipping you down onto the bed so that he was on top of you, his face hovering just above yours.

"What colour is it now?" His breath fanned over your face, his lips barely brushing over yours.

You smiled, feeling your heart pound in your chest and allowed a flicker of light to flash through your eyes.

"Pink? What does it mean?" He tilted his head to the side, eyes still looking into your own as you reached out for his hand.

You pulled his hand over and placed it onto your chest, knowing he would be able to feel the rapid beats of your heart, "What do you think it means?"

His answer to that question was rather simple as his head dived down and he finally captured your lips with his own. His hand didn't move from where you had placed it until you pushed one of your own into his hair and used your other to move his.

When you moved his hand so that he was cupping your breast, he took the sign and didn't hesitate to squeeze it slightly. His groping only continued as you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

When your lips parted, you pulled his bottom one between your teeth before letting it go and kissing him again.

"I love you." You grinned, grinding against him as your lips connected again.

His hands continued to roam your body until one slipped under your shirt. His fingers were almost gentle as they ran over your skin, still somewhat unsure of how to do this affection thing. Not to mention, you were his first kiss so he was certainly still a virgin.

Not that it made much of an impact.

Shigaraki was new to showing affection, new to kisses and cuddles and tender touches between lovers. And yet, he was an unexpectedly fast learner. He still seemed unsure but his confidence only grew as you continued to kiss him with such desperation, such need.

His touches grew rougher as he pulled reactions from you, figuring out what felt good and what didn't. He came to realise that you liked his rough hands, much like you liked the rough skin of his lips against your own. However, what seemed to set you off the most, was a combination of both roughness and gentleness. So, as one hand almost harshly pulled at your hair, the other tenderly squeezed at your breast while a gentle thumb rubbed over your nipple.

Both of your hands were in his hair, moving around to twirl and tug at his messy locks. Occasionally, your hands would slip back towards his face until his ear was between your fingers. His ears were sensitive, as you had unexpectedly discovered during one of your cuddle sessions.

As he kissed at your neck, tongue coming out to lick you here and there, your lips went to his ear. Your teeth pulled at his lobe, biting down just enough to leave the pale skin there a pretty shade of pink.

When his hand ventured lower, slipping into your underwear, your breath hitched.

"S-Shiggy-"

You were cut off with a groan as he slipped a finger inside of you, moving it about randomly as he got a feel of your insides before slipping in another. He spread them about inside you, trying to figure out what felt good as he listened to your breathing. A hitch; he'd hit a sweet spot. A moan; he was doing a good job. Nothing; you weren't feeling it at all.

"I- Is it okay? Does it... does it feel good?" He asked, his insecurities coming into the light once again.

You nodded, breathing out another moan as you tightened your grip on his hair.

"It feels really good but- but I want you." You had to stop halfway to catch your breath only to whine in dissatisfaction when he pulled his fingers out.

Although, your breath stopped altogether seconds later when he suddenly pushed into you. You could tell he was trying not to move right away but, from the small movements of his hips, you could tell he was struggling.

You buried your head into his neck, holding tightly onto the back of his shirt as you adjusted. He was somewhat larger than you had expected but not so much that it shocked you. He was around average and, in your opinion, the perfect size to slot comfortably in you.

"Y- You can move, Shiggy. You don't have to hold back."

With your confirmation, he began thrusting into you. He tried to keep a steady pace at first but grew rough quickly. Not that you minded. Actually, you liked seeing him losing control over you.

Every time his hips snapped into you, his little grunts and groans humming in your ear, you squeezed so tightly against his shirt that you swear your knuckles must have been white. It just felt so good. Not that it was the best sex in the world. He was clumsy and even a little sloppy if you were being honest but just the fact that it was him was enough. Just knowing that he was pouring all of his feelings, however new to him they may have been, into trying to please you was enough. You loved him so, so much. And, although it wasn't always so clear, he loved you too.

"Fuck, Shiggy. There, right there." You whimpered out as he hit that certain spot within you.

He hit it over and over, missing every couple of thrusts only to hit it head-on again the next time. He was trying so hard. He just wanted to try his best to make you feel good too.

Many people, civilians, heroes and even villains alike would call Shigaraki selfish. He didn't care for his league, he just cared about himself. His goal was to be the most powerful villain, to kill the great all might, to take over from his master.

To you, however, he was anything but selfish. He was a shimmer of hope in the darkness. He did care, he was just bad at showing it. He cared for you and the rest of the league in his own special way. Obviously, the way he felt about you was very different from his feelings towards them. However, they were the closest thing he had to a family now and he knew that. If someone were to harm any of you he would kill them without hesitation.

That was just how he was. Shigaraki cared, he always had.

"Shiggy. I'm going to-" Before you could even finish you released.

Toes curling, back-arching, nails digging into his shoulder blades. After that, it was all too much for you but he still wasn't quite there. His thrusts grew even harsher as he chased his own high, over-stimulating you in the process. When he finally saw the tears building in your eyes, he quickly pulled out and finished himself off in his hand. He came all over you, dirtying your shirt as he rubbed himself through his release.

When he was done, he reached up and wiped the tears from your eyes, apologising for hurting you but his eyes only widened when you took a hold of his hand and kissed his palm with gentle lips.

"It's okay Shiggy. It didn't hurt, it was just a little too much." 

Your eyes met his and he seemed to melt completely. But, after feeling his own tiredness, he climbed off of you and got off of the bed. He grabbed a hoodie of his and passed it to you before he delved into a messy draw for some clean sheets.

You got up, putting his hoodie on and grabbing a box of tissues to clean yourself up. When you were finally free of all the sticky bodily fluids, you threw the tissue into the bin and grabbed a clean pair of pants, pulling them on before climbing back into the newly made bed.

You reached out like a child, hands grabbing out towards Shigaraki to get him to come to you.

He sighed, "Not this again."

With a soft chuckle, you pulled him into the bed. His head rested on your chest as you played with his hair, pulling the covers up over the both of you.

"Goodnight Shiggy. I love you." You smiled, yawning as you cuddled him.

He closed his eyes, head resting against your comfortable chest as he mumbled, "I love you too."

[ceescedasticity]

I didn’t lie this isn’t a continuation

It's a redo, so there. But it's still a terrible idea.

Magnus Archives SBURB session, canon-compliant-ish to ~190, similar but not identical to my last run at this concept, not complete, this introductory monologue may or may not be completed, we’ll see.

Statement on tape found without obvious explanation on nine out of fourteen planets:

ARCHIVIST:

On 18 October 2018 Jonah Magnus succeeded in orchestrating a ritual to open the door and bring all the so-called Dread Powers into the world. The Archivist was the central if unwilling component of this ritual. Consequently Earth was subjected to a Change, after which natural laws ceased to apply and everyone became either a Watcher of suffering or someone who was Watched. No one was born, and very few people were allowed to die.

There were some survivors not completely overcome by their roles, who looked for a way to reverse the Change. After the door was opened the extradimensional pocket containing the entities had ceased to exist. There had to be somewhere else to put them, and then they had to be pushed or pulled there.

The survivors succeeded in accessing the knowledge of a ritual meant to feed an entirely different sort of entity. The ritual was not meant for our Earth, still less our Earth after the Change, so forcing its execution was complex. It created a connection between Earth and a different extradimensional pocket known as the Medium, which contains "almost unlimited creative potential". This could be used to lure the Entities away from their already plentiful diets on Earth.

But raw creative potential alone was not enough. Human minds were needed to draw the Entities across. The ritual itself also required human — or at least sapient — participants to enter the Medium.

All of the survivors involved in creating this plan committed themselves to the ritual, but there were not enough of them to fully anchor the fears. More people were needed. Gathering more Watchers or Watched would require rehabilitating them from the Change's overwhelming impact on their minds and wills. Most of the Watchers were too far gone to want to reverse the Change, and most of the Watched had a chance to return to normal.

The ritual has a built-in function for a one-time simple resurrection of any participant who is killed. Normally it only applies to participants after the ritual is initiated, but the Archivist's psychically stored statements enabled manipulation of the system and postmortem entry. Participants so restored are fully alive, no strings attached, and are no less human than they were before.

Yes, you died; yes, you are now alive; yes, you have been conscripted without your consent into a world-saving scheme with at present no exit strategy.

If you would like to collaborate on an exit strategy and are willing to work with the people who engineered this, you can connect through the computer that you should find nearby. It will be necessary to play the Game.

If not, the Medium is quite expansive for a pocket dimension and has many things to do and places to investigate. Its ruling entity doesn't benefit from your suffering. Hopefully you can enjoy yourself. You may be attacked by monsters but it should be manageable.

_____

Statement on the Medium, the entities, and the players. Recorded by the Archivist in situ, date… seven hours after entry.

(1/14)

ARCHIVIST:

The Eye was sent into the Medium with the Prince of Light, who is its Archivist and marked by all other Entities, who — who is Jonathan Sims. He was… fully participant in invoking the ritual of Skaia, although he was still… surprised, by some facets.

At the center of the Medium is Skaia, and visions in the clouds of Skaia may show anything happening in the Medium or any events relevant to the Medium. The Prince of Light believed, prior to entering the Medium, that this would have the effect of strengthening the fear of the Eye. It does not. Skaia is perceived by the majority of the Medium's natives as an inherently positive force, and even those who do not like it very seldom fear it. Players, too, are encouraged to see Skaia as positive.

The effect of Skaia is that the ecological niche of observing everything is taken.

Skaia does not know everything; it does not deal in understanding. Knowledge and understanding, especially knowledge and understanding with no discernible source, fall under the heading of the Light Aspect, which is less… assertive.

When the Prince of Light entered the Medium, he was immediately affected by the drastically reduced strength of Beholding, and collapsed. In a vacuum, he might have simply died. But he was not in a vacuum; he was in the Medium. Beholding's weakening left space inside him; Skaia and Light moved in.

When he woke from his collapse, some five hours after entry, the Prince of Light began an adjustment period for having two wildly incompatible entities of seeing everything cohabiting his mind. It is not painful, merely disorienting and uncomfortable. He is in fact less bound to his role as Archivist than he was before entry, but moving away from it means moving closer to Skaia, which does not facilitate verbal communication, particularly not about unnaturally obtained information. He understands that strengthening his Light Aspect powers will make Skaia more tractable, and also believes experience and practice should improve the situation, but since this information was needed now chose to invoke Beholding in order to deliver it.

Prior to beginning this survey, he made some attempt to familiarize himself with the Land of Glass and Searchlights. He found his 'house', and computer, and verified that neither his server player nor client player were available. This was not unexpected.

He has had some unexpected difficulty with his assigned 'sprite'. As expected, it took a form influenced by Beholding, specifically a giant, ominous eyeball. However, it seems that 'easy mode' is not satisfied by sprites which are not able to speak and reason, and so Beholding must draw upon its catalogue of deceased avatars and victims to find a spokesperson. It first tried Jonah Magnus — recently deceased indeed. The Prince of Light reacted… poorly, and Jonahsprite was unwilling to focus on sprite concerns, so the sprite ran through several alternative mouthpieces with varying degrees of coherence. It has currently returned to being a giant, ominous eyeball. He will try again later.

But first: the Medium, the entities, the players.

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch 1)

Chapter One: Working on a Sunday (Hawks x GN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting! 

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga. 

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga 

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

Going into the office on a Sunday wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed doing, but your boss hadn’t given you much choice when she called you in a panic that morning. She’d received some last minute information that the local police, along with a few pro heroes, would be using the facility you worked at to hold some sort of meeting. Apparently these types of impromptu gatherings were quite common when the Hero Public Safety Commission wanted to avoid too much attention from the media, and your building was one of the approved locations in your area. They only really needed someone to come and open the doors for them, but your strange boss had decided it was a good opportunity to put in some extra hours. So, now you were scheduled to work a half shift. Oh well. At least it would give you the chance to catch up on some of the low priority jobs you’d been neglecting a bit recently.

“Do you know where the new shipment of journals from Tokyo University is?” You ask your boss who was typing enthusiastically away at her computer.

“Simon put them away yesterday,” was the reply.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you sigh. “But they’re not on the shelf.”

“He probably didn’t file them correctly,” your boss frowns.

Of course.

“Okay,” you force a smile and set to work locating the misplaced journals. The research assistants from the local college tended to make these kinds of mistakes fairly often, so at least you had a few ideas of where he might have gone wrong.

You barely noticed when the police and heroes arrived. Thankfully, they kept the noise level to a minimum. You continued your tasks until coming across an issue that required you to look up something on your facility’s database. You go back over to your boss who asks you to wait a moment while she finishes up an email. That’s when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You whirl around and come face to face with one of the pro heroes. Glancing behind him, you see the other officers and pros wrapping up their conversations and heading toward the door. It seemed their meeting was over. The time had flown by faster than you imagined. You look back at the man in front of you, taking in his wild feathery hair, intense golden eyes, and giant red wings. You vaguely recognized him, so he must be someone popular. With his flawlessly handsome face, it was likely you’d seen him on the cover of a magazine somewhere. You were sure he wasn’t from your area though since you tended to keep up with the heroes that patrolled and protected your city.

“May I help you?” you ask, wondering why he was wearing a heavy winter coat and thick black gloves even though the weather was fairly mild that day. He tilts his head and grins, causing his eyes to squint adorably. It was the face of someone who probably didn’t hear the word ‘no’ too often.

“Yeah,” He shrugs. “I was wondering what your job was here.” That was a bit of a shock. You weren’t sure why he cared, but you answered anyway.

“I do research here,” You say. “I’m a quirk geneticist.” The hero’s eyes go wide, drawing your attention to the black triangular markings around them.

“I guess it’s my lucky day!” He grins. “You’re just the person I need right now.” He puts a gloved hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Any chance you can take a lunch break or something? I’d like to hear your opinion on a couple of things I’ve noticed in this case I’m working on.”

“Sorry,” you tell him. “I’m working a half shift today so I don’t have a lunch break. If you’d like to schedule an appointment though I…” Your boss calls your name, cutting you off mid-sentence. You look over at her, feeling a little surprised at the out of character behavior.

“You can go ahead and leave a little early,” she tells you with a weird mischievous grin on her face. She’d fallen victim to the handsome man’s smile apparently because letting someone go early did not match her normally strict personality. This surprised you so much you didn’t get a chance to respond.

“Excellent!” The winged hero claps his hands once, looking victorious. “Thank you so much, Miss.” He gives your boss a very charming smile, and she actually looks a little flustered. The hero then begins ushering you towards the door after you’d gathered up your personal items. “What’s the best place to eat around here?” He asks casually. You glance over your shoulder and your boss gives you a thumbs up, leaving you feeling completely baffled. What a strange day.

“I’m Hawks, by the way,” the hero tells you once you’re both walking down the street. You tell him your name and shake his gloved hand. Just what had you just gotten yourself into?

[talesfromthesnogbox]

Inevitable

AO3

So they’d finally done it. Feelings were laid out on the table, hearts were bared for the other to see, and unsurprisingly to everyone except the two in question, were mutual. Richie loved Eddie, and Eddie loved Richie, and now here they were, too stunned to continue forward.

“So… so you really love me?”

Eddie laughed, a deep blush colouring his cheeks. “Yes asshole, I just said it, like a minute ago.” The man tentatively linked his fingers with his friend’s, avoiding his eyes. “This is what you meant when you said it first though… right? Like… love, not like ‘I love you man’, but like…”

Richie’s breath hitched. The sound worried the lines of Eddie’s face deeper, and he started to pull his hand away, but Richie’s grip tightened. “Yeah Eds, that… that was real. I’m in love with you.”

A large smile crossed Eddie’s face again at hearing that, and he buried his face in Richie’s shoulder. “I never thought I’d hear that. God, in all the years we’ve been friends, how many times I just wanted to kiss you—”

“You wanted to kiss me?” Richie murmured against Eddie’s hair.

“Of course I did. Even when we were kids. I thought it was a little weird I didn’t want to kiss Bill or Stan or any of them, but—”

“You didn’t? Damn Eddie, I thought I was the blind one here. Stan’s a straight up fox. Hell, I did kiss Stan once or twice, or maybe—”

“You kissed Stan?” It was Eddie’s turn to cut Richie off.

“Yeah dude, we were each other’s first kiss. Get it out of the way and all, you know? But, table it for another time. You wanted to kiss me when we were kids?”

“I did. I was too chickenshit to actually do anything though, and I so badly wanted to believe I was straight because of all the bullshit my mother told me. But you made it hard to listen to her.”

“Ha! I knew you thought I was irresistible.”

“Fuck off.” Eddie shoved him lightly, making him fall back on the couch, before following him down and snuggling into his side.

“We fell asleep in the hammock like this more than a few times.” Richie mused, slinging his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, and holding his hand where it rested on his chest.

“We did. I could have kissed you at any point in that stupid thing sitting like that.”

Silence fell between them, but they both knew what the other was thinking.

They only lasted minutes, until finally, Eddie decided to be the braver of the two. “I could kiss you here…”

Silence, again.

Eddie could feel Richie’s eyes boring down on him like laser beams right into his skull. A shiver ran through him as he worked up the courage again to look up at the other man. And finally, he did.

Richie’s eyes were soft, his face full of hope, joy, and love, but the expression wasn’t anything Eddie hadn’t seen before. He just now understood what it meant. Oh.

The smaller man shifted, situating himself closer to the man beneath him. The hand on Richie’s chest travelled up his neck to cup his jaw, and Eddie saw his face change in an instant. Suddenly they were fifteen again, cuddled together in that stupid hammock, closer than what was probably deemed to be appropriate for a friendly setting. In all the time Eddie had known Richie, he’d boasted about himself being the one and only “Trashmouth”. That filthy fucking mouth that once bragged about all the tits he’d seen in high school was now lolled open with an expression of shy nervousness.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie frowned, his thumb stroking Richie’s cheek softly.

Richie blinked at him, dumbfounded. “Eds, there’s no going back from here.”

“I think we crossed that bridge when you told me you loved me like… ten minutes ago.”

“I know, I know, it’s just… is this weird?”

Eddie pulled away. “Weird? Does it feel weird?”

Richie instantly missed Eddie’s closeness, and suddenly it clicked. “Not weird in that way, it’s… I like it… a lot.” He pulled Eddie back in closer, his hand coming to the other man’s waist. “But I’m scared Eds. I love you so much, and I’ve had to hold it in until now.”

“Sweetheart you don’t have to hold it in anymore.”

“I—yeah, I think I’m starting to realize that.” He chuckled. “But I don’t think it’s like a switch I can just turn off. This is like thirty-two years of friendship, and thirty years of pining in the making. I’ve only ever dreamed of holding you like this. I’m honestly half convinced I’m dreaming right now.”

Eddie bit the bullet and leaned down, brushing his lips with Richie’s in the world’s shortest kiss. “You’re not dreaming, I’m here, I want this.”

The kiss, no matter how miniscule it was, scrambled Richie’s brain. He didn’t know what he was feeling, or even how to feel about any of this. Elated, terrified, relieved, nervous, aroused, and even a little sad.

“Eddie, I want this too. But my brain is having a hard time computing that you feel the same way as I do. It’s going to take some getting used to, you know, not having to hold back how I feel, getting to touch you like this, like I’ve wanted to for a long time. I don’t think I can just dive in head first, as much as I really, really want to.”

This surprised Eddie a little bit. He’s only ever known Richie to put his whole being into doing something, so the idea of potentially taking things slow was a little… disappointing.

“O-okay, we can take things slow.” Eddie moved to push himself up and off the other man again. “I’ll wait for you Richie, we don’t have to—”

“Woah!” Richie grabbed him again, securing him back in their previous position. “Slow doesn’t mean not at all, get back here Spaghetti.”

Eddie laughed. “There he is!” He could hear Richie’s heart pounding rhythmically in his chest.

“Here I am.” Richie let out a breath, which ruffled Eddie’s soft hair again. “I’m sorry if I can’t be in this 100% yet.”

“You don’t have to apologize Rich, I get it. There’s bound to be some weirdness after all this time of just being friends.”

“Thanks Eds.” His hand moved up Eddie’s body as Eddie’s had done to his earlier, and tilted his chin towards him. Eddie took the hint, situating himself closer to the other man once again, but slowly, as if not to frighten him. Their eyes closed slowly as their noses brushed, and they stalled, breathing the other in. Finally, Richie closed the gap, brushing their lips together chastely.

It was nothing like how Eddie imagined kissing Richie would be. He always imagined Richie would be a good kisser (who imagines their crush being a bad kisser?), but he never anticipated him being shy. Richie became more confident with each brush of their lips, and it was still the tamest kisses Eddie had ever partaken in. But they still made his toes curl in spine tingling pleasure.

They kissed lazily, heat growing between them as Eddie’s tongue decided to join the party. “Sorr—” he started, but never finished as Richie followed suit.

A needy sounding whimper left Eddie’s throat, and Richie broke. He pulled away from Eddie, breathing heavily and red faced.

“Too much?”

The other man nodded, eyes on the ceiling.

“It’s okay baby, we can stop. Maybe we should go to bed, it’s getting late.” Eddie sat up, letting Richie calm down.

“Okay. Hey Eddie, will you stay with me tonight?”

“Of course.” Richie led Eddie to his bedroom, pulling him into the queen-sized bed beside him. “Rich, I’ll let you lead, but can I kiss you some more?”

He nodded, putting his glasses on the bedside table. “I’d like that. But nothing more, if that’s okay.”

“That’s okay, we can go as fast or as slow as you want. I’m already there when you are sweetheart, so whenever you’re ready.”

“Sorry Eds, you’ll have to wait to see my monster schlong.”

Eddie laughed as the tender moment fizzled. “Oh my god.”

“I can’t help it! Felt too sentimental all at once. Humor is my wall babe.”

“I know.” Eddie said, curling himself around Richie in his bed, and pecking him lightly on the lips. “I know.”

Eddie’s lips moved against Richie’s languidly; they became less and less hesitant with each kiss, and soon, sank down into the warm, hazy pleasure of each other. Richie pulled away to bury his face in Eddie’s neck, lightly kissing and nipping the skin there. This time, it was Eddie pulling away.

“Richie, Rich, we’re getting dangerously close to the point of no return here.”

Eyebrows raised, Richie pulled away, chuckling. “Shit babe, this is all it takes? Glad to see the Tozier charm hasn’t worn off.”

Eddie shoved Richie. “Fuck you, it’s been a while, okay? Kinda hard to get any when you’re in love with your idiot best friend.”

“Okay yeah, relatable.” Richie lounged back against the pillows, drawing Eddie towards him again. “Dude, we’re not gonna last two minutes when we finally do it, are we.”

“Do it? What are we, twelve? Just say sex Richie, and no, it’s going to be a short ride.”

Richie let out a bellowing laugh. “Good thing you’re just tall enough to reach the ride’s minimum height requirement.”

“Shut the fuck up I’m average height.”

Just like that, the dust settled and the two of them fell back into their regular routine. It felt normal, Richie teasing Eddie to no end, Eddie lecturing him for one reason or another, but at the same time, everything had changed. Richie’s mind didn’t have to wander off to think about the consequences of pressing a kiss to Eddie’s temple, he could just do it, and Eddie could burrow in Richie’s shoulder without worry.

It would get easier as time passed, and soon it would feel as easy as breathing. Their predictions were correct, their first time was a short ride, they fumbled awkwardly, but it was perfect because it was them. And soon enough, Richie couldn’t even remember why he was nervous about this. All his fears seemed silly in hindsight.

The two of them were inevitable.