#i shouldn't have seen it coming. nonetheless still sucks

[claire-starsword]

Bloodline of the Sacred Dragons - Chapter 3-3

The rear of the Pao Train had a small deck, for embarking and disembarking and connecting to the other cars.

Deep in the night while everyone slept soundly, Camallia stood there alone.

As her hair blew away freely with the wind coming from both sides of the train, she enjoyed the scenery of the mountains surrounding the Pao Plains. They were like a pitch-black painting, moving as quietly as the stars in the sky. No matter how unchanging they looked, they were slowly but surely being passed by.

She hadn't started this journey for sightseeing.

Camallia berated herself.

Karin and Karna, and Bleu. She had no intention to meet people like them at the start. That wasn't the reason she had come to this land, was it? Those thoughts had her shaken. Because she also had the feeling deep in her heart that she had met just who she had to meet there. One day, liking it or not, she would find out which one of those thoughts was right. Though she didn't yet know when that day would come…

It's easy to drown in your own thoughts. And also, to tear them apart.

With a small noise, the door opened. Someone came by.

"…There you are."

Karin closed the door behind her.

"Do you need anything from me…?"

Camallia asked her amicably, showing a calm smile under the moonlight.

Karin didn't answer right away.

"It is very late already," Camallia warned her, ignoring how the same could be said for herself.

"I do want something…" Karin finally said after a good time, "I have a request. Don't take Bleu with you."

Her words came out like a dam had burst.

"Why is that?" Camallia asked back politely, watching Karin's face as she spoke so directly.

"He wants to go to Parmecia with you, but as long as you have the Manual you don't need him. We can just give it to you."

"Is that so?" Camallia played dumb. "Would it really be wise to give away his precious Manual to someone else? And then, what would I do about the Dragon Blood Crystal seal? Also, his people are waiting for him in Parmecia. Those are reasons enough for him to come, no? The only reason for him to stay back is some meager, selfish fear surrounding the Manual, and that's it. More importantly, Bleu himself decided to go, so no one should be able to stop him."

"No!"

"Why." She answered sharply to Karin's shout.

"Don't take Bleu away!!"

"What a weird thing to say. When have I taken Bleu away, and from who? Sure, he — Sacred Dragons are interesting. Yes, they are perfect, beautiful, and noble creatures. A simple human can't compare to them. So I want to be with him just a little longer. I want to watch up close how he feels, how he thinks. Those are my upfront intentions right now."

"I want to be by his side, too. I want him with me forever."

"Like a pet? Sacred Dragons aren't the kind of creature for that."

"No! Of course that's not what I mean!"

"No, I'm right. Sacred Dragons don't exist for your entertainment."

Karin couldn't find the words against Camallia's scathing criticism.

"He's not yours."

"And not yours either. What are you to Bleu, anyway? A mother? Sister? Or maybe, a lover…?"

Camallia knew she was tormenting her, but even so, she couldn't stop herself from asking.

"…A friend. Yes, a precious friend."

Maybe Karin didn't know yet what name to put to her feelings. Maybe humans were coward and weak creatures.

"Yes. Of course. There shouldn't be any romantic feelings between different species after all. I shouldn't fuss over what you two look like together. As a human, it doesn't concern me."

To Camallia, that was a terrible thing to say. Was there any bond more powerful and mysterious than love in this world? Someone had been asking that kind of question to the stars and wind countless times until just now.

It suddenly occurred to Camallia that she might have had some Sacred Dragon blood mixed in herself. The memories of healing Bleu's wounds came back vividly in her mind.

"Protecting someone and setting someone free are not the same thing. All you're doing is tempting him to run away."

"Wrong. Bleu is bewitched by that Manual. And you drove him to that."

"Oh my, really? I shouldn't have that kind of power. But, if he's really obsessed with the Manual, then I want to see with my own eyes what he'll do when everything is over…"

Camallia began to walk away, stopping by Karin's side as she had her head down.

"They grow up fast, don't they?" She whispered in Karin's ear, and passed her by.

Pushing the door open, Camallia entered back in the train. Closing the door, the darkness of the night and Karin within it both disappeared from her sight.

>To next part

Translation notes:

I hope the feeling came across through the translation so far, but to spell it out: Camallia usual has the most formal speech out of all characters. The moment Karin start shouting at her here, she basically drops it altogether. She's in no way rude, but far more casual and assertive.

Camallia's little monologue about love is about romantic feelings specifically, she uses the same wording as Karin does right before, I just felt it would sound very clunky in that line.

[number1jeonginstan]

hehe its me! I'm just here to say hi Ju🤗🤗🤗

I would love to share this dirty, dirty thought with you

Jeongin can't help it, but sometimes he just ventures to your picture on his phone and jerks off to your pretty, pretty face. He knows he shouldn't, that if you ever found out how he felt he would risk losing you as a friend.

So instead, he makes sure he's under all his blankets at night, door tightly shut, so he can cum all over your pretty face

A/N: I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, THIS WAS SUCH A GOOD REQUEST. This is really feeding into my Jeongin obsession, because have you seen this man he's so 😩. Anyways, I wanted to make this kinda pervy!jeongin, so I hope this was to your liking because I loved writing it (I literally wrote it as soon as you sent me this request)!!

wc: 1.1k

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: Pervy BestFriend!Jeongin x afab!reader

Warnings: m!masturbation, pervy jeongin, non-con photo taking, idk what else...

He knows he shouldn’t, you guys have been best friends since you were little. You grew up as next-door neighbors, you a year younger than him, but were inseparable nonetheless. He always thought of you as a little sister, someone he could hang out with all the time. It wasn’t until you went to the US to study. It was around the same time he became an idol, the both of you still texting and calling at times. 

He had followed you on Instagram on his secret account, wanting to keep in touch with what was happening while you were there. As time went on, you began posting more scandalous photos, things he would never have expected from you.

When you posted yourself in a bikini for the first time on your instagram, Jeongin felt like he was having whiplash. He never expected you to wear something that skimpy, and for him to love it so much. He felt himself going hard from just a picture of you. He shouldn’t be thinking of you that way, right? You were his best friend, someone he could always confide in, you guys saw each other at your worst, but now. Now, he was seeing you in a whole new light. 

He let all of his doubts fall out of the window as soon as he started palming his hardened cock through his boxers. It was okay as long as he was just looking at your body he thought to himself. It wasn’t like he was thinking about your cute lips sucking his cock. Your tongue licking the tip, sucking on the pre-cum that was being released by it. 

He definitely was not thinking about your hands fondling his balls as he wrapped his own hands around his cock. He looked at his phone one more time, seeing your cute face splayed on his screen. You would look so good with his cum all over your face, doe eyes staring up at him. That was all he needed to cum, covering his toned stomach with his cum and groaning. You didn’t need to know about this, you didn’t need to know what your best friend thought of you. 

He vowed to himself that he would never do it again, too ashamed to even look you in the eye when you called next. 

“Jeongin, the beaches here are so beautiful, when you guys go on tour again, we should go together!” you exclaimed while on FaceTime with him. “Yeah, that would be nice” he stuttered out loud, still embarrassed by what happened a few days prior. 

“Or actually, when I come back to Busan next week. Your parents told me you will be free by then and are coming home for a week, so we will be able to hang out like old times!” 

That caught his attention, you around him for an entire week. Being able to see you through a screen is one thing, but in person, seeing all of your curves, your face, and your lips was a whole other. “Yeah, that would be nice,” he said barely paying attention to what you were saying. 

How was he going to react to seeing you, how is he going to look at you after how he’s been thinking about you? 

He had forgotten about it for a week, preoccupied with finishing the promotions for his most recent comeback. He was so excited to go back home, leaving a day later than he promised his family because of an emergency. 

As he finally got off the train from Seoul, the first person he saw was you. You were in a miniskirt and a T-shirt. You waved at him, knowing his idol status, you couldn’t run up to him. You waited as he left the crowded station, watching as everyone left and started walking home and waiting for him to follow. 

As soon as you both were in a secluded enough area, you ran up to hug him. “I’m so happy to see you Innie!” you screamed, pressing your face against his chest. “I’m happy to see you too!” he gleamed, his face turning a bit red by the way your chest was pressed up against his. 

“You must be tired from all the hard work you’ve been doing” you huffed, “let me pick up your bag” you gleamed. Jeongin was about to object, but the thought of you bending over in such a small skirt to pick up his bag piqued his interest, you wouldn’t mind right? Plus if he got a picture of the panties under your skirt, there would be no harm. 

He reluctantly agreed, quickly pulling out his phone to take a picture as you bent over picking up his bag. You had no idea clue what ulterior motives he had behind letting you pick up his bag. You were just happy to take some stress off of him knowing how hard he works.

When you arrived at your shared apartment complex, you spoke up. “Innie, is there something you wanted to do today?” you asked, a pleading look in your eyes. 

“If it’s okay y/nnie, I’m actually going to take a quick nap, I’m quite tired.” he said while stretching his arms out, trying to show that he was exhausted. “Yeah, of course, we can always go get dinner or do something after” you grinned. 

You dropped him and his stuff off at his apartment before heading into your own oblivious to the fact that Jeongin was not actually going to sleep. 

As soon as the door shut to his apartment, Jeongin ran to his room. He locked the door, double-checking that it was, and laid on his bed. He got under the blanket, taking out his phone in his left hand and freeing his already hard cock from his boxers. 

Fuck, he groaned to himself. You were wearing little pink cotton panties that outlined the lips of your cunt perfectly. He stroked his cock, imagining how good your cunt would feel humping against him. Were you still a virgin he thought to himself. Would you let him be your first? 

He continued to tug at his cock, using his pre-cum as lube as he continued to fantasize about you. You were so cute and he just wanted to ruin you, make you beg for his cock until you were dumb around his cock, only babbling “Innie”. Imagining the way you would call his name on his cock was all he needed to cum. 

He really needed to stop fantasizing about his best friend. 

[enigmakiwi]

I left that in the tags because it's completely unfiltered stream of consciousness that I knew was probably quite reactionary and dramatic. And it definitely is, I'm self-aware lol. But... yeah... seems I probably guessed somewhat correctly.

Apparently, the Pokemon Company has a family of patents covering creature capture mechanics that use an analog stick to aim and a button to throw a capture device, which triggers a check determining if the player now owns the target. In other words, the process of using a pokeball-adjacent device with an aim input and a throw input, if I'm understanding this right. If they manage to sue Pocketpair over this particular patent(s), it sets a precedent that they can do this with other games, too.

I'm certainly no lawyer, and I know even less about how this works in Japan than I do here in the US, and maybe this is my paranoia talking, but I think it would really suck if Nintendo became the only company allowed to make games where you aim and throw a thing at a thing to catch it, and that could be where this is heading. Could. I don't have any more information than what's in this article, so there's still a major unknown factor. And this particular patent might not even be what Nintendo is suing over— apparently there's a few other things it could be, or a combination of them. And maybe they'll fail. But I'm gonna be paying attention to all this for sure.

Again, I'm setting aside how anyone feels about Palworld or Pocketpair (including me— I like the game, but I dislike the company, and a tiny, petty part of me hates that I'm hoping for their victory), and I encourage everyone else to do the same. Nintendo isn't suing over copyright, so the issue of copied designs shouldn't come into play here, nor any other Pocketpair controversies. I hope Nintendo loses this lawsuit, not for Pocketpair's sake, but for the sake of whatever could come next— the larger principle of video games being able to use basic mechanics also seen in other games without fear of legal trouble. If you ask me, it doesn't matter exactly which patent(s) they're suing over; it's shitty no matter which specific thing it is.

To anyone who hates Palworld and/or Pocketpair: please don't root for Nintendo out of spite. This is, at its core, a huge corporation (unsurprisingly) being shitty and trying to exert power in a way it has no reasonable business doing for the sake of theoretical extra money. Though, I suppose that's just my opinion. If you truly believe Nintendo has a right to these concepts and mechanics, that's your right. But I encourage you to think about it from a big picture angle nonetheless.

(Obligatory note that if I'm way off base here please correct this I'm just some guy speculating about an area I only have basic knowledge of and I'm absolutely not trying to start fights or spread misinformation)

Nintendong can suck my ass

[vivithefolle]

Hello! I just wanted to pop by and say I’m sorry for spamming your blog with likes and reblogs the last couple days. I just was desperately looking for Ron content I hadn’t seen before and kinda fell in love with your blog (I also found you on Quora and love your answers there also)! I’d keep going back even further than I made it (sorry if that’s creepy) if I didn’t keep losing my spot and having to scroll all the way back to where I was (stupid phone). I want to be as bold as you are when it comes to defending Ron. He’s my hyperfixation and the way you passionately defend him is amazing. You take no shit and don’t let anyone make you feel bad for loving Ron. I love your fight back attitude because you’re right - Ron fans have spent decades fighting for our lives in this godforsaken fandom. Anyways, thank you for inspiring me to be loud and proud about defending Ron. It’s becoming a hobby of mine.

Don't be sorry! I'm glad you enjoyed my blog! Do keep in mind though that I've been... needlessly aggressive in the past, over sometimes misunderstandings. I can be much too angry, so... be careful. I tend to forget that behind the messages, there's another human being... ... a human being that's also a Ron-bashing asshole, yes, but a human being nonetheless.

Anyway yeah!! It's exhausting how much casual Ron-hate is still tossed around, and how even Romione shippers will call shitty toxic tropes "cute :)". Yeah sure, maybe Hermione saying "oh Ron you're MY idiot :)" was cute once. But when you've seen over a thousand fics where Hermione calls Ron "MY idiot :)" while Ron gets cruxified the SECOND he's upset at her, yeah that's not being a Ron fan, that's just being a Mary Suemione simp.

I should really finish my fanfictions, show an example of what kind of content I wish Romione could be. Enough of the bootlicking for Hermione, enough excuses for her, enough of thinking that her academic results are somehow proof of her being on another level of being. I hate that kind of thinking. People really have no idea what school does to kids, do they?

Other folks have talked about it before, and it's true, that a lot of Ron-hate is steeped in social issues. Classism, elitism, sexism, ableism, puritanical Calvinist bullshit from the USA's finest """Christians""". The notion of Ron being "useless" and how that means he shouldn't be friends with Harry and Hermione... like, my guy, you know that's the way Voldemort thinks right?

It's kind of astonishing how badly this fandom misses the point of the whole series (it's not like Rowling was being subtle about it!!), but then these are the idiots that worship Draco Malfoy and claim he was redeemed when his last action pre-Epilogue was to claim he was on the Death Eater's side. If that's the role model these folks want then no wonder they can't appreciate Ron: Ron actually recognized when he fucked up and actually apologized and tried to do better, while Draco was saying racial slurs and showed no remorse aside from that time he cried about how murdering people is hard. Of course the fandom of folks who believe that Harry should forgive Malfoy when Malfoy never apologized would assume that Ron is a bad guy: can you believe that Ron shows remorse? Remorse is for weak people. Only cool people don't have remorse, because that means they have nothing to regret. That's how it works right?

Anyway. The HP fandom sucks, it's a cesspool of bigoted jerks that like to pretend they're really progressive but are just a mirror of their much-loathed author whom they still worship through Hermione dearest. Rowling's books teach us that it's okay to impose your ideas onto the "lesser" peoples because it's for their own good, that a few performative words about how you think everyone is equal is enough to have you branded "tolerant" even your other behaviour is the polar opposite (see how Hermione will chide Ron for being "racist" towards giants when he points out that they're violent... only to be a quivering terrified mess in front of Grawp, yeah, I can smell the tolerance from here), and OF COURSE, that girly girls are dumb sluts here to steal yo man. Oh and also that the man is always to blame, and if he's feeling hurt by something, it's invalid unless he's an orphan.

This fandom sucks, but that's the only place where there's a tiny chance to find actually decent Ron content. Woe.

[sofreddie]

Serendipitous Souls (Part 2)

Summary: They've been bonded by Chuck. Now what?

Characters: Dean x OC!Reader, Sam

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,385

A/N: Still building here as our characters become acquainted.

"Sam," Dean breathed out, releasing Y/N and running to his brother's side. Sam was fine, with some residual aches over the ordeal, but fine nonetheless. Dean sighed with relief and patted Sam on the back before standing straight and running his hands through his hair in frustration and relief.

Y/N stood awkwardly, watching the brothers and trying to process what had just happened.

For starters, she was sucked from her couch at home - in her pajamas no less - into the damn show she was watching on TV. Yeah, see, that should be crazy enough. But then she finds out those characters are suddenly real, she's a soulmate to one of them, and she's pretty sure she just had an arranged marriage by God to said character. Her mind is refusing to acknowledge there is even a 'part that comes next'.

She could run, she thinks. That's her first instinct. To get away. To run from what she can't handle. But she's in another universe, with no one and nowhere to go. And she's pretty sure the Winchesters would just catch her before she made it to the door anyway. She fidgets on her feet, one arm holding the other, trying to offer herself some form of comfort in this awkward situation.

"Dean," Sam hisses, nodding in Y/N's direction. Dean follows his eyes, as if suddenly remembering she was there.

"Hey," he says with a big breath, coming towards her and pulling out the closest chair, "Maybe you should sit?" he offers with as much a smile as he can pull off at the moment. She hesitates before slowly moving forward and lowering herself into the chair, on the very edge of the seat, back straight and hands clasped between her knees. She's literally on edge.

"Drink?" Dean offers, watching her nod before pouring out three glasses and handing them out. The three of them sip in silence, Dean's eyes wandering over Y/N. She's an average sort of beauty. Tall for a woman, but still shorter than himself. She's bigger than the average woman too, but shapely. He can see that through her slightly baggy pajamas. His mind so helpfully reminds him that Marilyn Monroe was five-foot-ten and a size sixteen - a true 'plus-sized' beauty and Y/N for sure has that sort of build.

His eyes continue to wander, admiring her 'child-birthing' hips. Cause that's what's coming next, isn't it, his brain so helpfully provides. Consummation, as Chuck put it. But Dean knows. Chuck really meant mating. All these sorts of rituals require it.

"So," Sam chimed in to break the silence after polishing off his glass, "We should probably talk about everything," he sighed out reluctantly, watching as his brother nodded and took the seat across the table from Y/N. Sam let the silence drag out a short while as he waited for either of them to speak to each other. As it was, they couldn't even manage to look at each other.

"It's about three hours to midnight," he continued, but the pair stubbornly remained silent.

"I'm sorry," Y/N's sudden apology cut through the silence, both brothers brows furrowing in confusion.

"Why are you sorry?" Sam asked first.

"Because," she shrugged, "You don't know me and I don't know what happened to lead to this, but I-I know Dean never wanted something like this, especially someone he doesn't know," her words became more hurried the longer she went on, "A-and he deserves so much more than I could ever give and-"

"Whoa, hey, breathe," Dean finally spoke, urging her to calm down, "You don't need to apologize for anything. None of this is on you."

"B-but I'm just a fan," she emphasized, "I like the show but to be in it?" she huffed, "I'm gonna get you killed or get me killed-"

"We won't let that happen," Dean promised, his gaze serious and steady. He sighed heavily, "Look," he said, focusing all of his attention on her, "If anything, all of this is on me," Dean stated with a shake of his head. Sam groaned and rolled his eyes so hard his head rolled with it, "It is," Dean insisted to his brother.

"How?" Sam scoffed, "Please, explain to me how you've managed to work it in your mind that this is all your fault."

"He said I never worked right, never did what I was supposed to do," Dean argued angrily, "That the only difference between me and all the other Dean's was that a chip of my soul broke off when I was made and became Y/N," he said in a huff, putting apologetic eyes on her, "He sent you away so I could never find you. So we could never be together."

"Then why did he bring me here?" Y/N whispered, her gaze still on the wood grain of the table in front of her.

"Because," Sam shook his head with the nonsense of it all, "Chuck thinks that with you two being bonded, and thus Dean's soul being whole, that Dean will finally play along to his stories as he wants," he paused to finish off his drink before sucking his teeth, "And I think he's gone a little off his rocker and is experimenting with storylines now."

"You realize how fucking fuck-all crazy this sounds, right?" Y/N huffed out in disbelief, her gaze flitting between the brothers.

"Yet it's still not the craziest thing we've ever heard," Dean muttered.

"Or seen," Sam added with a shudder in memory of…something.

"Well, it really takes the cake for me," Y/N huffed out in a humorless laugh.

"Well, you're a fan, right?" Sam asked, "Fans usually imagine these sorts of things, right?" he asked, clearly uncomfortable suggesting such a thing but trying, somehow, to possibly be helpful.

"Imagining and doing are two completely different things," she growled out defiantly, finishing off her own drink. Sam was quick to refill everyone's glasses.

"So you have imagined it," Dean said with a sly smirk, taking a small bit of satisfaction from her shifting. She rolled her eyes and focused on her glass.

"You know," Y/N sucked her teeth before meeting Dean's eyes with a defiant glare, "I guess I shouldn't be so surprised you'd be so ready to sacrifice yourself. For Sam. Again," she huffed with a shake of her head, "I don't blame you for that. I just…there's really no limit to what you'll do to save him, is there?" she asked, the hostility gone and replaces with a sort of sadness, "Even marry a complete stranger," she chuckled in disbelief.

"Well, I mean," Dean shrugged, "It's probably the least damning sacrifice I've ever made," he laughed lightly.

"And an arranged marriage is probably the only way he would've ever settled down," Sam chuckled, feeling the mood becoming somewhat less somber.

"I know there's…more…that we have to do," Dean stuttered out awkwardly, "But afterwards, we can talk about what you want, or don't want," he tried to explain.

He didn't usually struggle so much with women. He assumed it had something to do with their bond and the way he swears he could almost feel her, feel their souls trying to reach out to one another. He had a feeling that if - no, when, his mind helpfully provided - they crossed that line, he would never come back from it. That wasn't something he ever had to worry about with any other woman. Ever.

"So what? We're just married, bonded, and expecting," she huffs out, "And then life just goes back to normal for you and I just exist around here?"

All of this was so sudden and forced on her. She'd be a flat out liar if she said she'd never thought about or imagined things like this before. It's Dean Fucking Winchester! Of fucking course she has! But for it to be real? To be happening right now as she sat in her pajamas and contemplated her greatest fantasies turning into her worst nightmares? Not like this, she pleaded over and over again in her mind. But she knew it was too late. It had already happened and, as far as she knew, couldn't be undone.

Bind myself to you for eternity.

The words from their 'vows' rang in her head. What would her new 'eternity' look like?

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

Serendipitous Souls:

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@xhannahbananax03

@440mxs-wife

@crist1216

[baepsaetan]

Novocaine Enough | Yoonseok | Part 3

Amazing banner credit to @joonscore​​

Part 1 -> Part 2

Pairing: Yoongi x Hoseok

Wordcount: 8k

Genre: Exes to lovers, angst, smut

Rating: 18+

Summary: Four years later, and Yoongi is still an itch under his skin. Hoseok is trying to move on, from his past life and his past love, but there are some voids that can’t be filled. Some needs that can’t be met. And when Hoseok enters a club and hears the music of the man he left so long ago, he realizes that some addictions can’t be healed by anything as simple as time.

Warnings: Swearing; implied, mentioned and past drug use/abuse (cocaine, ecstasy, weed, alcohol); past overdosing; mutually unhealthy relationship dynamic; explicit (kinda angry) sex, including biting, oral, gagging, rimming, edging, marking, barebacking, thigh riding.

Ao3 Link: here

A/N: Part three! Which I totally forgot to post before now, lol. Not sure if anyone hasn’t seen this on Ao3 already, but if ya haven’t, feel free to give a like. :)

They collide a little too hard, a little too combatively, and Hoseok's lips tingle when they find Yoongi's. He embraces the pain, even as his arms are wrapping around the other man, caging him in like he's afraid Yoongi's going to suddenly disappear. It's a little awkward, but Yoongi squirms in his embrace, gets himself into a better position, and then they're actually kissing.

This is a moment when they both freeze, as if the reality of what they're doing has suddenly crashed into them. Hoseok's muscles lock, and he's abruptly in the back of his mind, wondering if this is the right thing, doubting it is, knowing it isn't, and maybe he shouldn't –

Yoongi's tongue parts his lips and the acrid taste of smoke and beer slams him back into the moment. Hoseok gasps, released, and his arms tighten spasmodically, a bodily rejection of his mind. Yoongi tastes like he remembers, and this is suddenly easy, natural, and the worry dies, smothered beneath the nostalgia slipping across his tongue. Warmth floods his face, and he can't help but dig the tips of his fingers into Yoongi's shoulders, proving to himself that the man is there.

His eyes are closed and the reddish hues dart under his eyelids, flurrying in time with his spiked heart rate. Yoongi is the first to pull away, but only to nip at the edge of Hoseok's lip and then move lower, kissing along the length of his jaw with just a touch of teeth. The fluttery pressure lasts for only a moment, and then the other man is kissing him again. This time Hoseok gravitates into the contact, leans even further until his weight is pushing Yoongi back.

With a low hum that Hoseok can feel resounding through his own mouth, Yoongi allows himself to be shifted backwards until he's laid out on the couch. They break contact long enough for Yoongi to swing his legs up, and Hoseok straddles his hips, knees pushing comfortably into the cushions. He pauses, then, to stare down at the man under him.

Yoongi's skin is unusually flushed, his lips already swollen from their fierce contact. It's his eyes that catch Hoseok, though, deep and dark and so demanding they rip a sense of urgency from somewhere at the base of Hoseok's throat. His hand impulsively rises to cup Yoongi's face – and Yoongi turns away, just a little, avoiding the touch. It leaves an emptiness heavy in the pads of Hoseok's fingers, an ache in his heart, and he has to drive the feeling out somehow.

Tracing his hand down Yoongi's neck is almost enough, and when Hoseok hunches over and presses kisses into the other man's collarbone, it gets even better. Burying his face into the crook of the man’s neck and inhaling the scent of his citrusy cologne overwhelms Hoseok’s senses, drowning the bitterness in a wave of comfort and desire. Yoongi's breath is a harsh pant, and his voice is harsh, too, when he insists, "Come on."

Hoseok is abruptly aware of the fact that he's eager to do more. His next kiss lingers on Yoongi's collarbone, and so does the next, and when he moves to Yoongi's throat, Hoseok bites him, a little nip that nonetheless draws a sharp inhale from his partner. He does it for a second time, just to hear the overwhelmed sound again, and Yoongi is quick to oblige him. Relishing the taut groan, he pulls away to admire the man underneath him.

Just for a moment, but Yoongi's eyes, previously drifted closed, snap open and he makes an inquiring huff.

Not quite willing to admit how much he'd love to just stare at the sweat that's beginning to trickle down Yoongi's face, Hoseok smiles. "You mind some marks?"

Yoongi's lip curls, but his gaze is intrigued. "You want to?" Before Hoseok can reply, he snickers, head falling back to bare his neck more fully. "Sure. Why not?"

Hoseok doesn't need to be told twice. (But he does want to ask again, just in case this isn't what it should be, just in case –)

Ignoring that, he dips his head and his lips are soft when he starts sucking on Yoongi's throat. They don't stay that way, not when he increases the pressure, and under him the other man shifts, arches up like he's desperate to close the space between them. Hoseok indulges, grinding down with his groin as his mouth relents for a moment, placing lighter kisses around the area he'd been sucking on. Yoongi bucks his hips, seeking more friction, and Hoseok finds himself grinning, a wolfish expression that doesn't fade even with his softer contact.

He doesn't give Yoongi too much of a break, anyways; before too long he's back, sucking on the abused skin harder than before. It feels good to press his mouth against the other man's neck, to know that he's leaving a mark that nothing but time will scrub away. Yoongi bruises easily and long, Hoseok remembers that, and so for at least the next week he's going to be bearing a sign, a clear flag to anyone who dares to believe Yoongi is anything but taken.

Even if he isn't actually taken.

The thought has heat prickling across the nape of Hoseok's neck, and it takes him a second to realize it's pissed him off. His next nip is sharper and Yoongi hisses in mild protest. He goes mostly ignored, because though Hoseok tries to soften himself, tries to gentle the way his mouth crushes against Yoongi's throat, it's still hard enough to inspire another grunt from the other man.

And yet, for all that Hoseok knows he's actually hurting his partner, Yoongi doesn't make any move to shove him away. Doesn't even voice a protest beyond the first light objection. In fact, he keeps tilting his chin further up, giving Hoseok even more space to work with, and his hands are digging in just above his waistband, anchoring Hoseok with a grip that's on the razor edge of pain. The pressure grounds him and he needs it, needs an anchor against the dull anger that’s trying to flare to life amidst the hollowness in his chest.

It's not until Hoseok bites Yoongi for the umpteenth and an iron tang fills his mouth that he realizes the fire is more out of control than he’d thought.

Immediately he draws back, guilt and blood on his tongue, although the taste isn’t quite strong enough to expunge his surprisingly possessive anger. The skin isn’t broken too badly, just a slightly more pronounced red among the splotches of pink littering Yoongi’s neck, but he can’t make himself look away.

His companion asks without opening his eyes, “Admiring your handiwork?”

Setting his teeth over the impulse to say something breezy – and avoid the truth – he answers honestly. “You’re bleeding a bit.”

Yoongi lazily opens an eye. “Seriously?” His voice is so unfazed it subdues some of the remorse threaded through Hoseok’s ribs; it can’t have hurt too bad if he hadn’t even noticed. “I’m not bleeding on the couch, am I?”

Hoseok dutifully inspects the dribble, barely deserving of the name. “Nah.”

The eye closes. “Good. Bite me too hard again and I’ll bite you back.”

He’s so relieved it makes him flippant. And sharp. “Is that a promise?”

A hoarse laugh, and Yoongi’s hands tighten around his waist. “Only if you want it to be.”

Leaving it there, Hoseok leans back down. Much more gentle, he actually spends more time skimming his lips over the marks, mouthing the tender areas rather than kissing them, let alone biting. It doesn’t last long, though. Energy simmers through his core, an awful agitation that only grows with each taste of sweat, with every low exhale that the man under him makes. Yoongi is also impatient, shoving up Hoseok’s shirt as he runs his fingers along his sides, the warmth of his touch leaving Hoseok shaky with anticipation.

Before too long, he folds to the pressure of that wordless touch. Taking off his shirt is, in the haze of the moment, only slightly nerve-wracking. The dregs of alcohol still in his system help matters, swamping any second thoughts Hoseok might have had and leaving him dizzy and expectant.

Yoongi doesn't whistle at the reveal like Hoseok had, but his eyes are keen with admiration as they skim across Hoseok's upper body. The considering look is back, and after a moment of mute appreciation that leaves Hoseok flushed and simultaneously more relaxed, he commands, "Get off, 'kay? I wanna try something else."

Scrambling to do as bid, he lifts himself off of Yoongi. "Just sit there," Yoongi says, gesturing at the couch as he gets to his feet. Hoseok suffers a pang of disappointed confusion at the lack of immediate attention, but all his companion does is shove the table back further before returning. And then he's settling onto Hoseok. More specifically, he nudges Hoseok's legs open and then sits on his right thigh, his legs nestled on either side.

Automatically Hoseok tenses to support the added weight, and Yoongi's tongue slips across his lower lip as he settles more firmly onto the hard muscles. He rubs against Hoseok's thigh and lets out an approving breath, and Hoseok can already feel himself hardening in a way that marking up his ex hadn’t quite managed. Yoongi notices – of course he does – and his hand drops down to caress Hoseok's free leg, thumb starting near his groin and then dragging down against the leather of his pants. "Didn't I say you should take these off? Too late now, I guess," he comments with a smile that's too pointed to be anything but provoking.

The touch is enough, and the smile is entirely too much. With a grunt, Hoseok grabs Yoongi at the hips, both keeping him steady and pushing him down a little. A second later and he starts to bounce his leg, nothing jarring, just a smooth motion that Yoongi grinds himself against. Flexing his thigh at the same time gets the other man to groan, so Hoseok does it again, and then again, relishing the husky sound and the feeling of Yoongi heavy on his body.

This is – almost – familiar. When Yoongi wraps his arms around Hoseok’s bare shoulders to balance himself, it’s that much closer to what he remembers, but… not quite. Not quite, because the small man doesn’t press his forehead against Hoseok’s. Doesn’t look him in the eyes as he rides him, but looks past him, the pleasure crossing his face a removed and distant thing.

Hoseok’s own pleasure feels disconnected, too. The throbbing from his cock is quickly becoming a heated intensity that radiates through his gut, and his movements become rougher, hips jerking with the need to chase the feeling of Yoongi grinding against him. It’s good, great even, but there’s a desperation in his urgency that he suspects won’t be satisfied by coming.

He’s chasing a peak, and it’s not even the height he wants to hit.

Eyes closing against that knowledge, swallowing back the gritty taste of it, Hoseok is caught off guard when one of Yoongi’s arms drops and his fingers find Hoseok’s nipple. Inhaling through his clenched teeth, his eyes fly open and then widen as the other man lightly twists the sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Yoongs,” he spits, and Yoongi grins like a cat who just spotted some cream.

“Mmm, this still gets you, hey?” his lover asks. Given that Hoseok gasps a moment later, Yoongi’s thumb rolling the stiffening nipple, he hardly needs a reply. He takes that as an answer and his other hand joins the fun, and Hoseok’s taut frame is shortly shaking with the flames being produced by those dexterous fingers. He’s always been overly sensitive in his chest.

He lets himself be pleased that his ex remembers, but nothing more than that.  

A particularly callous tweak makes him jerk, his leg jumping hard into Yoongi’s groin, and Yoongi yelps – which, honestly, karma – before biting back the sound and scowling instead. “You dick,” he mutters without heat, but his fingers become even more ruthless as they play with Hoseok’s nipples. That, of course, does absolutely nothing to still Hoseok, and before too long he can’t focus on helping the other man get off on his thigh, his nerves shot through with spastic jolts of pleasure that have him barely able to keep together.

After another probably too hard bounce, Yoongi eases off with a light scoff. “God, you’re as bad as a prep school virgin. Been a bit of a dry spell for you or something?”

It’s true that they used to be able to edge each other a helluva lot longer and more intensely than this, but Hoseok reddens at the implication of that question. And at the nerve of asking it, too. He tries to keep his voice level, but it gets higher as he says, “Is that any business of yours?”

Yoongi looks away, but not before his smug expression crumples. He does a much better job of keeping his tone even, though. He’s always been better than Hobi at that. “Guess not.”

The reminder isn’t totally a mood killer, but it does inject something stiff and uncomfortable into the air. With a hard exhale, Yoongi shakes his head, apparently trying to physically throw off the bleakness. It doesn’t work for Hoseok, and it doesn’t seem to work for the other man either, judging by the somber cast that’s taken over his face.

With Yoongi, though, the deeper and darker he gets, the hungrier he gets, too. The more desperately he reaches for what he wants, the more he craves it. It’s always been like that; whether he aimed for money or fame or skill or a high, he’s always wanted it too much.

He wants this too much, too. Whatever the hell this is, between them. That becomes obvious as Yoongi rolls his shoulders, lips pressing together, and then gets off of Hoseok’s thigh, only to kneel between Hoseok’s legs a second later. When his hands fall to Hoseok’s belt, Hoseok knows he’s being driven by that greed. And – maybe – by a desire to make up for what he’d said. He won’t apologize, not in so many words, but he’s gentle in unbuckling the strap, and his eyes are inquiring when he pauses and looks up at Hoseok, silently asking for permission.

The sight of the small man on his knees in front of him has Hoseok’s throat closing and he can’t make himself speak. The defensive anger from Yoongi’s stupid remark hasn’t left, but neither has his own need, and he, too, sometimes wants things too much. Way too much.

His nod ends up being jerky, but he lifts his hips to help Yoongi pull the belt out of its hoops. With an ease that suggests he, at least, hasn’t been through a dry spell recently, Yoongi unbuttons Hoseok’s pants, undoes the zipper, and then his hand is wrapped around Hoseok’s cock and pulling it out of its confines. It’s already hard and leaking. It only takes one light stroke, made slick by his precum, to have arousal surging up Hoseok’s veins, quieting the longing that’s humming in his head.

This feels so good, it’s almost enough. Hoseok throws back his head, eyes hardly seeing the ceiling, breath and words tangling in his trachea and escaping as barely more than an incoherent plea. Yoongi’s always been good at this, at spreading ecstasy with the mere palms of his hands, and today he’s overdoing himself. Sensitive to Hoseok’s every gasp and whine, his hands sculpt around Hoseok’s dick with just enough pressure, just enough friction to have Hoseok writhing in his seat, thrusting into that pressure with wild abandon.

Panting breaths away from coming, he manages to choke, “Ah, fuck, fuck Yoongi, I’m –”

And abruptly the hand is gone.

He lifts his head, something like a whimper emerging from his lips. It makes his attempt at a glare more than a little feeble, but he does try to glare, because Yoongi is sitting back on his heels and flashing a shit-eating grin that’s so self-satisfied it would have been funny if Hoseok wasn’t currently aching with sodden dissatisfaction. He moves to grab his cock and finish himself, but Yoongi catches his wrist, stopping the movement.

It’s probably possible to break the hold, yet Hoseok just limply drops his arm, caving in to the light grip.

“You’re an asshole,” he exhales, and Yoongi bobs his head in unrepentant agreement.

Still wearing that smug smile, he pushes away the hair from his sweat-soaked forehead. “Yeah. But you should be thanking me; this’ll just make it better when I blow you.”

With his cock still throbbing, a handjob now seems preferable to a blowjob later, and Hoseok snorts. “Better? Maybe your tongue technology is outdated.”  

The reference to the original song he’d created makes Yoongi laugh. It’s probably the most carefree – even joyful – he’s sounded the entire night. “Nah man. That shit is upgraded and it’ll keep you elated.”

Hoseok’s eyebrows jump up disbelievingly and he stares. Too fast for him to contain, a rusty laugh suddenly barrels up his throat and bursts from between lips that can’t press hard enough to hold it.  

A blush floods Yoongi’s face, cheeks bunching as his flustered smile and barely suppressed giggle scrunch his eyes into narrow crescents. It feels like Hoseok’s heart literally misses a beat as it stumbles over itself, a screechy sort of delight building in his throat, and he has to throttle the urge to reach out and squish the adorable face in front of him. In the past, doing that would make Yoongi even more embarrassed, maybe even pouty, and it would be that much more hilarious and cute. Which, of course, had made it entirely worth doing.

Now, however…

Well, now Hoseok keeps his hands to himself, but he can’t hold back the raucous cackles that keep exploding from him. The laughter is so boisterous it actually hurts a little, but he can’t keep it contained. Maybe he’s just that relieved to have something to laugh at, or maybe in Yoongi’s absence he’s become more sensitive to just how charming the man is when he’s abashed and simultaneously pleased with himself. Regardless, Hoseok is helpless to stop the explosion of hilarity, and Yoongi’s failed attempt at sulking doesn't help.

In fact, seeing his companion struggle to latch a frown on his flushed face, only to drop it seconds later and subside into loud laughter, has him almost howling with mirth.  

His amusement drains more quickly than it might have – and honestly, the still-hard state of his dick might have had something to do with it – but Hoseok’s chest is just a little lighter when his cackling abates. It’s – he’d thought he’d never laugh like this again, not with Yoongi. It feels so good to be proven wrong.

Lips still curved upwards, hurting his cheeks, Hoseok can barely get himself together when he tries to talk. “Oh-kay,” he gasps around the lingering laughter, shallow annoyance at Yoongi’s antics totally forgotten. “Okay. Fine, fine. Mr. Updated, I’m ready to be elated.” A pause, and then he’s found enough air to add, “Do I need to read the warning label?”

Yoongi got a hold of the hilarity more quickly than Hoseok did, quickly enough that his voice is almost back to sardonic when he replies, “Nah. I’m not the one with a choking hazard.” His eyes deliberately flick down.

Hoseok chokes at that – and at Yoongi’s hand, once again sliding up his cock. Give it to him, once Yoongi’s decided to do something, he doesn’t hesitate to get it done. They don’t bother discussing condoms, a holdover from older days; both of them are pretty meticulous about getting tested, and shared that conversation years ago.

That makes it easy to relax at the feeling of Yoongi fisting the base of his cock, and then Yoongi is licking his head while his hand rubs the shaft in long, languorous strokes. The soft, wet heat flows straight to Hoseok’s lungs, to his head, a blanket of stifling pleasure. His breath is abruptly heavy, staggering, and automatically Hoseok curls his fingers through Yoongi’s hair, needing to feel something under him, to have some measure of control.

That’s a bit of intimacy that the other man allows, gaze sultry enough to set Hoseok’s skin aflame... if his mouth weren’t doing that already. Hoseok meets the heady scrutiny with an unwavering look, and there’s still a trace of laughter evident in the creases around Yoongi’s eyes. Affection courses through his arteries and he doesn’t know if this is poison or an antidote. All he knows is that he’ll take what’s given, whatever the results. No questions asked.

Yoongi is offering him an answer to his emptiness, and all Hoseok wants is to drown in it.

And drown in it he does, in the thick sounds the other man makes around his cock, in the feel of his fingers settled into Yoongi’s soft locks, in the geyser of aching incandescence that’s fountaining through his stomach and erupting in his chest.

“Yoongi,” he mumbles, and the syllables are perfect in his mouth. “Yoongi, you’re… ah … so, so good . Fuck me, you’re...”

This is part of what he’s wanted so desperately. And even if it’s only half, a third, a decimal of what he’s been longing for, Hoseok soaks in the sensation and, in the moment – right now – convinces himself that this is enough.

This is enough, but – but his fingers still tighten, hips jacking forward faster and harder to chase the warmth that Yoongi is giving him. The man on his knees grunts at the added force, and his hands fall from Hoseok’s cock to brace against Hoseok’s thighs. Not a sign to stop, not yet, and Hoseok wants so badly, wants to come in Yoongi’s mouth, wants to spill himself for something more than absolutely nothing at all.

Frantically Hoseok fucks Yoongi’s mouth, his thrusts deep and heavy, gaze focused on Yoongi’s face. The other man has his eyes closed, and he takes the hard jerks with a bobbing throat and squeezed eyes. A bit of saliva has escaped from the corner of his mouth, and his sweat is plastering his darkened hair to his forehead in a straggling mess. Like this – choking and gagging on Hoseok’s cock, fingers feebly curled into his thighs, face strained with the effort of keeping up – Yoongi looks… fuck, Yoongi looks good. He looks… like how Hoseok wants him to look. Barely keeping it together. Wrecked.

Hoseok comes with a muffled groan, the sound tearing out of him like there’s a wound in his throat, pleasure coursing through him in jagged strips of lightning. Yoongi chokes more harshly, and then his hands are pushing firmly against Hoseok’s legs. Taking that cue immediately, Hoseok relaxes his grip, letting the other man pull off of him with a wet noise.

Still gasping, Yoongi nonetheless keeps his face near Hoseok’s cock, and the last few spurts catch him on the lips, the cheek. Pearly white fluid trickles down his chin, mixing with his saliva, and the sight is abruptly so overwhelming Hoseok has to look away.

Yoongi’s breath is ragged, interspersed with coughing, and it takes several minutes to smooth out. In that time, Hoseok... drifts. The sexual satisfaction drapes across him, smothering in its weight, and he makes no attempt to disentangle himself from it. In a different time he would have pulled Yoongi into his lap, caressed his back and pressed gentle kisses along his shoulders until he recovered his breath. Maybe he would have gotten him a glass of water, or joined him on the floor.

Now… Now Yoongi rests on his haunches, recovering alone. Hoseok recovers alone, too. By the time Yoongi’s caught his breath, the painful ecstasy has faded, leaving a worn out ache that’s nowhere near his groin, but somewhere higher, just above his sternum.

He’d… shit, had he really wanted to see Yoongi choke? Wanted to see him struggle to keep up, to take it, just to please Hoseok? Because… what, because he deserved it?

Guilt invades his head, dispelling the satisfaction like mist in a heavy rain. Hoseok shifts uncomfortably, forcing himself to turn his eyes to Yoongi.

The other man is looking at him, and when he sees Hoseok’s gaze, he flushes. He doesn’t glance away, though. Face still slick with cum and spit, his cheeks stained red from effort and from coughing, he shouldn’t look as soft as he does. As tender. “How was it?” he asks, like it’s not already obvious, and though his voice is hoarse, it isn’t mocking.

“Good. Really good.” Hoseok’s hands are on his thighs, rubbing at the fabric, and he can’t seem to make himself stop. “I – If I went a bit overboard, or –”

“Did I tell you to get off, except at the end?” Yoongi slowly rises, turning the motion into one long stretch. His neck and collarbone are marked with a mottled collection of the fresh hickeys that are beginning to show. “Nothing’s changed with that, Hobi. I can take it.”

That doesn’t mean you should have to. That’s something Hoseok doesn’t know how to say. Why are you taking it, is another collection of words that won’t leave his tongue. The biting, the bruises, the facefucking… It’s not that they’d never done it before, but this is a further extreme, and more than that, it’s not mutual. They liked pushing at each other, straining limits, but this –

This isn’t that.

“Well – I’m still sorry.”

“Didn’t I tell you to leave off on that shit?” Harsh words, but said mildly, and Yoongi shakes his head. “I’ll be right back.” He slips away, leaving Hoseok to the shame that’s fighting with his justifications. A stalemate. He really can’t remember where his pleasure had begun and his resentment had ended in the stifling thrill of fucking Yoongi. If there even was a beginning… or an end.

Yoongi comes back too quickly for the question to spiral into something blacker. He’s got a Kleenex box in one hand, a bottle in another, and sets both on the table unceremoniously. Snagging a tissue for himself, Yoongi starts wiping off his face while using his other hand to turn the bottle so that the label’s facing Hoseok.

Lube, as if he couldn’t have guessed.

Somewhat surprisingly, though, Yoongi doesn’t immediately pop the question. To Hoseok’s relief, he’s quiet as they clean up a bit. Then Yoongi settles back on the couch, his limbs sprawled in a lazily casual pose. Not right next to Hoseok, but close. Close enough to reach, if Hoseok wanted to.

He wants to.

His hands remain at his side.

Working his jaw, his thumb gently massaging his throat, Yoongi smiles faintly. “Mmm, that’s gonna hurt in the morning.” When Hoseok grimaces, he shakes his head. “In a good way, Hobi.” Yoongi pauses, leans a little away, like he wants to get a better look at his companion. After a moment of quiet that draws out thick and uneasy (at least on Hoseok’s part), Yoongi says softly, “You know I’m good, right? This didn’t, like, kill the mood for me or anything. I just couldn’t quite finish you off, at the end. Not your fault.”

It didn’t kill the mood for Hoseok, either, and that might be part of the problem. Shoulders hunched, he replies tersely. “I didn’t – I don’t wanna hurt you, Yoongs.”

“Really? Coulda fooled me.” When Hoseok huddles even further into himself at the lightly teasing note, Yoongi hums, a chastised sound. “Nah, I’m kidding. Besides, maybe I want you to hurt me. Ever think of that?”

Hoseok skirts a glance at him sidelong, and Yoongi raises a sardonic eyebrow. “You’re not gonna kinkshame me, are you? I still remember the mirror thing, with–”

“How are you so okay with this!?” The demand bursts out, more of an appeal than a question, and Hoseok can’t stand how relaxed the other man looks. How easily he’s accepting how Hoseok has been going at him tonight. Hoseok had disliked how cutting Yoongi was earlier, the insults and taunts sinking in like barbs, but he’d take that before – before whatever the hell Yoongi is doing now.

Yoongi examines Hoseok for a long moment before he replies. “I… forgot,” he eventually says, the words slow but not uncertain. “How good it feels, how… how whole I feel, to be near you. So you’re rough, so what? As if I give a fuck about that, after… everything else.”

There’s too much in those words. Too much hope, too much joy… and too much permission granted when it shouldn’t be, or at least for the wrong reasons.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He repeats it because he has to drive the words through his own skull, convince himself of them. “Not like this, Yoongi. Not…”

“So don’t.” He jerks around to stare at Yoongi head on, and the other man is smiling, just a thin twist of amusement. “Whatever else, you’re not an asshole, Hobi. I haven’t known you in years, and I still know that’s true. If it’s bugging you this much, it’s not your thing. At least not tonight.”

Hoseok doesn’t reply. He can still feel that bloom of pleasure, that wave of satisfied vindication that had struck him so forcefully at the sight of Yoongi choking. With that in his head, he’s not so sure that Yoongi’s right about him not being an asshole.

“Hey.” It’s Yoongi that bridges the gap, reaching over to give Hoseok’s bare shoulder a gentle shake. “It happened. I’m fine. Hell, I didn’t mind it.” His free hand steals up to caress the many marks Hoseok had left scattered across his neck. “Might even learn to do more than that. But…” Now his exhale is harder, closer to frustration. “For now, forget about it, okay? If you’re done, that’s fine, but I’m still good to go.”

That’s one of Yoongi’s greatest strengths. When he makes his peace with something, that’s it. He’s not someone to gnaw on a problem, to mull it over until it’s stripped to nothingness; he’s too blunt, too firm in himself, to bother with that.

Hoseok… does not have that strength. However, with Yoongi’s grip warm and secure on his shoulder, he thinks that maybe… maybe he could lean into his companion’s strength. Borrow a little of that certainty. At least for now.

Another bandaid. At this rate they’ll be covered with them.

It’s better than bleeding out. Hoseok makes himself smile; he makes himself chuckle. The sound is strained, but it still fills the air with something other than oppressive tension. “If you’re still good to go, old man, I am too.”

A long-time joke that makes Yoongi laugh. “You won’t be calling me that later,” he promises, and closes the distance between them.

They make out again, messier and deeper than last time. Physically at least, Hoseok was absolutely not lying when he said he was good, and as Yoongi strips out of his pants and underwear, it quickly becomes obvious that the other man wasn’t lying, either. Hoseok follows suit, yanks off the pants that hadn’t quite made it all the way off before.

Everything about this is slower than before, and it’s also softer. They kiss for a long time, hands busy exploring each other’s bodies, running over the canvas of skin with careful precision. A rediscovery.

Hoseok feels abruptly – timid isn’t quite it, but hesitant. Uncertain. Yoongi easily steps into the gap left by his misgivings. He’s gentle when he kisses Hoseok, but his hands are firm as they guide Hoseok to bend over the arm of the couch, bracing himself with his forearms. Those hands are no less certain when they cup Hoseok’s ass, spreading him wide.

Yoongi kisses the back of his thighs first, tender presses that still have the air seeping out of Hoseok’s lungs. Everything after that is a landslide of languorous sensation. The feel of Yoongi rimming him is a silky sort of pleasure, inspiring a tingling bliss that has his eyes drifting shut. Yoongi’s tongue flicks against him, slow strokes that tease his nerves, and he keeps at it until the languor becomes hotter, more urgent. His hands are busy too, playing with Hoseok’s balls and sliding along his stomach, and the touches are liquid heat added to a vessel that’s already overflowing.

Hoseok finds himself whining, subdued little sobs that he can’t quite hold back. The first time Yoongi adds lube to the mixture, the slick coldness of it being worked between his cheeks makes Hoseok stiffen and nearly yelp. Behind him Yoongi laughs, his fingers stilling for a moment, giving Hoseok a chance to relax. “Bear with it, yeah? Just a little more…”

Then his finger is penetrating Hoseok, still slow, almost too slow, and Hoseok moans. “Good boy,” Yoongi murmurs, dragging through the motion with maddening control. “You take it so good, Hobi.” He adds another finger shortly after, and the pressure quickly becomes staggering.

“More,” he groans, pushing back against Yoongi's hand.

The need floats through his stomach, so light it’s almost separate from him, but Yoongi clicks his tongue. “Nuh-uh. We’re going my way now, Hobi.”

Somewhere in the midst of the fluttering pleasure, Hoseok has just enough brain capacity left to suspect this may be some kind of revenge. Yoongi strokes his ass while penetrating him more deeply, and another wave of bliss drowns the thought.

Didn’t matter. This is a kind of revenge he could get behind.

The first time Hoseok finds himself about to come, the orgasm gathering force at the edge of his groin and his voice pitching up into raw breathlessness, he’s severely disappointed. Abruptly Yoongi’s fingers are gone, and even worse, his other hand is wrapped around the tip of Hoseok’s cock, lightly squeezing. Hoseok’s orgasm rises – hovers – and then falls away, back into a simmering intensity that has him writhing petulantly.

“Yoongi,” he gasps accusingly when he’s found enough breath to get anything out.

“So impatient,” Yoongi drawls, fingers dragging against Hoseok’s ass cheek in teasing circles – but doing nothing more than that.

“You are such an – ah. ”

Yoongi doesn’t move his fingers much once he’s slid them back in, just mild motions, enough to keep the fires in Hoseok’s gut stoked but no more than that. “Do you wanna beg me, Hobi? I’d probably let you get off if you did.”

A memory. Yoongi leaning over him and Hoseok so strung out he’s almost delirious. Strung out on Molly, yeah, but on feelings, too. A tsunami of sensations. An affection that’s so keen it hurts as he gazes into Yoongi’s blown pupils. The words, falling from his mouth in a nearly incoherent stream. “Please, Yoongi, please, I want you so bad, I want – I want – Please.”

He drops his head, presses his face against the forearm that’s braced against the couch’s arm. “Such an asshole.” The words are muffled, but Yoongi clearly hears them because he huffs, caught between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Suit yourself.”

When Yoongi’s fingers leave Hoseok, he has just enough time to be extravagantly dissatisfied before the other man puts one hand on his hip, the other sliding up his spine to rest on the nape of his neck. From that position Yoongi leans over him, hips pressing into his ass, breath tickling his face. “You ready for something a bit more?”

“Only if it’s actually more,” Hoseok retorts.  

A hard breath and then Yoongi gently nips at the outer shell of his ear, a teasing rebuke. “‘Course it will be.”

Though he takes his goddamn time with this, too. Settles back and preps himself with more lube, to judge by the tense sounds he makes, and Hoseok glances back a few times to enjoy the sight of Yoongi stroking his cock. After some time – more time than is needed, Yoongi’s eyes alight with wicked amusement when Hoseok squirms – he guides himself to Hoseok, the other hand returning to grip the back of his neck. Enters him with a gradual thrust that’s slick and easy because of the lube. Almost too easy, leaving Hoseok panting for more.

Yoongi’s not a liar, though. At least not about this. He gives Hoseok more, and then some.

His dick is more than enough to fill Hoseok, a swelling force that only grows as Yoongi pushes himself in more deeply. The heat builds, swelters, sweeps across Hoseok’s muscles until he’s trembling with the intensity of it. His partner’s sounds – guttural grunts that pitch into tantalizing breathlessness – just enhance the feverish frenzy.

Yoongi is as deliberate as before, but – thank fucking God – he picks up the pace before too long. His tempo is jarring in its relentless drive, and he hammers into Hoseok with so much force that it becomes hard to hold himself up on the couch arm.

A particularly strong thrust spills Hoseok off his balance, and he pitches forward and finds himself hanging off the edge of the couch, the arm pushing into his lower chest. The sudden change in position puts Yoongi at just the right angle, and his next stroke has Hoseok crying out with the burn of pleasure. The other man slows, but Hoseok manages to croak, “No, Yoongs, keep – keep going,” and Yoongi obliges.

At last, and too soon, he comes. The tidal wave of electric heat surges from Hoseok’s groin, splashes against his nerves and sends waves of shuddering release through his trembling body as his back arches. Hoseok shakes with the intensity of his peak, whining gasps escaping his lips, his vision white around the edges. He can feel his cum trickling down his leg, and the sensation makes him sag. It takes all he has not to collapse completely, to just let the pleasure overwhelm him.

But Yoongi’s still going, so Hoseok does the best he can to keep upright. After the initial flurry of gut-wrenching fervor, it gets easier, and he rolls his hips a bit, pushes back, trying to return the favour. Yoongi’s hand never left his neck, and it tightens now as Yoongi’s strokes become faster, shorter, more erratic. “Fuck, Hobi,” he’s panting, the words a slur of feeling. “You’re so – perfect. So much ...”

Hoseok feels Yoongi’s orgasm as a pulsing at the base of his cock, buried in Hoseok’s ass. As, seconds later, an increased wetness pooling inside. More vivid is Yoongi’s voice, huskily crying out, his tone a tapestry of gratified colours.

He can read that tapestry, and to hear Yoongi elevated to those blissful highs makes something in Hoseok’s chest tighten and lighten simultaneously. When Yoongi slumps against him, rubbing his face into Hoseok’s shoulder, the exhilaration just soars, a sweet joy that they still have this. Can still leave each other spent in the best way possible.

The past wavers against the future like a mirage rising from the road, difficult to separate, but for this moment, with Yoongi a warm weight against his back, Hoseok ignores the presence of the illusion. He flops onto the couch, and Yoongi falls partially on him with a grunt of agreement. They lie there for several minutes, and the other man barely moves, his breathing deep and steady as it spills against Hoseok’s skin.

It doesn’t last forever. It can’t. But while it does, he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the careless way Yoongi slouches into him. Like it’s natural. Like they’re both exactly where they’re supposed to be. He lets himself believe in the reassuring burden at his back. Lets himself believe, for now, that it won’t suddenly disappear.

Yoongi lifts himself up after a while, but not before nuzzling against Hoseok’s shoulder a final time. “Time to clean up,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling out in a gush of sticky warmth that stains Hoseok’s thighs and probably the couch, too.

The next few minutes are all business, though this, at least, isn’t caused by whatever alienation is between them. Yoongi’s always been very no-nonsense about clean-up, and Hoseok is enough of a neat freak to jump on that wagon with wholehearted purpose. They don’t talk, and at first that’s fine, the familiarity of the tasks before them settling naturally into the silence. They wipe themselves off, fix the squished cushions. As Hoseok pulls on his pants, Yoongi disappears and then reappears with cleaning supplies.

By mutual agreement, Hoseok scrubs the floor and Yoongi tackles the couch. It’s as his knees are pressed into the floor and he’s briskly wiping at the puddle left by the blowjob that discomfort starts to creep up on him, and the quiet begins to grate.

Even when they’re done and Yoongi’s flipped the worst of the cushions with nonchalant disregard for whoever turns it over in the future, the silence stays. They settle back onto the couch – Yoongi in a new set of clothes he’d recovered from his room down the hallway, black sweats and a grey T-shirt – and this is different than the agonizingly tense stillness of before.

It’s more tired, less hostile. But no less bewildered, for all of that.

Hoseok wonders how stupid it is to wish that, just once, a bandaid could cure gaping wounds and broken hearts.

At least Yoongi isn’t sitting much apart from him. As they recline, Yoongi with his feet up on the table, the smaller man is close enough to touch. Hoseok, made greedy by everything that’s gone before, too drained to be afraid enough to stop, holds out his hand. After a moment of hesitation, Yoongi settles his hand on top. Not quite holding – his fingertips trace fitfully across Hoseok’s palm, a ticklish series of swirls and lines.

Yoongi seems content to sit as they are; his eyes are half-closed, and he doesn’t stir like Hoseok does, every few seconds shifting and tensing. Yoongi is good at accepting the things in his hands, especially if it’s what he’s wanted all along. For Hoseok, though…

The anxiety grows, and if it isn’t anywhere near strong enough to displace the satisfaction and almost-wholeness of the last hour or so, it’s too stubborn to totally dislodge from his mind.

He steals a look at Yoongi, at his long lashes lazily fluttering over his dark eyes, at the slight curl of his mouth, an unconscious expression of contentment. The sight has Hoseok’s throat closing with yearning, and he honestly can’t tell if it’s a longing for the man or his ability to exist in the moment. Hoseok used to be good at that – he used to be the best – but it’s something he’s lost over the years.

Just like so much else. How much of it can he get back? How much should he get back?

What if he wants it all?

He stirs for the umpteenth time, but more forcefully. When he withdraws his hand, Yoongi’s eyes slide open, head tipping to consider him. His expression is watchful and solemn, so much so that Hoseok realizes he hadn’t been as at ease as Hoseok had thought.

“Tired?” Yoongi asks wanly.

“Something like that,” Hoseok replies, just as faded.

There isn’t a window in this room, but there must be one in the kitchen because Yoongi says, “It’s almost a fucking snowstorm out there. Not much point in you going home in that.”

There’s a pause, and Yoongi’s gaze drifts to the hallway leading to his room. He hadn’t offered the space for them to fuck around in – a hurt that Hoseok buried deep in his chest when they began – and he seems to be struggling now. Furrows appear between his fine eyebrows, an eloquent testament to the conflict going on in his head, a return to the tension of before. Hoseok abruptly can’t bear to see it.

They both want so badly, but sometimes – for just today, or maybe forever – they have to accept that they can’t have it all.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Yoongi stills at the declaration Hoseok makes, his hand coming up to press against his neck like he needs reassurance.

It’s such a lost, lonely look. Hoseok swallows, and then smiles. One of his better pieces. “It’s fine. You always get those rocks for pillows, I’ll be better out here.”

“They’re good for my neck,” Yoongi mutters, but his hand doesn’t leave his throat and he still looks unsure. Like any second he might blurt out the invitation that neither of them are really comfortable accepting.

“I still move around like a psycho in my sleep, Yoongs, ‘specially in an unfamiliar bed. Believe me, it’s better if I’m out here.” He meets Yoongi’s gaze, tries to reassure with eyes alone that he is okay with this.

And he is. Insofar as he’s been okay with anything tonight.

At last Yoongi relents and his hand falls. “‘Kay. I’ll grab you some shit.”

Blankets, a pillow, some oversized sweats, a toothbrush, they’re all unceremoniously dumped onto the couch. Yoongi – somewhat belatedly – gives him a tour of the small apartment, though it doesn’t include his room. It’s essentially to point out the bathroom and where the chipped glasses for water are in the kitchen. As he’d said, it’s snowing hard outside, and when Hoseok returns to the living room he actually feels grateful to be able to curl into blankets instead of straggling outside in the cold.    

The rest is just cleaning up, fastidiously making a bed for himself, throwing on the sweatpants Yoongi provided, and then reclining on the couch. It’s just a bit too small, and he might or might not find himself falling off it at some point during the night – he was being honest about the restlessness thing – but nonetheless Hoseok grins at Yoongi, hovering nearby.

“Perfect!” he declares, stretching out his arms and wiggling his toes under the blanket.

Yoongi lifts an eyebrow at the enthusiastic and totally not excessive display. “You look like a kid at your first sleepover,” he observes with a snort that does nothing to dispel the affection in his voice.

Hoseok squirms his way deeper into the blankets in reply.

Smiling faintly, Yoongi shakes his head. “Night, Hobi. You want the light off?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The living room is abruptly dark, leaving just the light spilling from behind the door to Yoongi’s bedroom, left slightly ajar. Hoseok wiggles a few more times, finding a more comfortable position. It’s as he’s sinking into the cushions with a sudden sense of exhaustion that he realizes Yoongi isn’t in his room; his silhouette is breaking up the light coming from there.  

He cranes his neck, can’t see anything but Yoongi’s dim outline down the hall, and gives it up as a bad job. Instead Hoseok just stares up at the ceiling he can’t see, listening to the sound of his own steady breathing. He waits.

“Hey, Hobi?” Yoongi’s voice eventually slips through the dark room, diffidently calling for Hoseok’s attention, and he murmurs a quiet question in return.

“I missed you, too.”

It comes to Hoseok as Yoongi’s door softly closes that he’s holding his breath. Like a sudden exhale might release the thrumming in his chest. Like he might spill the nebulous joy if he sighs too hard. His thoughts are fragile with uncertainty. The elation is a shivery, delicate thing, and he knows if he holds it too hard in his head it’s going to go to pieces under the weight of the past.

So Hoseok doesn’t hold the words hard. He breathes. Breathes and closes his eyes and pushes his face into the pillow that smells like Yoongi. He follows those words as he slips into sleep, and he couldn’t have said where they were leading him.

[katsuki-goodness]

<= Part 4 =>

Summary: If he wanted to come, he could have.

Tagged: @todosweetheart @afuckingunicornn

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote anything so I'm sorry for the inconsistencies. I made sure to look over it so I am hoping everything is okay lol Also, Val, I had forgotten you changed your name XD But I hope you enjoy this regardless. My writing isn't what it use to be but I only write when I feel in the mood so I hope you both enjoy this, and everyone else too~

"She is bruising up! She is losing too much blood! Y/n! Please!"

"Deku...!" Izuku stood up in front of his classmates, looking out to the stadium below where your body was lying motionless for everyone to see. You had not been hit by Todoroki regardless if that was the intention. He was trying to win and you had the same excuse, but you pushed yourself. You couldn't get a single scratch on him until he had assumed that he won. You were able to put him in the ground but he rolled away in time before you had the chance to smash him into the rocky floor. Your body began to wear out, your arms were giving up as they began to loosen upon you and that's when you began feeling wet. Something felt weird but it wasn't the water of any sort that was covering your arms, but the blood that was forming inside your arms. They began to bruise but you didn't think much of it and used your quirk to attack him again.

It took just a few seconds for you to feel the sharp pain, making you fall over and whale in pain. You had pushed yourself so hard that it popped some blood vessels and tore a ligament in your shoulder. Todoroki looked panicked but he didn't know what to do. Izuku quickly screamed out in fear, calling your name as the teachers stopped the match. Katsuki stood up from his seat, his eyes in utter shock. This couldn't be happening to me is what he thought, and his anger took over more and more until he jumped down to the lower levels to get to you. You were picked up and getting ready to be taken away but he caught up, his eyes angry, watering as if he felt like he was going to lose you.

"You damn idiot! Why the hell would you push yourself so hard, huh?!" His voice cracking but he continued to keep his anger to topple his worry and sadness.

"Bakugou, please, go back to your seat," Nightmare had asked which got ignored by the blonde.

"Were you trying to prove a fucken point by what, hurting yourself?!" He got closer to you, the stretcher holding your limp body. He was stopped by Todoroki who only held him back with a hand on his shoulder. The blonde looked back with blind rage but the heterochromatic eyes that looked back at him told him to calm down and that's all it took for Katsuki to growl under his breath and leave the stadium.

-

You were quickly rushed to Recovery Girl and were diagnosed. You had to rest in bed for quite a while until your arms could properly heal. Since popping a vessel can be healed in short of a few days with the help of medical professionals, what will be a hassle would be the shoulder that you tore. It wasn't a massive tear but it wasn't something that shouldn't be taken lightly. After all, you should have lost both your arms if they tore even more, and no thanks to you who wanted to push yourself against Todoroki. Really, it might have sucked but you tried.

Your thoughts might have been running a lot but they all stopped once you blacked out, and once you woke up again, they came back. The headache was intolerable making tears roll down your eyes as if they paused until your mind was able to process what was happening.

The first thing you saw was the walls. You recognized them. Of course, you felt stiff and a lot more pain than you anticipated, but at least the silence got you to sigh in relief.

"It seems like I couldn't make it, huh," You had asked yourself with a sigh coming right after. You wondered if Todoroki was disappointed in his victory or was he glad about it. There was no reason for him to not be glad but what do you know. I'm sure as heck that I don't.

A sudden sound of a door sliding open caught your attention. You assumed it was Recovery Girl but the familiar green hair and expression made your eyes soften, remembering how those same eyes were still very much the same as the ones looking back at you right now.

"Your arms," He had said, walking in and closing the door behind him, his eyes still trailing the bandages on your arms. Your smile was forced but you did it to not worrying him which only made him worry even more.

"I'm okay. I was told to rest. My arms aren't as bad as they seem.” If you moved then maybe the pain will come back for a split second. It felt a bit suffocating to feel Izuku here but who else was going to come aside from your classmates?

“Y/n, you’ve been noticeably pushing yourself and you make it seem like everything is okay.”

“Because everything is okay.”

“But you’re hurt, Y/n. Do you not see that?” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to push your limits in this case even when it is just for fun. Has it ever stopped Izuku from doing the same? You watched him how he destroyed himself just to make a point and win against Todoroki but he lost, and his wounds were more severe than you’d had seen. You don’t know how the boy in front of you got a quirk but he did and he was now telling you the same advice you were sure he was told.

“How about you take your own advice, Izuku,” You had told him, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “I understand you are worried but I’m fine. Really.” You were able to tell that he was not satisfied with your response. He walked closer to you and sat at the chair that was near your bed. It was only there because Recovery Girl was talking to you as she made sure you were okay. You had focused on the boy, not realizing that he had begun to talk again.

“I understand how you feel about Kaachan but he is truly is worried about you.”

“I can’t really say that’s true when he doesn’t show his feelings towards anyone. All he does is get angry.” It went silent again and neither one of you said a single thing, not even when Izuku left the room to let you rest. Your thoughts were cloudy and you weren't sure if the only reason you felt like that was because Izuku came to see you. He mentioned Katsuki knowing that you felt some sort of way about him. Of course, he knew. 

It had been a while of just sitting around, seeing a lot of your classmate enter and disappear, going back to the probably rowdy lunch room. You were astonished by the student coming in and out, questioning you whether or not you were okay. Your sadden eyes took notice of the look on some of their faces, showing signs of worry and you hadn't felt cared for in this way for a long time. It was even more apparent in Izuku's eyes, the way his lips tried turning upright into a smile but quickly turned into a frown.

Going through the many possibilities of what to do as you rested, the groans came out each time you tried adjusting yourself, your arms aching, becoming stiff when you moved them on top of your lap. It was getting late at this point, noticing that the sun outside was now setting, the beautiful oranges and pinks painting the sky. It looked very out of the ordinary but it was beautiful nonetheless. In the short time it took you to be mesmerized, recovery girl had entered the room, her clipboard in hand and someone else following her. It was Todoroki and Kirishima, looking guilty and you right away noticed it. You wondered if they were gonna apologize when it wasn't even their faults.

"Heyy," Kirishima's nervous voice elongating his greeting. Todoroki didn't say anything but you meeting his eyes was enough of a greeting to you. "How're you feeling?" The red headed added, coming closer to the bed with Todoroki trailing behind him.

"I'm okay. I should recover pretty soon," You answered with a soft smile.

"Was it serious?" Todoroki was the one to ask this time, and you tilted your head slightly to the side.

"In a way? But I'm fine." Your short responses only gave the boys knots in their stomach. Kirishima wasn't here for himself but he also wanted to apologize to you, remembering that the reason he was here was because of Bakugou.

"Hey, um, I'm sorry you ended up like this. I'm also sorry Bakugou caused a scene."

You shook your head. "I'm used to it. I've known him for years. It's not the first time he caused a scene like that especially in front of that many people."

Kirishima gave you a small smile, and rub the back of his neck. "I actually came on behalf of Bakugou. He was suppose to come but he didn't have the courage to do so. I'm sorry, he said he didn't want to but knowing him, I know it's because he's too shy."

Katsuki? Shy? Since when? You were completely confused but you felt as if asking would just make you sound dumb. The blonde was an aggressive Pomeranian who never thought and just acted on his feelings. You couldn't remember much of what happened but you heard his voice, and it was worrisome, which troubled you greatly. Nonetheless, you didn’t want to get your hopes up when it came to Bakugou. It will turn bad if your hopes just became that, hope.

You shook your head in disbelief and lightly smiled to Katsuki’s friend, making him a bit nervous when you tried adjusting yourself. “By the way, who won?” Both boys looked at each other, and Kirishima decided to respond for the both of them.

“It should be a given. He won a second time in a row.” You didn’t know whether to jump in joy , and even the faces of the boys seem off to you that it felt like they wanted you to be happy for the guy. You told yourself that you shouldn’t be but… maybe this time-

“I’m… glad he won.” It should have been convincing enough, but maybe not entirely, either way, Todoroki and Kirishima took the hint and didn’t press on, their now nervous expressions becoming softer. After the awkward silence, Kirishima smiled and reassured you that everything with Bakugou will be okay. Todoroki didn’t really know how to say goodbye so he nodded with a light blush, walking out before Kirishima. They were gone and the room became quiet again.

You hadn’t realized that you had been holding your breath, exhaling and letting the heaviness of your heart finally deplete as you laid back into your pillow. “Am I really glad he won?”

You had left the infirmary with a brace holding your arm in place. You went home with you parents, walking into your room and sitting on your bed with your mind very much occupied with the events that happened today. You looked around with your eyes pinpointing a small plush that was gifted to you at a young age. It was nothing too weird, just a regular cat plush that a particular blonde had gifted to you. He was sweet back in middle school, even if he was bullying Deku all the time.

You walked over to it, looking it over and inspecting it with the saddest eyes and smile. You let it go, playing it next to your old instruments you don’t play anymore. It will gather up dust if it stays there, but that’s okay. You felt like this was better than letting him get to your head. He rarely came to you unless it was to fight and argue, and even Deku was no exception. They aren’t your friends anymore, but you’re glad they are striving, and you have to do the same.

[theprojectava]

The Silent War

Sooo...remember the last post s8 fix-it post I made? I wrote a little something for it (I’ll upload it on ao3, too, but I still have to make an account there).

It’s not beta read and I suck at writing stuff in English since it’s not my mother tongue. Please bear with me. :)

(Fic’s under the cut)

Our room is dark, the blinds are shut tight

And everything is still too much outside

When he left it hurt like hell. It felt like Shiro had finally run out of time. He should've said something sooner.

There had always been tomorrow, another time, next week, after this mission,when this meeting's over, promise, I'll tell him then!

The war had finally, officially ended. But not for them. The universe was in disarray – all the Galra Empire had left in its wake were ruins and ashes of whole worlds burnt to nothing. The war had never stopped and so their duties as Paladins and diplomats of planet Earth continued to tear them apart. Silently. For no one to see. Not even Shiro.

He only felt the sensation of something finally ripping, when it was too late. Keith was gone. By the time they noticed, he was already on the other end of the known universe, fighting off war criminals and rebuilding what was left of civilizations that had taken the brunt of the Empire's wrath over thousands of years. Somebody had to do it, Shiro told himself again and again. And of course it had to be Keith. This was what he was born for. The stars. If he was completely honest with himself he had always known that the younger man was never meant to stay on the ground with both his feet. The moment he had seen him so many years ago, he had known. Keith was meant to fly and reach for the stars or go crashing down with them.

But it still hurt so much. Because in spite of knowing that this day would come, he still wasn't prepared to let him go. He wasn't prepared to lose the man that meant everything to him.

Maybe it had taken him too long to realize what Keith really meant to him. That he couldn't live without him by his side. There had always been tomorrow, another time, next week... The possibility that there would be a tomorrow without Keith by his side seemed so impossible after all they went through. But maybe that's what went wrong in the end. Shiro had taken Keith for granted – a constant in his life that would always be there, no matter what. And now it was too late.

It may be over but not tonight

I may be older but I still cry

I can't stop sleeping in your clothes

You can't stop calling on the phone

Keith never reacted to any of his text messages. Whether it was because he was busy... or for a whole different reason Shiro didn't even want to think of, he didn't know. Silence was all there was between them now. With every unanswered message the hurt sunk deeper into his heart. It festered there and turned into bitterness with every passing month. He felt hollow inside. As Admiral and part of the Terran Delegation there was quite enough work on his hands to keep him busy for most of the day. But every time he'd come back home to a dark apartment and cold sheets he felt like sinking deeper into an all consuming emptiness. He should've given up trying to contact Keith by now. He knew that. In fact he should've stopped thinking about the other man every waking hour. The only problem was... he didn't know how. It was all he'd ever done.

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Just let it be, I'm in recovery

I'm holding on, I know I'm almost there

Storm reach out and tell me that you care

It stung like a knife to the chest when he found out that he seemed to be the only one who hadn't heard of Keith for almost a year. He'd met up with Pidge at one point, visited Lance and Allura on New Altea merely two months ago. He'd even made it to congratulate Hunk on his family's new house in person... The only one who hadn't seen him ever since he left... was Shiro.

Later he'd wonder if that had been the last straw. If that was what finally broke him. When he found out Keith was back on earth for a few days without telling him, he snapped. He packed all his stuff and left his office like a raging storm. He knew he shouldn't corner Keith like that. He knew deep down, that it was wrong. Patience yields focus, remember? But he didn't care for one second. His whole body felt numb, yet at the same time so full of cold anger. He needed answers. Nobody stopped him when he mounted one of the hoverbikes and sped off into the desert. He knew exactly where to find Keith.

When he reached the shack he knew Keith was there, even before he saw the younger man's pale face in the door frame. He was hurting them. Both of them and Shiro knew. But there was no turning back from this conversation now. There was no way this could go on for any longer. Shiro already felt like crumbling to pieces, he couldn't stand the silence anymore. At this point he really believed that he couldn't hurt much more. He'd been through torture and war. He'd survived the pits. He'd survived experimentation and losing his arm. He died and came back... But there was no way he could withstand this.

The moment they started talking Shiro could already tell Keith was closing in on himself, building up walls even he couldn't tear down anymore. The telltale twitching of his hands, the way his shoulders hunched... Keith was unreadable to most people. Anyone else would've thought of him as indifferent to what was going on. Shiro, on the other hand, knew what to look for. He could read Keith like a book. And that's where the fighting began.

Being shut out felt like a slap in the face. It burnt right down to his very core.

“It's better this way”, Keith told him. “I'm sorry...”

They screamed at each other. They cried. Two thrashing animals caught in a trap, neither of them ready to go down. Ultimately, it was all in vain. Keith had made his decision, for reasons unknown. He'd take this secret to the grave if he had to. Shiro would never know what drove the former Red Paladin away from him. But his choice was final.

Tears burnt in his eyes, when he turned to leave. He never wanted to do this... But the words bubbled up unbidden, nonetheless.

“Fine... If that's what you want. I won't stop you”, he looked back at Keith and saw the exact moment the words registered and hit home. “But don't expect me to be there when you decide to come back one day.”

That day he had hurt Keith in a way, he'd never forgive himself for. There was no going back from this. The damage had been done. He left without looking back, not expecting Keith to reach out and keep him from leaving. He never did, anyway.

I'm finally sober, I see the light

The worst is over, nobody died

I'm still trying to let you go

Oh baby, please, leave me alone

A brand new war began. One that Shiro wasn't sure he'd survive – a silent war. No one else could see it, but they could feel it. There was tension wherever Shiro went, hanging in the air around him like thick rain clouds. None of his friends dared saying anything – they all knew. They had to know. Because Keith never showed up to any of their anniversaries on New Altea, again. It was a silent war and this... this was Keith's way of opening fire. Shiro embraced it. Swallowed it. And then cried it out into the darkness of his empty bedroom, when no one else would hear.

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Just let it be, I'm in recovery

I know you wanna say you're sorry

But I don't wanna hear that story

Days bled into weeks, weeks bled into months. His heartache wouldn't fade. Shiro's chest had become an open wound refusing to heal. When was the last time he had laughed? He didn't know. All he did these days was work himself into the ground, working overtime for hours on end until he was either too tired to think or fell asleep in his office. That was until he fainted during a meeting. There's only so much sleep deprivation a human-Galra-hybrid clone body can endure.

When he came to himself again there was a man hovering over him. He remembered him from the Atlas. One of the bridge staff. What was his name again? Carl? Curtis? Curtis.

“Are you alright, Sir?”, he asked.

It's weird... how things change so fast.

Turned out Curtis was what Shiro needed. For the moment. Talking to him was easy... kissing him was easier. Easy was good for now.

They moved in together after dating for a few months. Shiro proposed after another two or three. Of course Curtis said yes. Everything was easy with him. So why did Shiro feel like he was drowning? Sending the invitations to their wedding earned him a few rounds of interrogation from his friends, especially Allura and Pidge. They'd picked up on what had occurred between him and Keith – mainly because Keith had quite regular meetings with Allura and Lance on New Altea, since he became a senior member of the Blades... At least that's what Shiro heard. Both of them knew how much Shiro was hurting, but all they could do was give him sympathetic glances. They knew why Keith did what he did. That maybe protecting his own poor heart from potential hurt was what led to them silently tearing each other apart. It hurt to watch.

Of course they sent an invitation to Daibazaal, too. Since none of them knew Keith's current location, they'd chosen to send it to Krolia instead, knowing Keith would get it, sooner or later. That was Shiro's counterblow in this cold war between them.

Always thought you'd be the one

Who always needed me

My home, you'd be my home

After the wedding, the silence only grew. As did the emptiness in Shiro's life. His marriage lasted for a whole 2 years. The time it took them to get divorced included. There were no “I told you so”s from his friends – only support and a lot of hugs. Shiro didn't know what was worse. Because he himself had known this relationship was meant to crash and burn the moment he had proposed. Maybe before.

He felt terrible. Throwing his own heart in the line of fire because he couldn't let go of someone who clearly didn't want him was one thing... Pulling Curtis into this and putting his heart on the line as well, was a whole different thing. Has he always been such a terrible human being? Could this be the reason why Keith left? Because he'd seen how Shiro hurts the people around him on purpose? There was no way of knowing now. Keith was long gone... and yet, he was still everything Shiro ever knew.

Suddenly, your memory

In time is like an enemy, so cold

Five years. It had been five years since the last time they saw each other. Back in Keith's shack. Shiro's last words still rang in his ears, loud and clear. It had taken him a year or so, until he realized he'd used the same words Adam had thrown at him, before he'd left for the Kerberos mission. It felt like a lifetime ago. Another thing in a long line of things he regretted voicing or not voicing in front of Keith. It seemed like he never told Keith the most important things. But if he did tell him anything, only the wrong things came out. Things he never wanted anyone to hear. Unfair things.

The universe, as Shiro had known it, was in shambles.

A soft ping was all it took to tilt the universe back into the right direction. It was 3:00 am. An unusual time to get notifications nowadays. Shiro had stepped back from a few positions in the past year, slowly letting others take the reins. It was time for him to go back and teach at the Garrison... Or maybe... Maybe one day he'd see the stars again. He could hear them calling already.

Another ping and he was fully awake. With half lidded eyes a grabbed his phone. The bright orange light was nearly blinding in the darkness of his bedroom. He took one look at the display and nearly dropped the device into his own face. Wha-... Was he dreaming?!

There were two messages glaring back at him, taunting him. This had to be a dream. It had to.

Keith (03:02):

Dear Shiro.... I know I fucked up royally. Fuck, I'm not good at this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's been a while..... But can we maybe talk?

Keith (03:03):

I understand if you don't want to. I'll leave you alone if you don't want to see me. But I... I can't do this any longer.

Shiro's heartbeat was deafening. Blood rushed in his ears. He had to pinch himself to make sure this wasn't another cruel dream.

This was happening. This was really happening. It had been five years. Five years of silence.

His fingers moved before he could even register what was happening and pressed “send”.

Shiro (03:05):

Don't be. We both did a lot of fucking up. We can talk whenever you want.

It took about ten minutes and Shiro was ready to dose off again, when his phone went off. It wasn't a text message this time. But a video call.

“Hey.”

A single word. It only took a single word... His voice was tinny and rougher than he remembered. His hair had gotten longer. Long enough to be braided actually. There was an edge to his face that hadn't been there when Shiro last saw him. But it was Keith. Sweet, beautiful Keith.

“Hey”, Shiro replied, his voice raspy and thick with emotions.

They talked. They actually talked. At 3:00 am. Not about what happened between them, not about the reason why Keith left, not about Shiro's marriage or divorce. But they talked about small things, like Keith's latest mission or that annoying woman from the canteen who didn't get the message Shiro was into men. But who could blame her? Ever since Curtis Shiro had never tried dating again.

When they finally hung up it was with the promise of meeting up when Keith got back to earth next month. It was almost 5:00 am. Neither him nor Keith had said it out loud, but it hung between them, so thick it was almost palpable.

“I miss you.”

Can't you see I'm in recovery?

Meeting Keith after all this time was like finally, finally putting the shards of his universe back together. Like finally laying their weapons down and calling off the war they had started on that fateful day in the shack.

It was awkward at first... until it wasn't.

One touch, a simple hand on a shoulder kind of touch, was all it took to open the gates to a flood. There were tears. Lots of tears. Tears of joy and sorrow, of forgiveness and apology. Years worth of silence were shattered by a flood of words. Once they started they couldn't stop. Hugging each other and holding on tight, never wanting to let go ever again.

“I'm so sorry”, whispered Keith in between ugly sobs. “I'm so, so sorry. I thought-... I thought-”

“Shhh”, Shiro tried to calm him, tightening his hold on Keith. But the younger man wasn't having it.

“No-... No, you have to hear this.”

He leaned back a little until he could look into Shiro's eyes. His eyes were red and still full of unshed tears.

“I'm sorry I ran”, Keith tried again. This time his voice was steadier. “I didn't know what to do. I thought... After the war you... You deserved better.”

“Better?”, Shiro frowned. “Better than what?”

“Me.”

At that moment it felt like Shiro's heart would burst out of his chest.

Before he could say anything Keith continued: “I... I thought after all you've been through, you deserved a life far away from war and fights and-... I knew I couldn't give you this.”

Another sob rocked Keith's lean body. He'd bulked up a little over the past few years, but he still felt so small and fragile in Shiro's arms.

“I never wanted to hurt you. But... I was afraid... Of hurting myself.”

There was a moment of silence. But a different kind of silence – a pleasant one. Finally, finally Shiro understood.

“You were trying to protect your heart”, he whispered.

Keith's eyes went wide for a second. But he nodded nonetheless. There was nothing left for him to lose. He'd lived five years without Shiro by his side... He'd been through hell already. All because he couldn't just tell Shiro how he felt.

“Well”, the corners of Shiro's mouth turned up into a soft smile. “there's no need to. Never was.”

Again Keith's eyes went wide, his brows rising almost comically high. Slowly, to give him enough time to pull back if that wasn't what he wanted, Shiro leaned down, until their lips were almost touching.

“I never told you this. I never found the right moment... and then you were gone”, with every word their lips brushed against each other. Keith closed his eyes. “Maybe I can tell you now.”

And with that he closed the distance between them.

Kissing Keith was everything he ever imagined it would be... and still so much more. The soft, warm feeling of his lips, the slow drag of his tongue against Shiro's bottom lip were intoxicating. He was done for. He knew that the moment he had to lean back and take a breath. He already missed the warmth of Keith's lips on his.

“I love you.”

The confession left his lips and he couldn't stop. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Tears filled the younger man's eyes again.

“I love you, too.”

For the first time in years it felt like there was a silver lining at the horizon.

They could to this. They could make this right. It had taken them five years, but finally, finally the universe seemed whole again.

The war of silence was finally over.

Song: “Recovery” by LP

[alicedopey]

Some Ivar TLC

This is a little fic for the Winter Wonderland Writing Challenge of @oddsnendsfanfics and @pixiedustandfairywings .

I picked the situation Playing in the snow with modern Ivar.

Pairing: Ivar / Reader

Genre: Romance / Fluff

Words: 1122

Warnings: None

Beautiful banner by my lovely @naaladareia

Christmas was your favorite holiday. You loved winter, the snow, the decorations, the songs, the atmosphere in general. This year was different though. This year, you felt like the Grinch and Scrooge had possessed your soul. You didn't even want to celebrate Christmas and this fact angered you even more.

Your parents had chosen to spend the holidays abroad with your brother and his wife. And you couldn't go because you had to work on Christmas Eve. You had tried to make them see reason, persuade them to stay with you and leave afterward but they had refused to heart about it.

“Y/N, try to understand. We would like to spend Christmas with our grandchildren.”

You understood perfectly but the child in your heart was shattered. There wouldn't be your mother's Christmas pudding, no exchanging of gifts in front of the Christmas Tree, no bickering with your brother about silly things. You would not exactly be alone but you wouldn't be with them either and that was the main issue. Since your parents had shared the news, you were feeling sad and grumpy.

Ivar, who usually was the grumpy one, had tried to cheer you up many times.

“You want to go to the Christmas Market downtown ?”, “Fancy a cup of eggnog?”, “What about Christmas songs?”

Every time, you refused in a grouchy way. You knew you were testing his willpower as you selfishly pushed away his attempts to make you feel better. Nonetheless, he remained calm each time... until this morning when you snapped at him about going to his parents for the event with another; “I don't care. Do what you want.”

Ivar had taken a deep breath and answered very coldly. “You know what ? Maybe I'll go and leave you here so that you have every reason to complain about being alone on Christmas.”

Feeling tears threatening to fell, you had just turned your back on him and left for work.

Remorse followed you all day long. Your behavior was not fair to him. He wanted to be there for you and you acted like a whimsical child.

So you went back home, determined to apologize and make amends. You opened the front door of the nice and cozy home you've been sharing with your boyfriend for two years now. In spite of his family being the wealthiest ever, you insisted on having something simple where you could feel at home. Another reason to apologize since Ivar had agreed to your request with no hesitation.

A nice heat welcomed you when you entered the room. Ivar had lit a small fire.

“Ivar.” No answer. “Ivar, I'm home.” Still no answer but you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket. It was a text from him.

“I'm outside. Join me ?”

You sighed but let go of your bags and made your way to the back door and into the snow-covered garden. You frowned, Ivar was nowhere to be seen. You took a few steps and looked around but there was no sign of him. What was he up to ?

“Ivar, are you playing hide-and-seek ? Ivar ? Iv....”

Splat ! Something hard and cold connected with your head. Your eyes widened when you realized somebody had just thrown a snowball at you ! You turned around and your eyes met the facetious ones of Ivar before another snowball hit you right on the chest.

“Come on, babe. Play with me !” Then, he threw another snowball at you to prove his point.

His smile was so contagious that a big one was finally stretching your own lips.

You gathered some snow in your hands to make a ball and took a few steps back in order to hide behind one of the many white bushes in your garden.

Once you were settled, the fight began. Snowballs were flying while your giggles where mingling to Ivar's laughs. You felt good and light. All negative thoughts had left your body to be replaced by a bubble of giddiness. You and Ivar were playing like little children with no worries in the world.

You played this way until you were both drenched from the snowballs hitting you and your cheeks were rosy from the cold.... and until Ivar lost his infuriating smirk when you managed to hit him on the face with a huge ball.

“Not so funny now, is it ?” He pouted and you laughed, offering him to build a snowman instead.

Ivar complied and tried to help you as much as he could since it appeared that it was his first snowman. When he saw your shocked face to his announcement, he merely shrugged his shoulders, reminding you that he had always disliked winter and everything related to it.

But still, he helped you and seemed to have fun, even using his scarf to dress up your creation. You watched him doing so and couldn't help beaming at him.

“Thank you.”

His eyes snapped up to yours. “What for ?”

“All of this.” You gestured to the snowman and the whole garden. “Sorry I've been so horrible to you lately. It's not fair.”

“Never mind.” He leaned over you and pecked your lips. “I know how much you usually love this time of the year and it sucks that you can't spend it with your folks.”

“Still....I shouldn't have acted this way. I'm sorry again and I can't wait to celebrate with your family. I acted like a selfish kid.”

He softly caressed your cheek. “I'm glad you feel better. It was nice to be the one cheering up the other for once.”

“Well, at least you know who I'm coping with every day.” You teased him before cupping his cheeks in your hands when you heard him scoff.

“I love you, Ivar.” It was your turn to peck his lips. Then, he surprisingly put one of his hands behind your neck and gave you a kiss that left you both breathless.

“I love you too.” He added against your mouth when his lips left yours.

You smiled. “Hot chocolate ?”

He shook his head. “Mmh, mmh babe. It's eggnog season.”

An airy laugh left your lips as you got away from him. “Oh, you so love Christmas.”

“I do not !” He replied indignantly in your back.

“Okay, okay....if you say so!” You waved your hand dismissively and made your way back inside.

As you started fixing your drinks, Ivar's head appeared in the door frame. “Can I get some Christmas cookies with it ?”

Tagging: @naaladareia @therealcalicali @tephi101 @ivarslittlebadgirl @ivarswickedqueen @akamaiden @mblaqgi @peaceisadirtyword @thevikingsheaux

[iincandcscence-a-blog]

❝I daren't stay long. I just had to see you after hearing about the incident. I sincerely hope being hospitalized can help you back onto your pedes. If you need anything, ask for me. You shouldn't strain yourself while you're in this state of health.❞

     🔥  ;;  »»  Rodimus didn’t feel compelled to move, but he slowly forced himself to sit up and look to Cyclonus anyway  ━  the strain on his recovering frame hurt, of course, but he couldn’t move his neck much in the risk that he’d reopen the wound and lose more energon.  He wanted to be able to look at the other mech, preferably without dying.

He almost went to speak, to reply with a simple thanks or something like “  I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse  ”, but the strain on his vocalizer wasn’t recommended.  “  Don’t speak unless absolutely necessary,  ”  was the advice Ratchet gave him.  “  The vocalizer needs time to heal naturally and to do so, your speaking must be kept to a minimum for the next month or two.  It won’t be too much of a hassle, I assure you.  ”

Not much of a hassle.  Did Ratchet forget who he was talking to?

Huh.  Maybe there was something he could scribble in, maybe write a note so Cyclonus could know what he wanted to say.  He still had everything in his subspace, right?  Oh, he might actually die a little on the inside if Ratchet took out his journal.  Please let it still be there…

Ah.  There it was.

Quickly, Rodimus flipped to the back of the journal, ignoring the other pages filled out with messy, faded writing, digging through for some sort of pen in his subspace.  He almost always had one, so with luck, he could find one somewhere;  which, it turns out, luck was on his side.

Before he started writing, he pushed aside his journal a little carelessly, not noticing it opened to a random page with writing scribbled across it.  Though, perhaps it wasn’t as random as one would think at first glance;  a poem.  Or, a few poetic lines, to be specific.  It was worn, and the writing had seen better days, but it was still readable;  “  torn down piece by piece, gently placed together again;  body of steel, spark of gold;  dangerous mind, beautiful soul.  ”

…  Hmm.

Nonetheless, Rodimus had written a (  slightly lengthy  ) note for Cyclonus to read.

          It’s going to take time to recover, but at least I don’t feel like death I’m dying.  Can’t speak, which sucks, but I’ll deal.  If you come around a few times every week or whatever, that’d be awesome nice.

          Doing captain duties is pretty hard now.  Actually, it’s non-existent.  Try supporting Magnus for me?  He’s going to need it since he’ll probably be trying to fill my role.  And if he denies it, just tell him I order him to listen I said it’d be better if he had some extra support while I’m out.  Oh, and could you also tell Drift to come around as soon as he can? I got something I wanted to ask him.  It’s just about communication.  I hate writing everything down.

Well, that would have to suffice.