#if I had to suffer in this thought so do you

[rafeyscurtainbangs]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪: 𝕋𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕃𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕤

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: older!rafe, age gap (college senior with rafe in his 30s), secret dating, angst, fighting, suspected cheating, name-calling, swearing, pet names, rafe grabs the reader’s face, spanking, spanking with a belt, bdsm, wet and messy, squirting, edging, multiple orgasms, threats, unprotected p in v, orgasm denial and control, rough sex, fingering, manhandling, soft!rafe at the end, praise, dirty talk, brat taming, teasing

📖 All of my asks got deleted 💕😭 so I'm not sure who requested this, but thank you! This was not a kinkmas ask, but I made it one 😋 The premise is that Professor!Rafe has been distant and now after cancelled plans you want to know what the hell is going on.

Masterlist

Reader’s POV:

The brisk December air bit your cheeks as you stepped out of your apartment and headed downtown. Christmas lights glowed warm along the street, but your mood was anything but light. You stuffed your hands into your pockets; your arm looped in your friend’s, head tilted on her shoulder as you suffered in silence.

All your finals were done, a long, relaxing break to look forward to, but all you could do was think about him…

For months, you had been navigating your whirlwind romance, secretly dating your Professor—sexy, intelligent, successful… And you had fallen hard against your better judgment. It was wrong… It was risky as hell… But it was real. Or, at least, you thought it was.

Lately, though, Rafe has been pulling away—canceled plans, vague apologies— his lingered gaze that you had gotten so used to fizzling away. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. A night away, just the two of you, celebrating your completion of the semester and a week of rest and relaxation for the both of you.

He hadn’t even brought up winter break… Rafe wasn’t looking toward the future anymore. He was completely checked out.

But tonight was different… He canceled, and unlike before, you didn’t ask for an explanation. And to your disappointment, he didn’t give one either.

“Forget him,” you grumble, momentarily wallowing in self-pity.

“Forget who?” Your friend asks with a laugh as she squeezes your arm a little tighter.

You bite your lips, taking a shallow breath as you let those two words slip your lips. “This guy from my econ class,” you lie. “He blamed our B on me…” Another lie.

”Who complains about a B in college?” Your friend scoffs and laughs, tipping her head on yours. “Forget him? Fuck him…”

“Agreed,” you smile, the wavering in your tone making her raise an eyebrow, pressing again.

“Is that why you didn’t want to come out?” She asks as she softens her voice. You flutter your lashes, feeling the emotion you’ve been pushing down bubble up in your chest.

It’s not like anything has happened… Nothing has happened, as a matter of fact. He was giving you nothing, yet you felt his silence was speaking louder than any words could. And who could you talk to about it? No one.

“Babe?” She tries again as your friends walk across the bustling street, heading into the flooded downtown area.

“Just not feeling like myself lately…” Your voice floats away with the winter wind as you see Rafe open the door, holding it open for a woman to pass through.

He looks handsome in his fitted suit and black wool overcoat, his hair brushed back, giving you a glimpse of his perfect face and chiseled features.

Your friend coaxes you forward, but your body freezes in the middle of the sidewalk. You watch as Rafe and a beautiful woman in a powder pink dress fall out of sight, disappearing behind the doors of The Flora Room.

“Seriously, what’s going on with you?” She asks, shaking you playfully to get you out of your daze.

“Where do you guys wanna go?” One of the girls in your party calls out. You look around the little town square, seeing bar after bar, knowing it would be a tough sell to get your friends to sit down even for a single drink in there when they could buy three shitty drinks for the fee of one overpriced martini.

You watch your friends drift to one of the downtown sports bars, but you keep your feet grounded. Your friend reads the room, hanging back with you, following where you lead, her curiosity piqued.

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” She mumbles from the corner of her lips as the two of you pass through the doors.

There’s no bouncer at the door; your shoes don’t stick to the ground with each step. Screaming, laughing, and a deep bass rumbling from the speakers are exchanged for light conversation and piano music. It’s rich and elegant, the polar opposite of what the two of you are used to on a typical night out.

“We’re just gonna sit at the bar,” you smile at the hostess, who extends a hand, ushering you back. Your eyes dance around the space, looking for Rafe and the women as you feel your anger and unease fester.

So busy you couldn’t see me, huh? You seethe as you position yourself just far enough away from him.

The situation is hard to read—a party? You look at the group he’s with; the lot of them dressed to the nines. Watching with your breath held as she laughs, his head tilting slightly as if the woman said something clever.

She looks sophisticated and expensive, her curves hugged in a dress that seems to have been made for her. She reaches out, squeezing Rafe's bicep as she chuckles again, making your stomach churn.

The bartender rests your martinis in front of you. You keep your eyes locked ahead; the tears in your eyes sparkle in the bar lighting. It's impossible to see without blinking, but you know the second you do, they’ll fall.

Your friend's hand rests on your thigh, and with that little bit of physical contact, your eyes shut. Tears roll down your cheeks and fall off your chin. She looks ahead, following where your attention was paid before looking back at you and back at him again. “Oh…” she breathes, before her eyes widen.

“Yeah,” you whimper, knowing she put two and two together. ”Just don’t-”

”I won’t say anything,” she assures before you can even finish, reaching over, blotting the tears off your cheeks with a bar napkin.

You reach in your purse, hands tightening around your phone, and without thinking, you open the text thread… The one where Rafe left you on read.

You: We’re done.

You watch as Rafe’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He adjusts slightly, looks at the lock screen, and sees the notification with your name on the front before stuffing it back in his pocket, not giving it any more attention.

Missed call after missed call; text after text… It only took a few blocks before Rafe finally pulled his phone out of his pocket and gave you the time of day.

You couldn’t help but give him a similar treatment, watching as all his attempts rolled in, you not making any effort at all. You look over your shoulder as you walk into your apartment; there are so many texts from Rafe that you know he can’t be far behind.

You pace your apartment, just waiting for the inevitable. Regardless of what that was or what that wasn’t, he’s been ignoring you. How simple would it have been to let you know where he was going and the real reason why he canceled?

That woman—who the fuck was that? A friend, I’m sure… But you couldn’t even fathom Rafe watching that all go down. He would feel the same fucking way, especially if you were giving him reasons to worry before.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

You hear Rafe’s heavy footsteps on the other side of the door, making your stomach sink, jarring you out of your thoughts.

“Baby,” Rafe’s familiar voice called from the other side. “What the hell is going on, huh? Open the door.”

Your fingers curl into fists by your sides, annoyed at how easily Rafe could demand your time. How he only seemed to care when you sent those three words. “Go away!” You shout, feeling goosebumps spread across your body.

“Not fucking happening,” his tone was firm—the frustration bled through his words. “Open the door.”

“No.”

“You kiddin’ me?” BANG. He bangs his fist against the door in frustration. You hear his voice soften as he gets closer to the door's seam. “What the fuck is going on?” He hisses.

“Why don’t you tell me,” you step a little closer as well.

“If I knew, I would apologize. Alright? I got nothin’ to hide from you-”

”Bullshit,” you cut him off. “Who was she, Rafe?”

“What?” He cries out as he jiggles the door handle rapidly, testing it and then testing it again. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“The women from the bar, Rafe. I was there.”

“Princess… What the hell?” He breathes. “You don’t understand, baby. C’mon.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Rafe,” you snap as you bang against the door yourself. “You’ve been ignoring me for days, you barely look at me anymore, you're canceling our plans, not telling me where the hell you’re going, and then I find you on the night we were supposed to actually spend some goddamn time together flirting with someone else. Yeah, Rafe. I understand. You’re a liar.”

Silence falls heavily outside the door. You furrow your eyebrows, looking through the peephole straight at your neighbor's door, your heart breaking when you don’t see him on the other side.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket, making your heart leap.

Rafe: Have a great night, sweetheart.

“You’re joking me,” you huff as you push out into the hall, gasping as Rafe pushes you back in.

“I love you. But you’re being a fuckin’ brat,” he grunts as he lets the door clap shut behind him before dragging you a few steps to your room, slamming that door as well.

“You have five minutes to explain, Rafe,” you shout, “then I’m kicking you out.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart? After all this time? That’s generous of you.”

“Talk or leave,” you snarl before Rafe shoves you down on the bed, making you gasp again as he mounts you fast, his hand slapping against your mouth, holding it shut.

“Stop fucking testing me and listen. Alright?” You mumble underneath his trembling palm. “If I lift my hand, you’re gonna listen to me, do you understand?”

Your eyes narrow on his, and he cocks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll tape your mouth shut if you won’t listen to me. You know that, right?” He asks in a gentler tone, contrasting his dark words.

You roll your eyes, finding yourself getting more annoyed by the second. “The fuck has gotten into you, huh?” He asks as he looks down at you below him, wearing a new defiance you’ve never shown before.

He lifts his hand, and you huff out a breath, scowling as you look up at him. The older man looks back at you with the same disgusted look.

“What, Rafe?”

“There’s been a rumor circulating around the campus that a professor has been sleeping with a student… I’ve been dealing with that—I have not been avoiding you for any reason other than that. And that woman… That woman who could never be you, princess, is not who you think. Okay?”

“So, who is she, then?” Your glare softens slightly, the bite of your tongue still there. “Because you sure seemed like you were enjoying her company, Rafe.”

Rafe sighs deeply, dragging his hand through his hair as he steps off the bed. “She’s the new University President… That was the faculty Christmas party. I forgot to tell you because I was too caught up in all this shit.”

”You forgot?” You ask. Rafe is taken aback by your attitude, even after telling you everything.

“Yes. I forgot,” he answers, his tone sharp. “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to protect us,” he chides as he gestures between you. “The scandal, the risks… You kept sayin’ everything was fine, so I wasn’t worried. I have never worried about you.”

You feel a slight guilt creep in, seeing him so vulnerable. You would be lying if you said you didn’t assure him everything was okay and that the two of you were fine. “Well, maybe if you’d told me, I wouldn’t have assumed the worst.”

“Assumed the worst?” Rafe’s scoffs, his frustration crystal clear. “You mean accusing me of cheating and ending things over a text? A text? Because that’s a rational response right there, sweetheart. Do you have any idea how much you mean to me?”

”You don’t get to turn this shit around on me, Rafe. You’ve been distant. When I told you I was “okay,” I wasn’t… Didn’t you notice a change between you and me? Couldn't you hear it in my voice that I clearly was not okay? You’re so distant. It’s like we’re not even together-”

“I’ve been distant because I’m dealing with this—this shit has real consequences, princess. This isn’t a fuckin’ game. If anyone finds out about us-”

“Then talk to me!” You yell over him as you step closer. “You’re acting like I’m irrational. I would have understood. All you had to do was tell me what’s going on!”

“And all you had to do was ask instead of throwing a fuckin’ tantrum,” he shoots back.

Your jaw drops, temper flaring even more. “A tantrum?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his gaze unwavering. “A tantrum. You’re acting like a spoiled brat-”

”Fuck you,” you hiss. “Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

“What the hell?” He laughs at you weakly, looking back at you like you’ve gone completely mad. “Where’s my girl? What the fuck is happening?”

“Do you need help finding the door or what?”

His eyes widen; the man struck utterly silent. “Please tell me you haven't been feelin’ this way the whole time we’ve been together,” he asks, the exhaustion of the fight wearing on him as he looks back at you, shoulder slumped, breathing heavy.

“The last few weeks, yeah-”

“But not the whole time, right?” He asks, the tone of his voice letting you know you both know the answer.

“No… Not the whole time,” you mumble.

“Couldn’t have given me the benefit of the doubt, princess? I mean hell, sweetheart. You could have looked around the goddamn bar. What the hell would I be doin’ hanging out with your Econ teacher if I could be spendin’ the night with you? Why would I be rubbin’ shoulders with Dean Richardson— your Dean, by the way, unless I had to, huh? Don't you think I’d rather spend my night with you?”

You look back into his piercing blue eyes, your cheeks burning with a mix of shame and anger. You open your mouth to speak, but he steps toward you fast, standing above you as you sit on the edge of the bed. You squeak as he grips your cheeks in his big ringed hand, forcing your gaze.

“I love you, princess… But you need to grow up. Use your words. Stop jumpin’ to conclusions and start cuttin’ me some fuckin’ slack.” You mumble, but he pinches your cheeks even more. “Stop cuttin’ off before I can explain myself.” Rafe slots himself between your thighs, loosening his hold slightly.

“I…” You hesitate, taking a little breath as you look at him. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“No.” Rafe silences you as he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on your lips. “Apologies are fine, but you need to listen. This isn’t some fling. This is real. And if we’re gonna make this shit work, you have to trust me. Even when it’s hard,” Rafe whispers, letting his lips graze against yours.

Your heart pounds in your chest, thighs drawing in slightly. “I trust you, baby,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe pulls away, his gaze softening more than before, but his frustration hasn’t completely faded from his beautiful blue eyes. “Then show me… Stop playin’ these games.”

“I wasn’t playing games,” you protest, but he cuts you off with a look that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight.

“You sent me a breakup text, then ignored me when I came here to fix it,” he chides. “I’m not some frat boy—not some college kid you can pull that shit with. Aight? And if you don’t think that little stunt you pulled is a game, I don’t know what is. Do you know how many times I called you?”

“I texted you too, and you ignored it,” you mumble as you look away, feeling the weight of his gaze as your face heats up.

“N’why do you think I had to do that, huh?” He adds condescendingly.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Knowing that answering a text from you, a mid-faculty party in the light of a scandal, probably wouldn’t have been Rafe’s best move.

“We’re done with this little back-and-forth bullshit. If you have a problem, tell me. And if I screw up, I’ll do the same.” You nod, looking at Rafe again as he cups your face, his rough thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“Rafe…” You pout.

“Yes, baby,” he responds gentler than before.

“Why aren’t you talkin’ about the future anymore? I know you wanted to take the heat off us but didn’t even ask what I’m doing for break. You didn’t even make plans with me-”

“Shh…” He shushes you as he looks down at you tiredly, about ready to lose his mind that you’re still challenging him in some way. “Take out my phone,” he mumbles. You lower your gaze slightly, reach into the pocket of his dress slacks, and pull out the device. “Your birthday, baby,” he hums his passcode. You unlock the phone, looking up at him again. “Open my email…”

You pull up Rafe’s Gmail and see the confirmation for the Four Seasons Resort and Residences in Vail, with your name attached to the reservation made a week ago.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” He murmurs as he grabs the phone off your hands, tossing it to the side.

“I’m sorry-”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“I mean it, Rafe. I-”

“You think you can sass me, throw a tantrum, and walk away without consequences?” He mumbles. “I think it’s time someone teaches you a lesson about being a brat, princess,” he whispers as his lips find your neck, licking and sucking your hot skin, making your pulse race.

Rafe’s loosened tie hangs from his neck, sweeping against your thighs as his teeth graze along your ear. You grab it, pulling him toward your lips, making him chuckle against yours.

“Got some shit you wanna say, sweetheart?” He laughs darkly.

“Maybe I like being a brat, Rafe,” you whisper, feeling him smile against your lips.

Rafe kisses you deeply, sucking off your bottom lip, taking it between his teeth, nipping with enough pinch to make you whimper into his open mouth. “Then I guess this is going to be a long night for you, princess,” he rasps as he grabs your tights between his fingers, ripping them open. You inhale sharply as he cups your pussy in his big hand, rubbing your sex over your wet panties.

“Fuck,” you whimper as he slaps your cunt, making your thighs draw in just for him to force them apart. He continues to tease you over your panties as he gathers your hair with his other hand, tugging it back.

“These last few weeks… Fuck, they’ve been frustrating, huh?” He asks as he pushes his big fingers into your entrance, the threshold of the wet cotton blocking him from going any deeper than a knuckle deep. “And you’re gonna misbehave? Make it harder on me? You know I could have just taken my frustration out on this pretty little pussy, baby,” he mumbles as he hooks his finger around your panties, pulling the fabric tight, making you whimper.

“Rafe, please-”

“We’re at the finish line. Two days away from a vacation that I’ve been plannin’ for weeks. That I was gonna surprise you with… and you’re actin’ like a fuckin’ brat? What’s that about, huh?” He asks as he paws off his tie, tosses it on the bed, and pops open the buttons of his shirt one by one.

You take in his gorgeous body as he exposes more skin—his broad chest and his cut abs, the deep ridges of his v-lines kissing the top of his pants. You bite your lip, stripping yourself of your tattered tights and clothes as he undoes his leather belt, releasing it with a crack before tossing it on the bed.

“Stand up,” he orders, and you do as your tummy flutters. “Turn around. Hands behind your back.” Rafe reaches for his tie, running it through his big fingers as he takes in your body. “Wrists, baby,” he mumbles against your neck as he stands close, his rock-hard cock pressing against your ass.

Rafe binds your wrists and grabs your hips, sitting down on the bed, guiding you to lay over his big thighs, your ass in the air. Rafe’s rough fingers drift up the back of your legs, making you tremble, your wetness already weeping from your aching hole.

He chuckles as he runs two thick fingers right through it, taking it between his lips, moaning around his digits. “Fuck, princess… You’re a problem aren't you? Gettin’ wet off this shit, huh? Like gettin’ yelled at and punished.”

“Yes,” you whimper.

“Yes, what, princess?” He groans as his hand comes down on your ass, making you cry out.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffle. “I like getting yelled at and punished.”

“Atta girl… Look at you. Already turnin’ that little attitude of yours around, huh?” He asks as he thrusts his fingers in your pussy, making you wail. He fucks them into you fast and hard, your warmth squelching lewdly.

You crane your neck, eyes widening as he goes for his leather belt. You struggle slightly, your natural reaction to move away, but his big arm wraps around you, holding you in place. “Think you’re gettin’ away from me?” He chuckles. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

CRACK.

Rafe delivers a loud smack on your supple flesh. You let out a loud cry, feeling the sting and tears welling on your waterline.

“You had a lot to say before, baby,” he mocks as he drags the leather up the back of your thighs. “Where did my bratty little bitch go, huh?” He mumbles as he lands another hit, making the tears spill over.

Rafe tosses the belt to the ground, plunging his fingers into your slickness again, only to find that you’re even wetter than before. “Stop enjoyin’ this shit so much, pretty,” he breathes, his smug smile heard in your tone as he curls his fingers inside you.

“Yes, baby,” you moan as your head falls forward, feeling yourself about to cum around his big fingers. “Oh, Rafe.”

“Mmm… I should stop, shouldn’t I?” He asks as he continues his brutal pace.

“No… No, please,” you sniffle as you feel your body tighten around him, your peak approaching fast. You lift your ass in the air, following his fingers as he pulls them away gradually, yanking them out right before your body gives way. You gasp, breathing heavily as Rafe robs you of your orgasm, your heart banging in your chest.

“How do you think it felt gettin’ that text tonight, hmm?” He asks as he lifts you off his lap, shoving you on the bed—your chest on the mattress, and your feet on the floor. “The love of my life… The only thing-” CRACK. He spanks you yet again, making you scream. Rafe laughs mockingly into his next couple of words, “The only thing that has ever truly mattered to me,” he mumbles as he lowers himself to his knees. The warmth of his breathing hits your throbbing cunt. “Broke up with me… through a text message. Fuckin’ insane, right?”

His tongue plunges into your drooling hole, fingers swirling on top of your throbbing clit making your thighs tremble. Rafe sucks and tongue-fucks you like a god, taking you right to the edge of ecstasy again. Your muscles clench, fists balled up, rising on your tippy toes reeling, and right when you're about to break, he pulls away again.

“Rafe, please!” You sob.

He steps forward, the front of his muscular thighs flush with the back of yours. You whimper as he draws away just enough; his swollen head rubs through your drenched folds, teasing your clit, toying with your glossy hole ‘til you’re burying your face in your comforter.

"Beg for it, princess. C’mon…” He whispers as he taunts you with his tip.

“Please…” You beg, lips quivering with every breath. “Please… I’m begging you, daddy. M’sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” you whimper. “I love you… I love you so—oh, fuck,” you cry as he sheathes his cock into your swollen cunt.

Rafe grabs the edge of his tie, knotted around your wrist, using it as a hold to fuck into you deeper, gliding into your greedy hole, your body quickly cumming around him, pussy flutter wildly, but he just keeps on going.

He yanks the tie, pulling it loose. He flips you to your back, looping your legs over his shoulder before plunging in again. Rafe brings his big body closer to yours, folding you in half, toned hips clapping against your body with each rough stroke.

“Didn’t ask for permission, princess. Creamin’ around my dick when I should be usin’ you like my personal fuck toy...” You follow his gaze, looking down at the place where you context the creamy ring of your arousal glistening around his thick base, the picture alone leaving you feeling like you could cum on sight. “You better ask… I know you're about to cum again. And if you do-”

“Rafe, I-” You grit your teeth, fighting back another orgasm you know he’ll deny.

“I’m not done talkin’. Fuck, have you learned nothing?” Hot tears roll down your cheeks, wetting the bed below as your body shakes. “If you cum without askin’, I'm gonna tape those pretty little lips of yours shut, grab that vibrator from your nightstand, and have you cummin’ ‘til you pass out.”

“Please. Please. Please,” you sob.

“Might do it anyways, princess. It’ll be good for you…”

“Rafe!”

“Cum for me, baby.”

You grab the edge of the bed, holding on tight as Rafe makes good on his words, taking his frustrations out on your tight cunt as you squirt around his length.

"There you go, fuckk. There's my girl,” he murmurs, smiling smugly, tilting in and kissing your forehead sweetly, his punishing strokes telling a different story entirely as he chases his climax, emptying himself in your fluttering cunt with one final thrust.

Rafe lowers your trembling legs, dragging back, but you grab his hips, pouting your lips and shaking your head ‘no.’ He smiles down at you, lowering himself to your lips, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry…” You whisper.

“Don’t be, baby. I never want you to think I don't care. Okay? I'm sorry… Should have let you know what was goin’ on. I should always be takin’ care of my girl,” he mumbles between gentle kisses. “You were right. Alright?” He whispers before kissing your forehead.

“I thought you didn't want to be with me anymore…”

“That’s crazy, baby. ‘Course I do. I was serious; you're the only thing that truly matters to me…”

You bite your lip, smiling into your kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, princess.”

tags: @rafesthroatbaby @littlelamy @kisses4angels @watchmerora @buckybarnessweetheart @anamiad00msday @namelesslosers @cades-outsider @romaescapes @starkeysprincess @oxpogues4lifexo @unrealmirrorball @sleepiibunniiii @gri959 @rafesgiirl @daryldixon83 @akobx @hyperfixationgirl @lhhlver @rrafeswhore @slut-4-gojo @blair-bears-blog @loveesiren @cameronwillow @rafegf-real @alphabetically-deranged @ariana2saucyy

[littlegaybean1]

Not to go too analytical here, but that's exactly what I'm going to do.

See, that last gif of Buck and international treasure Christopher Diaz is of a scenario where typically the roles 'should' be reversed. That's the scene where Buck is telling Chris that his father got shot. But instead of Buck comforting Chris, as would be considered the more normal thing to happen here, it's the other way around. Buck later says that he should have held it together, but looking through the other GIFs and just thinking about the general context, is it really surprising that Buck broke down?

Think about it. Buck is, as dubbed by Bobby 'the guy who likes to fix things'. He always makes sure everyone else is okay before addressing his own issues, and sometimes he never does. Eddie got shot right in front of Buck. They were only about a metre or two apart, it could so easily have been him instead. Buck, being Buck, believes that it 'would have been better... If I'd been the one who got shot'. He's very clearly showing signs of survivor's guilt. And then, after that, he has to tell his best friend's son that he's not coming home tonight, maybe not ever. He has to say that to a child who has already lost his mother.

And here's the crucial part, the part that is summed up in the original post nicely: nobody checked to make sure Buck was okay.

They were so worried about Eddie that you never actually see Buck get any sort of comfort from anyone. He was barely holding himself together as it was, and his coping mechanism is to push it down and act like he's okay. He kept it all in, which of course can only ever lead to it bursting out. So when, on top of all the pain and stress and fear he's experiencing, he has to go and tell Christopher - a child he already feels like he's failed due to the tsunami - that he might be about to lose his father. And Buck loves them both, Eddie and Christopher, so much and so from his perspective he might be about to lose them both.

And it all comes out.

Then there's Chris, who has already lost so much for someone so young, who understands much more about the situation than anyone his age should. But in that moment, his first priority is to comfort Buck, his father's best friend who is practically family at that point. Nobody else had thought to comfort Buck, not any of the firefighters who have all suffered losses and know how to cope, none of the adults who knew far more of what Buck had been through, just a ten(?) year old boy.

Somebody please give Buck a hug. Literally anyone. I do not care who. Just someone comfort that poor guy.

Thinking about comfort hugs.

Comforting Bobby.

Comforting Maddie.

Comfort Eddie.

Comforting Chim.

Comforting Hen.

And then there's Buck.

Here's a hug, but he's comforting Maddie.

No one even touched him until he collapsed, and then they're just holding him up. He can barely grip Hen's arm.

Bobby drags him back and lets go just as Buck breaks down.

And then there's this MVP.

[muletia]

𝐢𝐟 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

inspired by 'if not for you' by george harrison

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: after winning the war, optimus found his safe haven. with you.

cw: fluff, pinch of angst, obsessive thoughts, i may have romanticized his obsession a bit... self-indulgence, canon divergence - optimus gets his happy ending :))

word count: 1200

an: i'm returning to my roots of tormenting down bad optimus. this fic can be treated as the yang to my previous piece about his dream and as the good ending to the whole obsessed!optimus arc.

Once, a fire burned within his body. It consumed every conduit, reached every metallic tissue. The blaze wrought devastation, destroying and leaving behind necrosis until it consumed him entirely, mercilessly incinerating the remnants of optimism, the hope that he might live to see a better tomorrow. He burned out; the flame hollowed him from within and left behind only a shell. Deep within his spark, however, an ember still flickered—a reminder that he could not surrender, that he must endure to the end and serve his own, for that was the role he had chosen those ages ago. He could not capitulate. He would not.

And then, you appeared. A tiny spark that reignited the fire. This one was fiercer and more painful, but within it lay the beauty of caring for someone, loving their flaws and imperfections, lending strength when it was most needed. You gave him enough of it to end the conflict once and for all. Optimus had long lost hope for a better tomorrow for himself. But for yours, he was willing to do absolutely anything. To ensure your well-being, reshape the future so you would no longer have to live in fear for your home. He did not factor himself into it; he knew the sacrifice required to bring an end to a war that had escalated to an interplanetary scale. He could only dream, nourishing his imagination with visions he would never behold.

At least, that was what he once believed.

The wind gently brushes against his armor, and the spring sun envelops him with warmth. Far from civilization, no sounds of haste or petty conflicts reach him. It is only him and your garden—the flora that continously surprises him with something new. Colors, shapes of flowers, bloom schedules. Simple organisms, mundane and primitive, yet he saw beauty in them. Their simplicity fascinated him, as it was the complete opposite of Cybertron and its inhabitants. But what captivated him most was their will to live—their resilience, the extent of suffering they could endure before yielding, before giving up. He drew inspiration from them, for he, too, wished to live. Now, yes. For you.

He knows you will return soon; your weekly schedule is deeply etched into his processor. But until then, he does not know what to do with himself. He always spends his time waiting for you, for the moment your vehicle rolls into the garage, for it is only then that he begins to truly live. In your company, surrounded by conversation, your kindness, and an affection impossible to replicate. Everything he does in your absence is merely to kill time, to hasten your return, to occupy his processor and stave off madness without you. Sometimes, he manages, especially when a former teammate visits. But there are days when all he can do is meditate beneath the tree closest to the driveway, waiting for you. Thinking about what you will do together when you return, what news from work you will share with him, and how he might bring you joy today. Without you, he is lost. The self-sufficiency built over so many years suddenly crumbles, revealing an uncertain, astray being entirely dependent on his conjunx.

Today is no exception to the routine. No one has visited. Optimus remains alone with his thoughts, which, for several years now, have been recalibrated to revolve solely around you. Once, they fed the fire he had to vigilantly tend, for he easily lost control over it, and it burned him alive. Now, it envelops him in a pleasant warmth, more soothing than the sun’s radiance. More comforting and tender. It brings him solace and peace, though it still fuels an unhealthy devotion. No longer destructive, but still imbued with a fiery passion, greater than Primus himself.

Sometimes, he misses Cybertron. Guilt over abandoning the search for a way home gnaws at him when he is not entirely focused on you. He knows the others still strive to find a solution. Occasionally, they invite him on missions—living fossils of his former life—but Optimus ceased aiding them for his own interest long ago. He does not wish to return. He could not bear to leave you, to forsake the life you have painstakingly woven together. He might as well perish if it meant never seeing you again.

A sound pulls him back to reality—the scratch of tires on a gravel road. You are still distant; he will see you in precisely four minutes and twenty-six seconds, but a subtle smile already creeps onto his faceplate. This is the exact moment he has awaited half the day, yet even now, his composure cracks, revealing his excitement. He wishes to greet you. Now. Immediately.

He mass-shifts, preparing for your return. He would prefer to drive you himself, but you insisted on not taking advantage of him—a decision he never fully understood. Had he not made it abundantly clear that he would do anything for you? That he was at your every beck and call, ready to please and serve? Yet, to his misfortune, it was a harmless decision, one you had every right to make, and he was never the confrontational type.

He watches as you park and step out of the car, holding shopping bags, which he immediately takes from you.

"Greetings, my dearest," he says.

"Hello, love!" you reply. You want to add something else, perhaps to start recounting your day, but he must interrupt you.

His servo cradles your face, fitting its contours perfectly, as if you truly were made for one another. He lowers his helm to your face and kisses you. First the edge of your lips, then your cheek and jaw, steadily trailing down to your neck.

Once, he feared touch, terrified of its power, of how quickly and completely it consumed him. How much he craved, and how little he possessed. Each time, he waited for your permission, for you to dictate what he could and could not do, lest he accidentally hurt you. Destroy the relationship that sustained his wretched life, shattering the trust you had placed in him. And though similar moments remain a near-daily occurrence in your relationship, they have migrated to other spaces, to intimate places. In other circumstances, he has relaxed the self-imposed rigor, dictating for himself when he could, when he should, and when he wanted.

“Not wasting any time today, are you?” you laugh.

Even he is unsure of what overcame him. He usually waits until you both calmly return home to prove how much he has missed you. Today, he cannot wait. The sight of you breaks him, making him acutely aware of his yearning, which he must somehow release before it consumes him entirely.

You are addictive.

"Opti, not here," you chide.

He stops immediately, though the taste of your skin lingers on his glossa, teasing him to continue his advances. It unsettles his processor as it invigorates his frame.

"I missed you," he says, syncing his stride with yours.

“I missed you too,” you reply, smiling in a way that infects him with the same expression.

He needed this. Simplicity, a place he could call home. You. For without you, there would be no new day, no spring, and the universe would become empty. Soulless and cold.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Sweets & Sweeties

You opened a bakeshop called Sweets & Sweeties which was just beside Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and one day you accidentally lock yourself outside.

George Weasley x Reader (x Fred Weasley) | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, Murphy's law, fred lives stfu, fluff, rizzler!Georgie, typos, etc.

A/N: i have this fic called tormented spirit and its fucked me up cos of how sad it is HAHAHAH i need a break and thats coming from someone who LOVES angst. ALSO i was never super into Harry Potter so idk lore™ but I've been watching the phelps twins and their baking show related content and i'm just so endeared by them AHHHHHHHHH. please leave comments/reblogs because this feels a bit mid cos i havent written fluff in 100 years T_T | cross posted on ao3

@pendragora if i have to suffer, you have to suffer

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was always busy. Everyday, there were children and children-at-heart going up and down the block, eager to buy themselves trinket or treat to promptly cause mischief.

Because of the shop's success, your own shop also benefitted from it. Sweets & Sweeties was your dream come true. As a child, you loved sweet treats, and you would grow to learn you loved making them just as much.

You hadn't expected to sell out as often as you did, and you knew it was all thanks to the fact the establishment next door brought as many customers as they did, who then became your customers.

You were extremely grateful, and tried time and time again to show it through a simple gesture of a gift. It was rather hard to find the time to do so however, as the neighbor establishment was constantly packed. The first time you saw the owner of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he had introduced himself as: "George Weasley," he says, dusting off his hands before reaching one out for you.

You merely stare at him, your smile flattening slightly, only to grow wider as you chuckle. Both of your hands held a tray of cake, and it was quite a weighty cake at that, "I-"

"Right," he brushes his hands on his trousers, "right. Sorry, let me help you with that."

He takes the cake from you and ushers you deeper into the store. You gasp when a small child runs across him, unfortunately bumping into his side. Thankfully, George manages to lift the cake, evading the collision. The girl who bumped into him looks up, eyes wide, hands clutched, looking rather guilty, "s-sorry, Mr. Weasley."

The tall man's brows furrow as he looks down. He whines, "s'not Mr. Weasley, it's George."

The girl stares at him for a moment.

"Say it with me: George."

She clutches her chest and mutters, "Georgie?"

George purses his lips together in a soft smile and nods, "Georgie it is then."

Your hand comes to your mouth as you chuckle and follow after the red haired man. He leads you into the back office and you gasp yet again, this time, because of the photograph on the wall. It was a family portrait of a myriad of other red heads breaking into a wide grin.

"There's two of you!" you point.

George sets the cake down on his desk and crosses his arms once he's besides you, "nah. There's only one person in the family as good looking as me," he turns to the photograph, "that's my twin brother, Fred."

"Oh," you turn to him, taken off guard by how close he was, "is..." you casually take a step back, "he around?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, "probably showing the customers how to use the thingamabobs."

You chuckle and nod, "well," you motion vaguely, "I know you're very busy, so I won't take any more of your time."

The man tilts his head, lips curled into an soft grin as he shrugs, "you don't hear me complaining, love."

You aimlessly look off to steel away the giggle that threatened to leave your lips, "right," you clear your throat, "ehhh, do tell me if the cake is to you—"

Before you can even finish your thought, George is back at his desk. He swipes a dollop of frosting and tastes it.

"—r... liking."

He raises his brows as he nods, "it's to my liking."

The both of you just stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You're now rather painfully aware of your breathing.

You start when the office door bangs open and a near exact replica of George comes walking in, "you would not believe what just—"

George's eyes are on you as you turn to his twin. You raise your hand, "hi... I'm-" you point to nowhere, "-the baker next door."

He turns to George, then back to you, reaching out his left hand, "Fred Weasley."

You smile and shake his hand, speaking your name in return.

"Hey!" George walks over, reaching out a hand, "I didn't get a handshake!"

You turn to George and his outstretched left hand, about to shake it, but Fred does not release you, and only turns to his twin.

"Fred-"

"I'm not done."

George watches Fred shake your hand, "well that's more than enough."

"Not really," Fred shrugs.

You chuckle softly, making them turn to you. You then offer your other hand to George, crossing your arm over the other, "here."

George looks at it and takes it with his right one. The three of your shake each other's hands for a questionably long time.

When you're finally released, you hold back a laugh and rub your palms on the side of your hips, "right... it was a pleasure to meet you both."

They nod in sync, "the pleasure is ours."

You giggle and raise a hand in regard, "come by my shop sometimes."

They wave back at you as you head for the door.

"I'll make you both a cuppa."

They smile as you exit their office. Once you were gone, the brothers instantly turn to each other.

Fred says, "she's cute."

"Yeah, I saw her first," George counters.

"Pfft, so what?"

"So, everything."

Meeting them was so... notable, that you thought about it the entire day. You found yourself giggling about the handshake for the nth time as you closed up, and right after you heard the door click, you whip your head back in realization that you'd left your bag in the counter, along with your keys.

You shake the doorknob, trying to will the door open, though you knew it was pointless, "no, no, no, NO!"

You step back and stare at the windows of your shop. You ruffle your hair and huff as you debate how bad the idea of breaking the glass with the rock would be.

You stare that your sign that read Sweets & Sweeties, feeling taunted by it so suddenly, and then you remember you forgot another thing. The window on the rooftop was surely open from when you opened it to let out some steam. What's more, it looked like it was about to rain!

"Oh," you groan and wrap your arms around yourself, "thank goodness I left my brolly too."

You crouch in front of your unlit shop, feeling rather helpless.

You hear a bell ring and turn to the shop next door. Out comes George and Fred, much wiser than you, with their brollies and suitcases in hand. They call your name in unison and you sigh as you come to stand.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" one of them says.

You freeze at the pet name, and he seems to catch on. He points upward, "sweetie."

You turn to your sign and feel bashful. You awkwardly chuckle, "right, I-"

"You alright?" another asks.

You look between them, "yeah," and shake your head, "no, ehhh, sorry... I... which is," you point in confusion, "which?"

"George," the one to your right raises a hand.

"Fred," the one to your left raises a hand.

"Right," you lower your head as you shake it, "sorry, I don't-"

"You'll get used to it," they say in unison.

You huff as you look back at them, both of their lips are pursed, "right..." you turn to your shop and point, "I, eh... locked myself out."

They turn to where you did.

"And I left my bag..."

They turn back to you.

"And my keys."

They make a face.

"And my brolly," you turn to you feet for a moment, "and the window in my roof open."

"Oooh," they say at once. George bares his teeth, "bad luck."

"And," Fred adds, looking up, "it looks like it's about to rain."

"I know!" you gasp, placing your hands on both sides of your head.

For a moment, the three of you stand there, soaking in your misfortune. A moment later, George turns to his brother and says, "hang on."

Fred turns to him.

"Don't we have a window in the roof, Fred?"

Fred turns to you, "that we do, George."

George turns to you too, "how are you with heights?"

"Ehhh..." your lips part, "....fine?"

With that, the twins head to the entrance of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, beckoning you over. They reopen the lights, leave their things by the door, and lead you upstairs.

"Now," George (you think) says, "I'd like to think our roof's pretty sturdy, but," he pulls out wand from his coat jacket, "I can always do a good ol' Levioso if anything goes awry."

You are comforted by the thought and nod as you make your way up. When you get to the top, you see a singular tiny window by the side of the roof and you momentarily wonder if this was a good idea.

"D'ya know what," George (you think) says, turning to his brother, "you should go down and watch her as she crosses, so in case anything happens," he points, "you can make sure she doesn't fall."

Fred (you think) shakes his head, "why me?"

"Because it was my idea to cast Levioso, Fred," George (you were right) retorts.

"Then you go down!" Fred whines.

"I'm not going down," he crosses his arms, "I just got here."

"Yeah, so did I—"

"SCISSORS, PAPER, ROCK!"

You watch to the instant match the twins have, finding one rock and scissors at hand. George grins, raising his winning fist. Fred rolls his eyes and sighs. He turns to you before going down.

George smiles and motions with his head, "come on then, I'll help you up."

He drags a box towards the window and reaches a hand out to you. You take his hand and step up, then reach for the sides of the window, pulling yourself up to get on the roof. You are glad their window was right in front of yours and that it wasn't a far walk at all.

Fred, who just got outside, catches his breath before cupping the sides of his mouth, "careful!"

You turn to him from below and call back, "trying!"

George watches you closely as you cross to the other side. He probably shouldn't think the wobble of your limbs endearing, but he does. The moment reach your window, he claps, "aye!"

You are quick to jump down, grunting as you do so. You turn around and smile at George who was already smiling back at you. He raises his hands, "you did it, sweetie!"

"I did, wheezing wizard!"

"Well," he tilts his head, "it's Wizard Wheezes but..." he shrugs, "you can just call me Georgie."

You raise your brows.

"I- I mean George."

You chuckle and purse your lips as you shake your head, "too late, Georgie."

"Now, hold on-"

"See you downstairs, Georgie!" you give a toothy grin as you close your window. You bite your lip and giggle to yourself for a moment, "cutie."

Georgie clenches his jaw as he stares the window. He sighs and kicks the box away before closing it, "damn."

[mellowwillowy]

Your boyfriend had always been charming with how easygoing he was toward everyone. That was what drew you to the younger man, he knew which buttons to press to impress you a tad too well.

Everyone envied you. You were just a nobody while your boyfriend was an everything. A rich sole heir from a prestigious family which you weren't aware of until it was two years into the relationship. He might be testing you or whatever but the result proved to be satisfying when he learned that you were someone far from the shallowness he had been seeing. You did not measure him by his competency and wealth, you measured him by his compatibility with you.

You were a fresh breath for him who had been living a suffocating life for 25 years, bound by decisions that were made by his family.

You were something he could finally obtain by his own hands, his own decision, and something he could finally be obsessed with. It wasn't a fleeting obsession like an attraction toward a trending band. It was far from it. It was an addiction, a drug injected into his vein. And you would never notice it until it was too late for you. Cillian was a man far from your ideal but he could mold himself just to be your boyfriend. He would play pretend to be a funny man who just went on his harmless whims and your dictations. He knew he hated his family's dictations on his life but you?

He was just playing along. You were far from the terror his family gave him for all these years alive. But he wouldn't let you know to protect that one fragile pride you could only rely on.

... He was starting to sound like your best friend...

For someone who had reached their late 20s, you never expected to date someone who had just reached their mid-20s. A charming, handsome man who loved to crack countless jokes just to see you smile. Romance didn't suit you. You had always thought you'd live until the 50s single while working endlessly for a hopeful retirement.

But everything changed the moment you dated him. You'd lead a domestic life together where the two of you would work together for a future you had carefully planned.

"I think you might graduate in 1998 so how about we get married after you get your doctorate?" Cillian asked you tenderly as he eyed your occupied ring finger, measuring your finger size while also disdainfully tugging on the silver ring your best friend gave you as a bridesmaid gift.

"That sounds just right to me, it might be too late for me already but it's a perfect age for you to marry me."

Cillian was five years younger than you and he would be 28 by the time you two got married. You didn't care about people's opinions. Their snickers did not determine your choice of life.

Cillian pulled your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes closed while he ran his mouth about how much he loved you. About how much he couldn't wait for the future where the two of you were bound by the wedding vow and rings, as one.

"I'd never leave you. We are meant to be one." he mumbled as he intertwined your hand with his, "... I will find a way to have you close to me forever."

You cocked your eyebrow at his words but said nothing in response, shrugging it off as some melodramatic profession of love until it finally hit you that he meant it. Four years into the relationship, he decided to break it off because he was called back home to marry a woman of his family's choice. It was exactly one year before the two of you were supposed to marry each other and yet he selfishly ended it.

He was the one who professed his love the most yet he was also the one who ruined it. He ruined everything, your life plan and schedule all burned down just like how you burned the wedding invitation. He'd pay for the flight ticket from America to France and cover all the commodities because that was all he could do to see you again.

He could never pay you back for what he had done to make you suffer. The year wasted on college leave, the hospital and psychiatrist bill to mend your broken dream and mental and the life schedule you had planned before you even met him; he could never fix it back.

"Because the only thing you have is your stupid wealth and stupid power scandal with everyone around me, destroying bits of my life!"

The man dared to see you personally in your home country. It was 1999, a year after his marriage and a few months after you graduated. Everything had been a living hell ever since you two broke up. Your education journey went into a downfall along with your career dream as a perfumer and now he proudly destroyed your career as a professor as well.

All in exchange for you to become his secret lover and move to France together with him yet he worded it as though this was more of an opportunity for you to finally be a professor in one of France's prestigious universities.

"... I will find a way to have you close to me forever."

Cillian had always been a charming young man but all you saw now was the sight of a faceless monster who tore your future apart out of his idealism with love.

He knew he was no different than you. The two of you were a match made in hell and now you had to live in hell itself.

Reference: Episode 5.0 and 5.5 from Power Scandal

[voxslays]

FAMILY REUNION

Featuring >>> Lucifer x Reader; In which, an attempt to kill baby Charlie goes south. Resulting in a soporific curse placed upon the reader, who struggles to deal with the aftermath of its affects.

Part Five Part Seven

A/N: Last depressing chapter for Luci I promise!!! Trust, also smallllllll timeskip lol.

Things couldn’t have been better for Lucifer Morningstar.

In the past six months, not only had he come out of hiding, rekindled his relationship with his daughter, and shown both heaven and hell why he was called the prince of darkness (and king of hell), he had truly almost forgotten about the sorrows he had faced in the last few years. He was finally free from the depressing slump he had suffered through—until Charlie had moved one of your family portraits to the lobby of the hotel.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to him. The stress, the depression, you—it was all too much at once. Yet, Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to ask Charlie to put the painting back in the darkness. For all the pain it brings, it also brought Luci peace. The sight of your gorgeous smile and pretty eyes—or your outfit and jewelry. It was like he was reliving that day.

In the painting, Charlie was only about three or four. Yet, Lucifer still remembers how she calmly sat still next to you and Lucifer the entire time, it was strange. Charlie was wearing a cute little red sundress, which matched Lucifer’s crimson suit and the burgundy ribbon on your sunhat. You were wearing Ruby red shoes which matched Charlie’s mini Mary-Jane’s. Charlie looked so happy, completely oblivious to all the pain…oh Charlie.

Lucifer knew he needed to come clean and tell her the truth…but it was hard. "How do I tell her?" Lucifer sorrowfully ponders aloud. “Tell who what?” Charlie popped out from behind her dad, scaring him shitless. Luci jumps slightly, his hand flying to his chest as he turns to see his now twenty-three year old daughter. A small smile grows on a his face as he tries to hide his startled expression. "Char-Char…ducky, can you sit down for a minute?" He says, his tone soft but serious. “Sure dad.”

Lucifer motions for her to take a seat on the couch in the parlor before goofily sitting next to her, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes a deep breath before beginning. "I need to talk to you about something important.” Lucifer sighs, “Something I should have told you a long time ago." His expression turns serious, his brow furrowing slightly as he tries to find the right words to say. "Charlie, there's something I've been keeping from you…a truth that you deserve to know.” He pauses.

“It's about your mother."

“What about mom?” Charlie’s expression turns serious. He sighs heavily, running a hand through his golden-blonde hair before continuing. "Charlie, your mother…she didn’t randomly disappear one day…” Charlie sits there silent, a confused and dejected expression on her face. “What?” Luce hesitates for a moment, his heart aching at the thought of hurting his daughter. But he knows it's time for her to know the truth. "She didn't leave us, Charlie. She was cursed."

“Cursed? What do you mean dad?” Charlie’s golden eyes shine with unshed tears. Lucifer’s heart breaks (even more) at the sight of his daughter's tears, but he presses on, needing to get the whole truth out. "A sleeping curse. I tried everything to break it, to save her, but…"

“Where is she now? Is she still asleep-“ Charlie keeps asking question after question, trying to understand the very confusing situation her father hid from her. "She's…at the palace. In her private quarters.” Lucifer wipes his tears. “I couldn't bear to separate from her completely, but also…I was afraid to tell you." His voice cracks with emotion. Charlie pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s okay dad.”

Luci hugs his daughter back tightly, sobbing into her shoulder. "Charlie, you can see her but…she's not awake." He pulls back to look at his daughter's face. “I can?” He nods, wiping away his tears. "Yes. Yes, you can." Lucifer stands up, holding out his hand to his daughter as he creates one of his signature golden portals, and the two of them step into the atrium together.

The familiar scent of apples, flowers—and most importantly, roses—fills the air. There are petite golden butterflies fluttering from place to place, breathing life into the peristyle-like room. In the center, a golden fountain, surrounded by apple trees that grew golden apples reminiscent of the ones that grew in Eden. And all around are rose bushes. Red, pink, white, gold. The colors blend together as they surround the room.

Lucifer slowly walks to the glass casket in the center of the bright atrium, followed by Charlie. The casket is made of beautiful, clear glass, with rose vines wrapped around it. Inside, lies a beautiful figure with h/c hair, sleeping peacefully. Their features are soft, and it looks almost like they’re just napping. Lucifer turns to Charlie. "This is your mother…" You look almost exactly like Charlie remembers you. It’s almost as if within the seven years since your disappearance, no time had passed at all.

Charlie stares at your semi-lifeless body. She memorized your features, how your hair lays, the rosiness of your cheeks, how your chest rises and falls gently with each breath, but your eyes remain closed. “Oh mom…” Charlie gently mutters. Your hand gently rests on top of your stomach, your ring finger still adorned with the golden wedding ring Lucifer gave you all those years ago. She reaches out to touch the glass, her reflection showing in it.

Charlie takes one last look at you before turning back to her father, tears in her golden eyes, her red pupils looking straight into his heart and soul. “We have to find a way to wake her up.” Charlie says, gently wiping away her tears as she looks down at Lucifer. Sighing deeply, Luci runs a hand through his hair sadly, unshed tears glimmering in his aureate eyes. "I've tried everything, Charlie. Every spell, every potion, every deal…nothing worked.” Lucifer takes a deep breath before continuing. “The curse is too powerful.”

“There has to be something.” Lucifer looks at her, sadness clouding his golden eyes. Afterall, he does see you in her. Not by appearance—Charlie takes after him in that department—but by disposition. "Maybe…” Lucifer pauses, taking a shaky breath. “Maybe you'll find something I missed." He places a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe I will.”

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck can’t bake anymore.

He’s sick of it. Sick of lemon loaf waiting forever on the kitchen counter and of Baked Alaska melting in his fridge.

The sweet relief of the moment changed into bitter memories that feel like ash in his mouth now.

He can’t bake anymore. So he turned back to pasta, pancakes and omelette. Back to pans and spices and knives. He serves his meals at the firehouse, wiping his hands on his apron, nervously waiting for reactions. Because it seems to be good. But he can never be sure it’s good enough. 

Will I ever be good enough for someone to stay? 

“It’s really good, Buck,” Hen assures him. Chimney nods, his mouth full of lasagna. Bobby helps himself to a second serving already. Eddie licks sauce from the corner of his mouth, grins, and calls Buck a chef. “Is there something you’re not telling us?” He asks teasingly. “Were you offered a position at a 5-star restaurant?”

And Buck laughs dutifully. But inside, he still feels that ache that never quite goes away. It’s better now. But it’s still there. Not good enough. Not enough. Not enough for something that lasts forever. Not ...

“This smells delicious,” a new voice adds quietly behind him.

Buck’s head perks up. His breath hitches and his heart seems to stop for a whole beat before restarting at a more frantic pace. No. It can’t be. He can’t be here, right? Just … like that? Now?!

He slowly turns his head. And there he is. Tommy. He’s real.

He’s standing there, wearing his turnouts, wringing his hands, blue eyes flickering back and forth. And the first thing Buck feels is rage. Because … what the hell? Here? Now? Like this? 

His first instinct is to yell. But he's frozen. Can’t decide what to say. Or do. He’s frozen. And after the initial shock, he has time to take Tommy in. Really take him in.

He looks ... drained. More gaunt than Buck has ever seen him. His hair is tousled and his posture expresses exhaustion. His eyes are redrimmed and his skin is a little too pale to pass as normal. In fact, Tommy looks like he's been through hell. Buck doesn't know what to think or feel. He just stares and Tommy fidgets and everyone around them is too quiet, the moment stretching until the silence roars in Buck's ears.

“Hey Tommy,” Chimney finally says, after swallowing a mouth full of lasagna, smiling after sharing a glance with Hen. “Are you … okay?”

So they can all see it too, Buck thinks. They can all see the numbness of terror in Tommy’s eyes. The too-thin line of his mouth. The ghostly paleness of his skin. They can all see it. Something happened. What happened? Or ... Is it the breakup? That angry part of Buck hopes it's the breakup. Hopes Tommy had his share of suffering, longing, wondering, breaking ... But he somehow feels like it's something different.

Tommy clears his throat. “I … I’m sorry. My phone is broken. I didn't want to intrude. But I drove by and I thought ..."

“Sit,” Buck says. Quietly. But sternly.

Tommy blinks. “I …”

“Sit. And eat.” Buck points at the free seat on the table. And - of course, it’s Tommy’s old place, he realises then. Sometimes it sends a chill down his back to think about the fact that he basically took Tommy’s place at the 118 only for them to meet years later. It could have been such a romantic fact. A string of fate connecting them through the 118. But … well. Tommy dumping him cut into that string like a knife.

Tommy is still hesitating. Looks like a deer in the headlights, a second away from turning away and running. Again. Just like he ran after he decided to end the relationship. Coward , Buck can’t help to think. That’s the angry part of him, he knows. The part that wants to punch walls, shatter glass and scream in Tommy’s face.

“You look like you could use some food,” Bobby says calmly. “Regain some energy,” Hen adds, matter-of-factly.

“It’s really good lasagna. You don’t want to miss it,” Chimney chimes in. “Especially not after a long shift.”

“I think I just heard your stomach growl, man,” Eddie says, pointing his fork at Tommy.

“Okay,” Tommy says, finally, his shoulders sagging with the relief of the decision.

He sits. Buck loads a massive lasagna heap on a plate and puts it in front of Tommy. After a moment and another subtle glance between Buck and Tommy, everyone starts talking again. They do their best to be a distraction. To make it seem like this is a normal thing. As if nothing happened. And Tommy eats. He finishes his plate. Then eats some more. He makes some small talk, smiles a few times, nods and even laughs one time about something Eddie tells him. But.

But Buck sees what no one else sees. He sees behind the facade of facial expressions. And what he observes makes the worry nag at him with sharpening teeth. It’s the way the smile never reaches Tommy’s eyes. They remain distant. Clouded and numb. Something happened. Something bad. And of course, Tommy isn’t talking about it. But it was bad enough to have him come here. Just like that. So it has to be really bad.

Eventually, Tommy clears his throat and pushes his chair back. “Thank you for the food. It was really good. I should go home now.”

“I’m going to drive you,” Buck says. It’s a heartbeat decision. Almost surprising himself. But it’s the right thing to do. He can feel it.

Tommy looks startled. “You … you don’t have to.”

Buck sets his jaw. “I want to.”

“My truck …”

“You can pick it up tomorrow,” Buck says. “Not a problem.”

The others fell silent and are watching the conversation between them, not saying anything.

Tommy swallows, his discomfort clearly growing now that so many people are looking at him. He’s already pushed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Buck knows why. Of course, he does. He knows Tommy is fidgeting with something, trying to calm his nerves. Oh. He knows this man so well, doesn’t he? But apparently not well enough. Not well enough to be with him forever, like he imagined. The rage curls around Buck’s heart again. “Alright,” Tommy finally says, giving in.

For the tevan advent calendar day 21: Trauma / PTSD

(Continue reading: AO3)

[raayllum]

Arc 3 Predictions Electric Boogaloo

Because there's certain stuff that makes a Lot more sense now even as we're left with more questions, so let's talk about it.

Aaravos and the Cosmic Order / Claudia

So Aaravos wanted to take down the elves and dragons. Now the archdragons are all gone circa S7, which means he can hit the ground running upon his return in seven years. This means that the next target can fully be the Cosmic Council outright, and more recontextualization about how creating Eternal Night would make them suffer (though I don't think he'll repeat plans).

I could see him giving instructions / ideas to Claudia through dreams or visions, and she's armed with her amulet in the meantime and will maybe track down a replacement staff since she doesn't have one anymore. (Or she'll want to steal it back from Callum since it was a product of both her 'fathers'.) Other antagonists such as Finnegrin (maybe) and Kim'Dael (more definitely) will likely be interwoven.

That said, I think there'll be plenty of conflict already for our protagonists to deal with even before any of our old foes show up again.

Aanya + the Fire Ruby Project / Ezran & Zym

With the arrows temporarily able to dispose of Aaravos (even if I mandate he let himself get chained down in 7x07 in order to manipulate Ezran) and his imminent return, Ez and Aanya have an incentive to keep going with Project Ruby Fire. However, we also know thanks to interviews that Aanya has an adoptive brother, and from Tales of Xadia that:

The city is more fortified of late, as there are rumours of internal treason. The farmers worry that young Queen Aanya isn’t old enough or wise enough to protect what’s been built over the centuries.

So what I'm thinking is that adoptive brother Grark may pull a Karim and work on the project behind his sister's back or stage a coup. This could also put Ezran at odds with Zym, as Project Ruby Fire was designed specifically to be good at defeating dragons and to be so destructive that the mere threat of them would be enough (but, of course like the Mage Wars, someone's gonna use it). Having deeper, more politically / personally driven conflicts between Ezran and Zym (he had conflict with one brother, and now another) is also possible now that Zym can speak, and I think they'll take full advantage of it.

Ez and Zym together have always represented Hope the most (3x06), as Ezran found the egg, they're the two young princes turned kings, and are spearheading things forward.

So what happens if/when they start to crack? This could also provide a contrast to Janai and Amaya, as their new nieces/nephews through Miyana and Karim could provide a conflict. Even though the kids themselves will be too young and Miyana convinced to walk a different path, that doesn't mean they won't be used or treated as symbols by somebody else to sow more conflict.

Evrkynd and Elarion

The choice to establish a new city to show the growing unity between elves and dragons makes sense, but it made me wonder why do it now and not as an end-of-arc 3 idea. Then I considered that perhaps it's to set up Everkynd as an Elarion parallel: a glistening, shining city, where after it fell the land was divided and more chaos ensued.

Only Evrkynd will emerge and stand the test of time, of course, with the connection between the two halves being maintained and strengthened. But still, a thought I'll probably have something more eloquent for later.

Callum, Corruption, and the Cube (+ Rayla)

Was thinking over 6x06's "the darkness and corruption will overwhelm you" in addition to the choice in S6 to establish that Callum's father died of a chronic illness / the consistent comparison to dark magic as a plague/infection/sickness (2x08, 5x01, 5x03, 5x04, 5x09, etc). The options I'd considered for how the corruption would manifest post usage usually fell into two camps: instantaneous and complete, or gradual and ongoing. I'd thought the second one would be interesting for a mid-season dark magic use, speculating it'd be like the shadowmonsters in taking a few days or longer for something to take.

I certainly didn't think it'd be a process over Years, but given the seven year timeskip...

I'm picturing something like Callum still taking mushroom salves or potions regularly from Muhko (hence that inclusion for Zubeia) to stave off corruption overwhelm, and giving him parallels to Damian. This would also potentially enhance the feeling of "living on borrowed time" he and everyone, but him and Rayla in particular, are bound to feel as they know they have Limited Time before Aaravos comes back.

I'm also curious as to how openly or how much Callum will be studying dark magic, even in comparison to before ("Well, I've read a lot about it"). He has Viren-Claudia's relic staff, and the corrupted sun stone within it, so there could be interesting ideas or experiments there. The fact that Callum has the Staff and the Cube and the white streak does not bode well for him.

An additional assumption is that Callum will go to Elarion offscreen (cause that is a Long skip) but be unable to find what he's unknowingly looking for (the primal magic book?). I also don't think at this point I have to go into much more detail about CHET given that we've been here with the theory for 4 years, and pieces of evidence at the time that felt like a stretch are now being incorporated, such as:

The Cube pointing to Elarion, which was incredibly important to ancient humanity and Aaravos

Elarion poem is associated with nature (flowers of elarion) and dark-light motif

Rayla is Callum's light in the darkness and his destructive path. She was prepared to destroy him (7x09) and will likely save him in the future.

The flowers of Elarion were involved in a story where they were seen as gifts / "fair exchanges of beloved for beloved". Then Rayla, by Aaravos' own word, was described as Callum's "beloved" (7x09).

The entire conversation with Dark!Callum and the cube in the woods in 7x06 but especially "If you love her, you'll be the you that can save her" and "I have always been a part of you."

Basically: it's not over till the cube is plot relevant and all the foreshadowing / lines of dialogue surrounding it have come full circle in some manner. In Arc 3 we trust.

Misc Predictions / Ideas

that didn't belong anywhere else!

Given that we know Aanya has her older brother and Prince Kasef has a younger sibling, I think it'd be interesting if they teamed up to try and stage mutual coups or something.

Since the archdragons are gone, I'm curious what project ruby fire would be used against. Maybe just other dragons? Or invoking stuff from the past mage wars.

More info on the relic staffs and self-eating I think for sure can be expected, as well as what happened to make Kpp'Ar completely change his mind.

I'm expecting S8 to be catch up and set up much the way that S1 and S4 were.

There are river pirates between Duren and Neolandia (Tales of Xadia) so I could see Finnegrin being woven back in there, although I'd love to go back to Scumport and see any changes Elmer has made.

Kim'Dael feels like a 2 season antagonist to me, in order to reintroduce her (maybe Aaravos inverting the Moon Nexus set her free) and then to draw on her history with the Moon Fam (Bloodmoon Huntress graphic novel).

A lot more lore on the Startouch elves / I'm fairly certain Shiruakh was a star devourer dragon

Aaravos making the Cosmic Council mortal, etc etc.

Sol Regem lore and backstory

[awarmbowlofhomemadesoup]

I like the idea that Blitzwing is suffering from chronic pain all this time from being turned into a triple-changer, but no one really knew until he accidentally body-swapped with one of the Autobots.

The autobot he would swap with would suddenly collapse in pain in Blitzwing's body because who knew he had been in pain all along? Optimus realized it was one of his team in Blitzwing's body because of the way they looked at him, saying, "Bossbot, help..."

They managed to get—I don't know—Bumblebee in Blitzwing's body back to the base to examine him. Ratchet is conflicted. He doesn't want Bumblebee to suffer, but Blitzwing-in-chronic-pain is already a danger to them. What more of a pain-free Blitzwing?

Bumblebee is trying not to freak out. One would thought suddenly being a giant bot has its merits. But EVERYTHING HURTS. The wings are heavy, the tread tracks are heavy, and his insides burn. The other bots look like dolls. Being unused to a big body ends up with knocked walls and cracked ceilings. He doesn't even want Sari near him because he has to stay calm, or else his flight-or-fight reactions from the pain would trigger the weapons in Blitzwing's body.

In the end, Ratchet managed to treat Blitzwing's body's chronic circuit inflammations with his own concocted medical-grade Energon.

Prowl and Lugnut tried to firgure out the alien artifact that made Bumblebee swap with Blitzwing. Optimus is faced with having to negotiate with the mutual ransom with Bumblee's body controlled by Blitzwing.

Fortunately, Megatron was willing to cooperate because he had invested a lot in the successful experimentation of triple-changer modification.

Meanwhile, Blitzwing had forgotten what it's like to be pain-free. Everything is so... calm, even his other personalities are not as reactive. Yes, he hates that he's puny now and less powerful, but it's been a long time since he had to calculate his energy against pain and things to be done or what the humans called spoons. Lugnut wanted to beat him around to give the Autobots the message, but Megatron forbade it if it meant the Autobots' cooperation in getting Blitzwing's body back and Blitzwing back in his body.

Having Blitzwing and Bumblebee returned to their respectful bodies with the alien artifact went well. Blitzwing was expecting familiar chronic pain when he returned to his body. But was surprised to feel it was barely there.

Of course, Megatron still tried to attack the Autobots after. Amid the fight, Bumblebee and Blitzwing stared at each other too long before chaos broke through their little world. Optimus destroyed the alien artifact so Megatron wouldn't get his hands on it. The episode ends.

Or did it?

Ratchet confides in Optimus that he couldn't help but worry about Blitzwing as a doctor because he would need medicine to be pain-free.

Unknown to them, Blitzwing found a location and time scrawled on his palm. Against all sensibilities, he went in there. The pain was coming back, and his gut told him he'd find his answer there.

By the time he arrived, Bumblebee was waiting there with the remaining medicine and instructions on creating it.

When Blitzwing asked why he was doing this, all Bumblebee could say was, "I know what it's like to be you."

Blitzwing hated it, seeing it as a debt. Bumblebee hated it, knowing he was going to make things worse for his team and family in the future.

But what really does the future hold?

[best-seungkwality]

love to hate you

pairing: ellie williams x reader

summary: freshman mishaps led to the relationship you had with ellie today, but you don't know the other feelings she harbored for you.

contains/warnings: swearing, flirting, ooc fluff for ellie maybe? (but she was also so sweet in some scenes so cmon), enemies to lovers, college!au

word count: 2.7k

author's yap notes: i haven't actually immersed myself in tlou universe but like ellie's kinda cute or sumn and it takes a lot to inspire me into writing so im gna take advantage of this LMAO also i know abby n ellie r enemies but this is an au pls dont shoot me

would like to give credits for the dividers ofcc: c saradika, magnusthemes here in tumblr!

the sound of clicking against keyboards rang across the hall where your economics class was being held that early in the morning. honestly, it should've been banned to take such a complicated subject at an ungodly hour, and you haven't even began with the professor you got for this class. the only thing nice you got from this experience was being friends with someone as reliable as abby anderson.

"class dismissed."

abby was not the friendliest out there at first glance-- heck, you would've steered clear of her your whole college life if she didn't approach you first to make friends since she was in a different class from all her friends. you were just thankful you had someone to suffer through the class with at this point because you would not have survived otherwise.

if you were anything in college, you were the fastest campus leaver. but this was economics, a class where you actually had a friend to hang out with after enduring the lecture. only, you weren't feeling the extroverted introvert you were today, so you were already racking up your brain for some excuse to abby to go straight to your dorms while you two were on your way out.

"hey, n/n, raincheck on lunch today. need to meet up with someone for another project," abby told you, slinging her backpack on while messaging someone on her phone.

she truly was an angel in disguise. she made the excuse for you even without knowing you needed it.

"oh, no problem. was thinking of staying in in the dorm anywa-"

"abby, hey."

you looked over your taller friend's shoulders and saw the infamous ellie williams sauntering towards you two with her usual slightly grumpy expression. you clicked your tongue in annoyance, seeing the one person you hoped you wouldn't bump into at least this week. it was hell week in your department already, and you thought the fates had spared you because it was already friday, but you guessed they were saving their worst surprise for last.

"ah great," you mumbled under your breath, but abby still managed to catch it. she chuckled at the switch of expressions on both her friends' faces once they had seen each other and took a step back for their usual greeting-- or square off.

"what are you doing hogging abby again, princess pansy?" ellie stuck out her tongue, pocketing her hands.

you narrowed your eyes at her and attempted to slap her shoulder, but she was quick on her feet and moved away seconds before you could even land a finger on her hair. like a child, she repeated her earlier gesture, making abby step in front of you to block you. with your hands balled like that, she was sure you were about to commit a violation just to get even with ellie’s taunts. abby was well aware of your goals of graduating with latin honors, and there was no way she was going to let you waste that on a sick punch on ellie, no matter how much she wanted to see it.

you huffed and turned to look at abby instead, pretending that there was no ellie williams trying to annoy the hell out of you. “i seriously don’t know how you’re still friends with that loser.”

“you’re the loser!”

abby playfully pushed ellie aside for a moment before replying, “she’s rough around the edges, but she’s nice, trust me.”

a scoff left your mouth before you shook your head and muttered your goodbyes to your friend before walking away, ignoring ellie’s last words like a new agnostic to jesus.

you actually thought ellie was truly nice when you first laid your eyes on her until she proved that that stopped at her features (yes, you weren’t going to lie and say she didn’t look good— she was hot, for goodness’ sake). she had become your sworn enemy one day when you were partnered up randomly for a pairwork in one of your common general education subjects. you had tried your best to include her in the project and get her to help, but you would only see on her facebook stories that she was either clubbing, drinking, or doing other shit college students did. you had a social life too, but you would never inconvenience anyone for it unlike her.

that was why you thought it would be best to save all the receipts you had on her, deliver the report on your own, and submit the written work with the proof that you indeed tried your best to get ellie’s cooperation until you had the right to give up on her. the professor accepted your reason and didn’t dock off points on the rapport criterion, but ellie had other qualms. she had the audacity to object to what you had done, claiming you didn’t try enough, but your proof were too solid versus her claims, so ellie had failed that requirement and needed to take removals.

she confronted you about, and you two ended up bickering at the back of one of the oldest buildings in university so that neither of you would be documented. but even when the fight was kept hidden, it eventually became known in school because ellie had decided to humiliate you one lunch, telling people about how you threw her under the bus. being unable to deal with the public humiliation, you ran out of there and swore ellie williams was nothing to you, no matter how hot of a person she was. she was an asshole to you forever, end of story.

you entered your shared room with a scowl on your face, bringing out your laptop and opening up a streaming site to watch modern family. you deserved to cool off with your comfort sitcom before delving into the pile of homework you had to do for the day.

ellie typed furiously on her laptop, mind still fresh from her encounter with you yesterday. it annoyed her so much that she couldn’t even cram her lab report with abby in peace, and the deadline was in two hours! god, if she could just get in your face and-

she froze. she knew exactly where that thought was already headed before it even finished. she groaned out loud, even more annoyed this time, which caught her friend’s attention. abby raised an eyebrow, but she simply let out a ‘tch’ and tried to continue filling in the tables with values she knew were going to yield an extraordinary error. she just couldn’t get you out of her mind even if she wanted to— even if you loathed you. there was something about you and your little interactions that excited the hell out of her that she felt she even loved to hate you because of it.

she wanted to punch herself. that was gradeschool ellie discovering she liked women. why can she not get a grip now?

“i don’t know how you put up with miss uptight two days a week. i can’t even stand her for a minute,” ellie began, eyebrows furrowing, but she wasn’t sure whether the frustration was towards her missing the deadline or the girl that would not leave her head.

“still thinking about her, i see,” abby teased, humming a romantic tone right after. “just admit you’re down bad and would like her on your bed, el.”

her head shot up, face obviously distressed at what she just heard. “gross! grow up, abby.”

abby rolled her eyes and looked up from her screen. “you grow up. you obviously have feelings for her. you can fool anyone but me. you like y/n.”

ellie felt that she was getting too red, so she shut herself up first before she could say something that abby would obviously know how to retort at. it was like she was an open damn book whenever this certain friend of hers was around. maybe it had to do with the fact that they went through shit first before becoming people they feel could be relied on. that, or ellie was really just that easy to read.

“what even happened that y/n hates your guts that much?”

she stopped typing and slumped down in her seat. “i messed up little miss perfect’s sched then humiliated her for it.” she sighed at abby’s raised eyebrow. “i promised to help with one project we were partnered up for, but i was a stupid freshman who just wanted to have fun, so she ended up adjusting her whole month to do everything by herself. i hated how she ratted me out because i thought that was so uncool in college, so i humiliated her in a college cafeteria. are you satisfied?”

her friend shrugged her shoulders. “nah. i haven’t heard the part where you said you were sorry. and why you still hate her.”

ellie pulled the hood of her jacket up and then on the strings to squish the clothing over her face, hiding in embarrassment. “i act like i hate her. it’s the only way i can talk to her now. i haven’t really said sorry too.”

abby laughed, making her jaw drop slightly in offense.

“she was right. you’re such a loser.”

speaking of who was right, ellie, from the corner of her eyes, saw you dragging yourself into the same library they were in. (she hated how automatic it was for her at this point to catch her silhouette). apparently, her college’s library was your favorite library, and she couldn’t blame you. it had good comfort rooms, chilly ac units, endless charging ports, working areas for all kinds of people, and you could bring coffee in it.

she watched the girl begrudgingly walk towards one of the desks for sharing, making sure you got the outlet that came with it. it seemed to be your spot because knowing you somehow, you would need optimal conditions to work.

“who- oh, your crush is here,” abby cheered quietly, making ellie clamp a hand over her noisy mouth. they nonetheless got the stare from the young librarian, who seemed to be stricter than the senior librarians. they both nodded their heads in apologies before ellie could look over to where you were again.

“you should talk to her. ask her if she wants coffee or something, cos she’s not looking too good.”

abby looked at her like she was nuts. “why are you ordering me around as if i’m your servant. go do that, since you’re so lovestruck and concerned for her.”

“isn’t she your friend?”

“yeah, but she needs a lover more.”

“shut up!”

ellie groaned, planting her face onto the laptop, not minding how much it hurt. these moments reminded her how much of an ass abby could be to her. but it looked like she wasn’t going to budge in her seat, because she was now back to typing away on her laptop.

hesitantly, she got up and walked towards your table, trying to act confident even though she knew you might eat her alive with your smart mouth. god, you could just e-

she shook her head, hoping those thoughts would be gone too. she was standing by your table, hoping as well that she didn’t look that much of a creep from an outsider’s perspective. your back was facing her, since you were face down and probably resting for a bit before locking in for whatever you had to finish. ellie mustered her courage, took in a huge breath, then tapped your shoulder lightly. she became a bit bewildered when you had not responded to the fifth tap, wondering if you had supersight at the back of your head to know you should be ignoring the person bothering you.

but she noticed how limp you hand had gotten, and her eyes widened, rushing to your other side. if she had not seen a person passed out medically, she wouldn’t have been able to tell that y/n probably blacked out from some reason, but thankfully, she knew. within seconds, she had already scooped you up and gathered you in her arms, with abby shouting in the library what the heck she was doing, but she could care less. you were her priority.

that was why you looked like hell the moment you entered. your dark eyebags confirmed that you probably overexerted yourself, leading to the blackout. she knew you were a high achiever, but she didn’t know you were a stupid one. how could you let your academics take control of your life to the point that you would sacrifice your health? she was going to have to speak to you about this when you were better. preferably the moment you woke up.

but right now, she had rushed inside the infirmary and laid you down on one of the beds. a nurse thankfully came to check on you at once calling the doctor to diagnose what was wrong. after pacing around the medical professionals, ellie heard them say that you were very dehydrated and decided to inject IV fluids in you to aid your body. they quickly got to work so you could recover faster.

ellie thanked the doctor and nurses and sat down beside you, taking your hand. “god you fucking scared me,” she muttered under her breath, bringing your hand to her cheek. “for someone at the top of your classes, you’re awfully stupid.” she didn’t realize her scolding would happen even before you woke up.

“you’re seriously gonna be the death of me. i can’t even take care of you the way i want to until your unconscious,” ellie looked at you worriedly. “god, let me take care of you, stubborn-head. give me a chance, i’ll make everything right. i sound like a pussy. i just like you that much, okay.”

your eyes fluttered open at the confession, locking them with hers at that moment.

“…what?”

ellie dropped your hand and stood up at once. “what?” she covered her face in embarrassment, immediately turning red. “how are you awake so fast?”

your eyebrows crossed. “do you want me to stay half-dead or something?”

“no! i meant- ugh, i’m not prepared for this.”

“for what? for declaring your love for me?”

ellie gasped, looking offended. “i didn’t say ‘love’ yet!” she pointed at you as if accusing you of something. “ugh, you’re so annoying.”

you sat up with a small smile, and she knew you knew you had the upperhand in this situation. this was just turning out to be the worst week ellie had had. if she knew you were going to here her random confession, she would’ve prepared some more. you just had to be awake right now.

“well, sorry,” you said, deflating a bit. ellie panicked once again and finally sat down. she took your hand gently and let out a breath.

“i’m sorry, just-…” she looked you in the eyes (this is so cheesy, she hated it) and hoped the sincerity would reach you, “i’m sorry for what happened during freshman year. i was stupid, and i can’t take that shit back. but i’ve liked you for the longest time, and god knows this stupid little crush has made me daydream about you at least thrice a day, and i guess what i’m saying is— god, will you be with me? even if it takes some time?”

you smiled wryly. “the famous ellie williams rambling… i could get used to this.”

ellie groaned out loud and smushed her face into the infirmary’s bed. but she was just hiding her smile because she herself didn’t know that someone could make her ramble stupidly like this. you were well aware of your power over her too.

“look at me ellie.” like a pet, she did. “i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t attracted to you. i honestly would like to like you, but we have to do so much work, especially that i don’t feel that resolved yet with what happened back then. i know you felt like i blindsided you, but i suffered a lot even though i know i did nothing wrong. it’s gonna take a lot of time. are you willing to put in that kind of work with me?”

ellie brought your hand to her cheeks again. “no doubt about it.”

a wide, genuine smile finally broke out your face. “alright. i love to hate you, but i’d like to love you only now, williams.”

she returned the gesture, giving a light kiss on your knuckles. “love to hate ya, but i love to love you more, princess.”

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Shape of You

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei. Dabi is a shapeshifter who has spent nearly a decade on the run. Each time he moves it’s to try to find a place for himself and gather the resources he needs to survive and eventually get his revenge on his father. He wears a lot of different faces so he never has to suffer looking at the one he was born with and he certainly wasn’t expecting to be seen as an illusionist by the owner of the Shattered Hand tavern. He thought being clocked as an illusionist wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but unfortunately for him, it turns out that Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes are sharper than he’d thought. 

Contents: Fantasy AU, Changeling!Dabi, magic, size kink, edging, anal sex, oral sex, (brief) spanking, rough sex, tender sex, praise kink, non-human anatomy, multiple orgasms, prostate milking, piercings, vomiting/chronic illness. 

Word Count: 22,785

Music is interspersed with the sounds of conversation at this point in the night. The raucous banter of travelers and the celebration of the work week ending for most has come and gone. Now all that's left are people like him who are looking for work of their own. Dabi is wearing the face of an elf today. His hair is black and drooping down instead of spiked in the style he usually prefers. This body is one of his more regular ones, an elf, the long ears leaving him more room to decorate himself with piercings and an additional two going up either side of his cheeks. His skin is pale but not pasty and he has opted for clothing that will make him look more buttoned-up and polished than he would have picked for himself. The Shattered Hand, so named because the owner's magic is apparently quite destructive if he manages to hold onto something for long enough, takes clientele of all kinds, but Dabi needs a bigger job to make it through the month, and that means that he wants to attract the types who want their business dealt with by a professional. Elves, because of their longevity and ability to shape public perspective around those long lives, are often immediately misconstrued as being wiser than others. He wants someone who will buy into that stereotype and book him for a job because they will believe him when he says he has seventy years of experience in this field even if he only looks to be in his mid-twenties. 

It takes the better part of three hours for him to find the appropriate work that he wanted, but the assassination he's been paid to carry out will be exceedingly simple for someone with his skillset, even if he keeps that tight to his chest. 

When he has his advance and is ready to go back to his current abode for the night, he moves up to the bar to settle his tab. The bartender, he believes, is also the owner of the establishment based on the fact he is wearing black gloves that only cover three of his fingers on each hand. His long white hair is half tied up in a bun, handsome features framed by the fringe that is still falling free, his magic seeming to leave cracks over his eyes and lips where scars mingle with them and dip down his neck to the open collar of his white shirt, a dark leather vest overtop that is secured with thick straps down the front. His build is more than that of someone who might only claim to know arcana, muscle corded along his arms where his sleeves are pushed up. 

"Two gold," The man tells him as he reaches for his coin purse. 

Dabi hesitates, "I only had two drinks." Two cheap pints, he shouldn't be spending more than eight silver. 

"You booked a job in my establishment." The man tells him. "House takes a fee to help keep the guards out of this place so people like you can do your business." He doesn't have eyebrows, the cracks around his eyes seem to have chased away the hair, but Dabi gets the sense that both of them would be up expectantly. 

This is apparently the best place to book his kind of work in the city and Dabi isn't in the position to leave town so soon after arriving, so he huffs softly and hands over the gold. It is barely two percent of the advance that he was given for this job anyway. If that helps to make sure he doesn't get caught and his target doesn't catch wind of his impending end, then that is a fair fee. 

"Thank you." He slides the coins into his pouch, "Tomura Shigaraki. You're new." 

Definitely the owner, "I travel a lot." Dabi says without blinking. "Any other rules I should know about before I keep conducting my business?" 

"Don't bring trouble here and trouble won't find you." Is all the man says, looking him up and down. Dabi doesn't bristle. He's spent all of his adult life being sized up by different criminals. He knows that posturing is simply something that he has to put up with to ensure that he's making the impression that he wants. "Welcome to Zogas, mister..?" 

"Just 'Dabi'." 

"Dabi. Will you be looking for work often?" 

"Will that be a problem?" 

"No, but if you'd like to make a charitable donation to the tavern, I might be inclined to keep my ear to the ground for you." 

"How charitable?" Normally he wouldn't bother. He can make his own connections and find work, but establishing himself in the city as a new person will take time and energy that he just doesn't feel ready to give right now. He hasn't been able to scrape together enough to survive comfortably in months now, and he just wants to be able to get an apartment of his own for a little while instead of camping or living out of hostels the way he has been since he had to leave Threlkell. 

"Ten percent finder's fee on any jobs you book with my referral." 

It's more that Dabi is happy about giving, but if it means that he has more work then it may be worth it. If Shigaraki can't deliver, he can always go elsewhere. "Fine." 

The bartender pours him a fresh pint, "Sit down. I need to know what skills you can offer if I'm going to find jobs that suit your abilities." 

Dabi drops into the seat and asks, "How old are you?" Because he looks young. He can't see the tips of his ears behind his hair, but they're not poking out so that means he definitely isn't a full-blooded elf, though he could be a half-elf he supposes. 

"Twenty. And you?" 

"Two-hundred and twenty-four." 

"No you're not. It's a very good illusion, but elves who are actually that old tend to have vocal tics from their centuries of living." Shigaraki tells him. "Are illusions something that I can rely on you being able to provide your clients?" 

"...Only pertaining to my appearance." He doesn't tell people the type of magic he uses for that. "I'm good with a blade and skilled with pyromancy." 

He sees that spark interest in the other's eyes. "How good?" 

"I could burn every inch of this bar and still have a cold pint sitting right here." He taps the edge of his stein. 

"Well, I think I can work with that. Is this the face that you'll be wearing to do your business with clients?" 

"I'll change it to suit my needs." He says flatly. 

"Then I won't tell them to expect an elf when I have someone to send your way. Will you have any identifying features that I will be able to tell them to look out for?" 

Dabi didn't expect to get clocked as an illusionist so quickly, nor did he expect the other man to be so nonchalant about it. Normally he hides his abilities well, trying to ensure that no one knows what he is lest he get run out of another town. Even though it's a useful skill and criminals tend to give more leniency for it because of its usefulness, they also grow wary of it after a bit of time. People don't like to think that he could be anyone around them, paranoia spiking higher and higher until they believe they have to get rid of him to protect themselves. Hopefully he can make enough money while Shigaraki is brokering him some work before that paranoia sets in again. "Tell them I have a lot of facial piercings." He usually doesn't feel quite like himself unless he has some kind of them on his person, so he supposes that will be as good a marker as any. 

"Alright. And how long do you think you'll be in town for?" 

"As long as I can find work." 

"Well then, I better find you plenty." 

"Why? That desperate for your finder's fee? Seems like this place is already doing well enough." 

"No, I just want to see more of you. Maybe if you hang around here long enough," the other man gives him a slow, easy smile, "I'll get to see what you really look like." 

Dabi snorts. He hasn't shown anyone that in eight years. "Don't count on that." He tells the other, finishing the drink. 

"A man can hope. How old are you actually?"  

He pushes up from the bar and turns to leave, "Twenty-four." 

"Human then?" 

Dabi doesn't deign to answer. Curious is better than paranoid. Maybe he can keep Shigaraki on the hook long enough to actually save up his money for a while. Maybe he can get enough to move elsewhere and live comfortably for a little while. It would be a nice change of pace. Maybe this could be a place he comes back for work when he needs it instead of one of nearly two dozen cities he knows he can never walk again without fearing someone will step behind him and slip a knife between his ribs. 

///

Dabi has a variety of faces he keeps to during his daily life. His white-haired elf, a black haired Sanguine-born with blue horns, a cat-kin with big blue eyes and sooty salt and pepper fur, a rabbit-kin with dense white fur that makes him look soft and small, a blue-scaled dragon-kin with jewelry hanging off of the holes he's had carved into his horns-- but the one that he only wears while he's working is that of an elemental-born. His skin is black cracked lava rock, those portions of his body always shifting as the blue fire flows beneath the surface and erupts like a candle flame from the top of his head. He doesn't want anyone who might see him to actually place him as a person, and this more extreme elemental-born appearance makes him look like a will-o'-wisp or a summoned fire elemental from a distance. He would rather people think he's conjuring spirits or elementals for his jobs, that means they will be looking for signatures of conjuration instead of evocation magic. 

He takes care of the first job that he booked at the Shattered Hand, making sure to execute it perfectly. He receives the rest of his pay for the work, and it's a relief that within the next few days, other people start looking to book him as well. Zogas is a major city with a population in the hundreds of thousands-- but it is a waypoint. The coast is another half a day's travel and the next major port city three. This is the only city on the main road between the capital and that port, forcing most people to pass through it as they go on their way to bigger things in this country or as they are trying to flee for the open sea, hoping to send someone to cut off anyone who might be pursuing them. It makes for a lot of people and a lot of changing faces that have nothing to do with his abilities, but that makes it so much easier for him to find work without anyone seeming to notice that he's the same person unless one of his specific personas is asked after 

Tomura Shigaraki asks after him each time he comes into his establishment though. The human isn't always working at the bar. Some nights, when he seems to have enough staff on hand to take care of whatever he needs them to,  he will mingle with the people there. Sometimes Dabi sees him holding court in the back of the bar and he'll leave surreptitiously and return in his rabbit-kin form so he can hear what he's saying from across the room. He seems to be as composed as he is doing business with others as he was speaking to him. There is a strangeness to some of the things he says, things that tell Dabi that he has learned to socialize from holding this post rather than creating this bar because he had the connections and enjoyed the work first. He also must be highly educated, though he can't tell if he's a scholar, healer, or some other combination of mage and warrior. All he knows is that the other can't be a witch like him without the metal sunk into his skin to keep his magic grounded. He's a strange man, but one who is clearly well-loved by the criminals he surrounds himself with. When he isn't working, his table is open for people to come and play games at and the other man doesn't seem to have a gambling problem, never betting anything that he can't do without, but he does love the games. He will play, and he plays such a wide variety of games that it doesn't surprise Dabi that he is often teaching people the rules of games from different prefectures or different countries entirely, able to go behind the bar and bring out game pieces, cards, and boards whenever anyone expresses an interest in learning.

Dabi doesn't think he's done that while he's hanging around the bar not doing much that night. No new contracts came his way and no one seemed to be looking to do business with him. But Shigaraki comes over to the table he's been haunting for an hour or so and sits down. Dabi is wearing his Sanguine-born appearance today, dark hair, bright eyes, blue horns, and a thin blue tail with a spade at the end, but the metal in his skin still a clear indicator to the other man of who he is. 

"Do you know how to play Visitor's Rumors?" The human asks as he approaches the table. His hair is half tied back again today, but he's wearing his long-sleeved white tunic underneath a deep red coat that, from the way the scales seem to shimmer with an internal glow, tell Dabi that it is made of actual red dragon scales. He seems so young, but maybe he was a successful adventurer before he settled down in this life. Or maybe he just has the money to buy expensive things. Must be nice. 

"No, and I'm not looking to give you even more money losing at gambling with you as I learn." 

"Visitor's Rumors isn't played by betting money." Shigaraki slips into the chair across from him. "It's a game of deception and the winner of each round is able to ask the other person a question and, ideally, get an honest answer from the person they're playing with. It's a popular game in Sostra." Dabi snorts and that gets the other man to smile a bit. The collection of islands that make up Sostra are well-known to be pirate and crime infested because the territory has been caught in skirmishes between countries and trade routes dozens of times throughout the past three centuries. Without a stable government able to control what happens there, between those skirmishes, pirates swooped in and carved up territories there for themselves. It's no surprise that Sostra would create a game like this, not when it's a common refrain that only honest men hang on those islands. "I would love to get to know you a little more." 

Dabi doesn't usually let people get that close to him, but right now Shigaraki has the power to bring him more work, and that could be worth the minor annoyance of spilling some harmless truths about himself. "If you ask me something I don't want to answer, I'm not going to." 

"That's fair. I hope you'll extend me the same courtesy." Shigaraki says with a smile as he passes Dabi a wooden cup with a collection of dice inside. 

///

The game itself isn't that different from Ship, Captain, Crew with the two of them apparently supposed to be doing all their lying around the dice throws and open themselves for honesty at the end of the rounds, the winner of each asking their question and their bets being for topics rather than coin. Shigaraki lets him start first with that, and Dabi would like to avoid the other man going for his throat so he starts with innocuous things. When was the Shattered Hand founded? Does Shigaraki have a favorite drink served at the bar? If he had to be trapped in a caravan with one of his employees which one would he rather it be? Simple things that the other answers very straight-forwardly. The tavern has existed for twenty years, but he only bought it and renamed it about three years ago after his father passed away and he wanted a fresh start with his inheritance. He prefers a mid-tier scotch but he usually says something a little more expensive because if he vouches for it, it sells better. His best friend, a green dragon-kin man, works in the kitchen and he has happily taken trips with him out of town when they have to go talk to the tavern's suppliers in person. He is also a big fan of collecting different games from anywhere he travels and the two of them are quite close. Shigaraki tells him these things with that easy smile as they play a few rounds and Dabi gets the hang of it. 

He was expecting the hustle when all of the sudden he finds himself losing, and losing badly as their play continues. Shigaraki starts off with easy questions too; how long is he planning on staying in town? How did he get into this line of work? Is he a witch and, if so, what kind of magic is he a practitioner of. He answers those vaguely, but honestly. He is here for as long as the work is good. He didn't have any other pursuits when he reached adulthood and fell into this to make ends meet like so many others. He is a witch and he practices all kinds of magic. And then Shigaraki starts asking harder questions. "Where are you from?" 

"No." 

"Alright. Are you actually human?" 

"I'm not answering questions about my race." 

"Why not?" 

"Why does it matter?" 

"I would like to get to know you. Faux pas between races can vary wildly. I'd prefer not to offend." 

Dabi snorts slightly. He has no idea how in-depth those can be for his kin. "Treat me like you would any other stranger. I don't care. As long as you're bringing me drinks or finding me work, it doesn't matter." 

"Do any of the forms you take look anything like your real body?"

Dabi considers that question for a long moment, but he has already admitted to being a witch, it tells him nothing to acknowledge, "I always have iron in my skin." Shigaraki doesn't look impressed by that, knowing it gives him nothing he couldn't have extrapolated for himself. Dabi balances a die on top of another. "...I usually maintain my height. It makes fighting easier." 

Satisfied he's finally gotten a real answer for this round, Shigaraki picks up his cup and puts his dice back into it and they both shake and roll their dice. They play another four rounds, Dabi just barely letting the other man have any knowledge about who he is before he clams up. He doesn't think that anyone he used to know will find him here, but he doesn't want to tempt fate either. He wants to stay here long enough to earn the money he needs to disappear again. Maybe go to port and cross the sea to a new land to make certain that his father won't ever see him coming before he returns to kill him. 

He thinks, maybe, it's how completely he's been dodging the other man's questions that makes it such a sharp surprise when Shigaraki decides to stop trying to ask him things that one might to get to know someone new, to asking if, "Are you interested in men?" 

Dabi fumbles his dice, his tail flicking, and his face going hot. "Wh-- What?" There aren't that many people left in the bar anymore. Just the bartender, a few stragglers being shooed outside, and one of the servers who is wiping down tables, so it's not like he could have misheard him. But Dabi thinks he must have. 

Shigaraki's eyes are crinkled with mirth as he asks again, "Are you interested in men? Ideally sexually, but romantically as well would be a bonus." When Dabi can't get his brain rebooted enough to actually find his words after a minute, Shigaraki rests his elbow against the table and his cheek against his knuckles, still smiling at him. "See? If I had known your race, I would have known how direct I could be with that question without offending." 

Dabi wants to protest that, but unfortunately he's right. Even though so many of the races intermingle here, each one has their own culture around courtships of any kind. If he were really an elf, he would likely have been highly offended to be propositioned if it wasn't a celestial event like a full or new moon, equinox, solstice, or eclipse. If he were a dragon-kin then he probably would have thrown his drink in his face if he had tried without offering him a piece of jewelry or other form of tribute. Being propositioned like this is still an insult to his race, but Dabi has spent a very, very long time fighting every part of what he is, so he avoids giving him that kind of reaction. 

"You're the one who controls how much work gets sent my way, there isn't a direct or indirect manner in which you could ask this and not make it slightly offensive." Dabi tells the other man as dryly as he can. 

Shigaraki's smile finally falls and it leaves him looking as serious as he had when he overheard him discussing a potential reform of the guard that would have put his interests at risk. "I was hoping that what you've observed of my character when you've been eavesdropping on me would have assuaged some of those concerns. You're welcome to tell me 'no', for this, for any job that I offer you that you don't want, without fear of retaliation. The only thing that could cause me to hurt you is if you ask for it very sweetly and we discuss your limits first, or if you do something to put my business here at risk." 

Dabi eyes him. He doesn't really know Shigaraki that well and isn't entirely sure how much he can trust the other man's words. But it has been a while, he is attractive, and Dabi thinks that the reputation he's started to make for his various forms will be enough for him to try and get work in other venues around the city if this one becomes a problem. "I can be whatever you want-- as long as you don't want a woman." He can be if he needs to, plenty of his race switch their genders and sex as fluidly as they do their forms, but that doesn't feel right for him when he tries it. He thinks that if he were forced to try to maintain that while trying to have sex, he would probably not be able to enjoy a single second of it. 

"I just want you." 

"Boring." Dabi tells him dryly. "Don't tell me a guy who starts with asking about safe words is going to be so bland in bed." 

Shigaraki's eyes are bright again, amused, full of challenge, as he stands up from the table, letting Dabi follow his lead. "I'll need to know those safe words before we get adventurous." 

"'Stop' means 'stop', 'slow down' means 'slow down', 'harder'," Dabi intones dryly, "means 'fuck me better or I'm gonna tell the whole world your dick is awful'." 

"You won't have to ask for it harder, pretty boy." He offers a hand to help Dabi up from the booth, and instead Dabi makes sure that he's finished his drink before pushing up from the table himself. Shigaraki is pretty and he is interested enough to actually go through with this. But he's not the one who went asking for it. He's sure that the other man has had people kissing his ass for years now, he isn't going to simper for him in bed just because he's the one sending work his way. 

The bartender doesn't seem to mind the attitude at all, and brings him up the side staircase. Dabi knows that the other side of the building has the small inn that's attached to it, but to his understanding, all of the rooms for public rent are over there. Which must make this the other man's apartment that is housed over the bar. Shigaraki doesn't even have to unlock the door when he goes into the room, clearly feeling secure enough, even running a bar full of criminals, to not feel the need to guard his space. The apartment itself is fairly bare bones. They enter a room with a small table set up to one side where the other man can take his meals, the kitchen off to the other side, and a short hallway opposite the front door that appears to have three doors. Shigaraki lets him inside and shuts the door behind him, opening his mouth like he is going to offer him a drink, say something about the barren emptiness of his space even though he's been here for years, and Dabi doesn't really care about making small talk. If he's going to get fucked, he would rather get started now and figure out if this is worth his time or if he's going to be getting out of here before his skin is sticky with cum. 

So he curls his tail around Shigaraki's ankle and starts to move it up higher as he moves in closer. "You're sure you don't want something else?" He asks on a purr. Some people don't want to take Sanguine-born people to bed, worried that they'll damn themselves to the lake of blood if they associate with the devil-blooded folk. Some people just worry about getting gored on horns and rended with claws and fangs. But Shigaraki doesn't look cowed at all as Dabi rests his clawed hand over his chest. He definitely feels as muscled as he expected from the cut of his clothes, though his skin has a natural chill to it. Hmm, he does use magic. Maybe elemental like himself? Ice? Or, he supposes as his tail moves up to his thigh, it could be necromantic. He certainly is as pale as a corpse, though the strong heartbeat under his palm at least tells him that he's not a vampire or something. 

Shigaraki curls his hands around Dabi's hips and pulls him closer. "I want whatever makes you the most comfortable, Dabi." He reiterates. "All that matters to me is that you're able to enjoy this as much as I'm going to enjoy having you." 

"How many times has a cheesy fucking line like that actually worked?" 

"As long as I mean it? Every time, though normally I'm not contending with a mysterious shape-shifter who can't answer a direct question to save his life." 

Dabi wants to retort but Shigaraki brushes their noses together, giving him the option of mouthing off or actually getting this started. He wants to get onto the parts about this that he's hoping feel good, so he gives up having the final word at this moment and presses his lips to the other's. Shigaraki doesn't rush the kiss, but he does shift Dabi's body, turning them and backing him up against the door so he knows that the human is in charge right now. He isn't going to complain. He wasn't looking for this when he decided to come out tonight, so if he can just let the other have his way with him while he leans back and enjoys the ride, then that would be a pretty good way to end this encounter. 

Lips moving against each other doesn't immediately tell him that this is going to be completely worth his time, but at least the kiss isn't bad. His mouth has to warm Shigaraki's as it moves against him, his lips chapped and broken with the strange texture that covers them and sits around his eyes. Dabi doesn't know what that is and he doesn't want to ask. If he starts asking questions about things like that, then that could spell the end of whatever this entanglement is as the other man might want him to reciprocate by telling him more about his own body. What matters now, anyway, is that Shigaraki's tongue is slick and cool as it teases along the seam of his lips, and that when he lets him inside, it only takes a few seconds for him to be sighing softly. The tension leaves his body a little more because Shigaraki's mouth tastes like the drinks they've been sharing and his tongue knows how to curl against his own to make the kiss hotter and start to stir pleasure in his veins. He moves his tail up to feel along his crotch, wanting to tell the other that he isn't going to need too much to warm up. He doesn't like to go slowly when he hooks up with people. Normally, he doesn't have any trouble holding any form that he takes, but when he goes slowly and lets himself soak in the pleasure of what's happening to his body, it gets harder. His skin sometimes starts to blotch with white and purple, his eyes flicker, and Shigaraki is already so curious about what exactly he is that Dabi doesn't want to invite more scrutiny by going slowly and giving him more opportunities for the other man to see anything that he's been trying to hide. 

It just so happens that as his tail presses against the front of the human's pants, that Dabi forgets that he has a very good reason for wanting to move quickly that is grounded in logic, because it is all lust that floods it away as he feels the shape of the other man against his tail. He's not hard yet, but he's solid. Thick, long, tucked into his pants comfortably, but now that his tail is pressed against him, he can feel the shape of his cock and he knows, before he's gotten his pants open, that he is big. Dabi presses himself more tightly against his front, his hand going down Shigaraki's chest to try and confirm what he felt with his tail. He loves getting fucked on big cocks. It's not something that he gets as often as he wishes he would, but it is a delight whenever it happens. Nothing feels better than to be so stretched open that he can hardly breathe. It's grounding in the same way the iron pierced through his skin tethers his magic together. 

Shigaraki catches his wrist though and stops him, parting their lips for long enough to chuckle, "Slow down, pretty boy. We have all night." 

"Who said I was staying the night?" Dabi's mouth runs before he can even consider it a bad idea. He might if Shigaraki is as big as he felt and can get it up enough to give him a few rounds of being fucked full. But he can't resist the urge to be contrary. Shigaraki doesn't seem to mind that though, still seeming amused before he's got his mouth back on Dabi's and a hand around his wrists. He holds them both tightly and pins them to the door above Dabi's head and that puts a pulse of heat through him as well. It's been a while since anyone tried to dominate him. He isn't incredibly tall or masculine in any of his forms, just averagely so, but especially in his dragon-kin, sanguine-born, and human forms, people tend to see the metal pierced through nearly every inch of his skin and think that he must be the kind who wants to take them apart. He'll do that, not a problem really, but he never has to worry about his form slipping when he does that because it never feels as good as it does when he lets someone else take him apart instead. He moans softly into the other's mouth as he's caged against the door, his tail moving up to Shigaraki's waist and tightening, doing his best to pull him into his body so he can get more of him. 

"Stay," Shigaraki murmurs as his mouth moves from his so he can nip along his jaw. "So I can make sure that every inch of you is feeling good before you go." 

Hard to argue with that but Dabi probably would have tried to find a way if he weren't biting his lip to keep the immediate sound of his need from slipping out when Shigaraki's teeth are moving along his neck, licking and sucking at his skin with the determination of leaving a mark. Dabi doesn't let him. He makes his skin go from pink to unblemished right before his eyes. He watches the other's eyes light up with challenge, and he's very glad to see that means whatever intentions he had of going so slowly and being so doting seem to be thrown away. Dabi doesn't need slow and doting. If he's going to have a good time tonight, he wants to do it by being absolutely wrecked on the other's cock. 

Shigaraki's teeth bite harder, his other hand moving over Dabi's body, feeling the many bumps of metal through his clothes, and finding the man straps, buckles, and belts that Dabi is wearing today. Long leather coat that he has to let go of his wrists to make him shed to the floor. Dabi uses the opportunity to try and move away from the door, and Shigaraki lets him dance out of his reach once before he catches him by one of the straps of his leather vest and pulls him back in for another searing kiss as he starts to work those open to make him shrug it off. He keeps trying to move away, but Shigaraki seems to be happy to play this game with him. He pulls him back in, pulls at his clothes roughly so that his dagger is falling from his thigh and thudding heavily against the floor. The tie of his shirt is pulled roughly until it's open and falling off of his shoulders, but he can't take it off of him because Dabi moves each time he tries to get his wrists. Shigaraki nearly growls at him over that, settling for shoving a hand underneath the fabric instead and finding the piercing set into his sternum and the ones through his nipples, teasing those roughly as he traps Dabi's hips against his kitchen counter with his own. The rough touches are heating his blood far more quickly than the softer ones were. His tail shoves itself into Shigaraki's belt in turn, pulling the strap loose, but he has to use his hands to fumble to actually get the buckle open.

He can't help moaning loudly when he has Shigaraki's mouth moving down across his collar bone so he can replace the fingers on his nipple with his lips and tongue. He gets the belt open and goes straight for the ties on Shigaraki's pants. He's allowed to, allowed to make himself breathless with his want when he feels that the other is half hard now and that he really is as big as he thought he would be when he first reached for him. 

"Fuck me," he demands immediately as he palms his length through his undergarments. 

"So impatient, baby." Shigaraki's voice is amused and warm as he nips at his skin. "Spend the night." His breath is just barely warm as he runs his nose up the side of his neck so he can nibble along the shell of his ear. 

"Show me you're worth losing sleep over." 

It earns him another laugh and hands moving to the laces of his pants. He pulls them open and Dabi lets the other man lift him onto the counter, sitting on the edge as he kicks his boots off and lets the human pull his pants down his thighs, exposing his half-hard cock to the cool air. Shigaraki sees the line of piercing along the underside of his cock and huffs another laugh. "Even here?" 

"Magic has to be grounded everywhere." For people like him. For people who want it so badly and can't get it through prayer, study, or natural talent. They have to forcibly open their magic channels and then keep them open and grounded with the iron in their bodies. 

Shig hums in the back of his throat and strokes his hand along his cock and Dabi is very glad that he doesn't seem all that interested in making any other small talk about that. Instead he seems to be trying to find out if those piercings make him more or less sensitive and Dabi is showing him the answer as he rapidly hardens the rest of the way in his hand. He hisses out a spell, short and a low-level conjuration, that has oil pooling on the other's palm so that the next touch has his toes curling as it slides smoothly over him. 

"What a good boy," Shigaraki teases him as he keeps moving his hand over him, lips trailing over his skin. "Lean back, baby. Going to give you what you want. Make you crave getting into my bed." 

Dabi opens his mouth to take another shot at his ego, aiming to get those hands on him more roughly again, but when he doesn't comply immediately, Shigaraki is pushing him back with his other hand, his wrist twisting around his head on the upstroke, and taking his breath away as his back hits the counter and his hips are dragged forward so his lower body is hanging off of the surface. Shigaraki shrugs out of his red coat, letting the expensive fabric fall to the floor like it's worthless, and losing his shirt in a similar fashion before he's moving back between Dabi's legs. He wraps them over the other's hips. At this angle, his tail can't press up along his back to make him open for his partner's cock, so instead it flicks out and grabs hold of his thigh, trying to pull him in tighter so he can get him inside as quickly as possible and make sure he stays there until he feels like he's been bred full. 

Shigaraki's hand moves from his cock over his balls, cupping and stroking there too which has him moaning, his cock drooling pre against his stomach and the muscles in his thighs jumping, as his other hand pushes Dabi's shirt up under his arms so he can dip his head to lavish his chest with more attention. But his hand doesn't linger there long either, trailing lower to find his hole and whispering that same spell against his skin to bring more oil to his palm so he can slick his skin as his fingers trail around the tight ring of muscles there. Normally Dabi doesn't take very much prep. He prefers to have his partners fuck into him slowly enough to make him stretch on their cocks alone, but it has been a while and if Shigaraki is as big as he thinks he is, then he probably needs a little prep first this time. He still shows how impatient he is for more, though, as he immediately tries to rub against his fingers, rocking against them and tangling his fingers in Shigaraki's hair as he pulls him up for another kiss. The tie slips free from his hair and curtains them in as the other man pushes his first finger inside as their mouths meet again. 

The probing touches inside of him feel so good, putting more of that sweet, sickening heat in his veins, the piercings on his skin going a little hotter as they try to keep his magic in check as he gets more worked up. The oil wets his walls as Shigaraki strokes inside of him with a practiced ease that tells Dabi that he's definitely had plenty of other people up here and pinned just the same way. Good, maybe that means that he'll actually be worth it when he finally gets inside. But he doesn't want to wait for that, and he has sharp teeth and talons that he uses to prick at Shigaraki's skin as he hisses, 

"Hurry up." 

"I'm going to have to teach you some patience, baby boy." He reprimands him by shoving another finger inside and crooking them roughly up against his prostate as his other hand goes to the base of Dabi's tail and he presses his thumb against the underside where it connects to his spine. The pressure there sends stars exploding across his vision as a loud moan tears out of his chest, his cock aching from how hard he finds himself from the sensation of that pressure. He doesn't normally have people touch his tail when he's like this, but Shigaraki's hand fists around the part as close to his spine as possible and he starts to move his hand over him like he's stroking his cock, and it feels almost as good. The pressure around that appendage, so close to his hole, that it's tightening his muscles and making him feel even fuller even just on his fingers. "But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to show you why I'll make it worth the wait next time." 

"'Next time'? Getting awfully full of yourself." 

But Shigaraki just smiles and presses against his sweet spot as he strokes the base of his tail again and Dabi is losing any other snarky comments on a moan. 

It doesn't take much longer for Dabi's sharp claws to catch on the other's wrist to force his fingers out. He doesn't want to be fully stretched open. He wants to feel every inch of how big Shigaraki is as he fucks him open. The other lets go of him and takes his fingers out for long enough to pull himself free from his pants and Dabi chitters, a sound that is entirely Sanguine as he spreads his legs wider because Shigaraki is absolutely huge and he wants nothing more than to have him inside. He barely wants to wait for the human to slick his cock with oil, his tail almost a vice around his thigh with how hard he's trying to pull him back in. When his blunt head rubs over his hole, he goes completely breathless with how thick he feels even just giving him the tease of being inside. 

The second that Shigaraki starts to stretch him open so wide on his cock, Dabi knows that he's going to be trying to celebrate every good job with his cock sunk inside of him like this. Dabi thinks that Shigaraki might be the biggest he's ever had and the purrs that start to leave his throat involuntarily are from the race he's wearing now. He can't help it though. It feels so good to be stretched so wide. He is nearly limp against the counter, his body trembling slightly from how much his nerves are making this feel like. He isn't sure how he's going to keep it together when the other man starts to thrust, already having to fumble for his control over this form just from how very full he is. 

When Shigaraki draws his hips back just enough to rock into him slowly, Dabi has to choke out, "Wait--" as the pleasure wracks through him. 

He stills immediately, "What's wrong, baby? Too much?" 

It is, but that's not his gripe. He wants more, still wants it hard, but he can't have it like this. At least he already has black hair right now. He can let that part of his illusion slip, can let his eyes go white, can let his fangs recede so all he has to focus on maintaining is his tail, horns, and healthy skin color-- but not in this position. "On my stomach?" He begs. He needs that if he's going to be able to let himself enjoy this when his whole body feels like it's about to shatter apart. 

Shigaraki's expression warms from the worry that was pressing in at the edges before and he leans down to give Dabi another soft kiss. "Okay, baby boy, whatever makes you more comfortable." He pulls out and Dabi forces his tail to let go of his leg so he can turn over, fingers gripping the edge of the counter and holding on tight as his tail curves up along his spine and he spreads his legs wide, his toes just brushing the floor. Shigaraki doesn't waste time then, sinking back into his body and Dabi loses control over his teeth and eyes as he moans so loudly as he's filled again. 

"Hard," he demands, his voice already thready just from the pressure inside of him and from his own cock being pressed against the countertop. 

"Demanding, " the reprimand is light, but the hand that comes down against his ass isn't. The sound of flesh against flesh rings through the air before Dabi feels the sting of it and humiliates himself by not only clenching down on his cock harder, but moaning even louder as his hips jump back to get more. Shigaraki doesn't hit him again, but he does give him more. He rolls his hips again and fists his hand around the base of Dabi's tail. Dabi loses his claws. It's just his blunt natural nails biting into the edge of the counter as the other man draws his hips back and fucks him so full that he sees stars. 

///

He still managed not to stay the whole night. Shigaraki fucked him on the counter and when he had rolled him over at the end of the first round, Dabi had to shift to a human too so that he wouldn't have to focus on the extra appendages that had been distracting him before. The other man hadn't seemed bothered by that at all and had just picked him up and carried him into the bedroom, putting him down on his plush mattress and had moved down his body to swallow his cock until he was ready to fill his hole again. 

Dabi might have passed out after his third orgasm, but he needs far less sleep than a human does, and he'd been able to slip out of the bed after a few hours, gathered his clothes, and head out. He almost wishes that he'd chanced bathing at Shigaraki's place because his own cheap apartment only has about five minutes worth of hot water. Still. It was a better fuck than he was expecting, and the next time he goes to the bar to do business, Shigaraki doesn't treat him any differently. None of the contacts he speaks to treat him strangely either, which Dabi hopes means that they haven't heard that he fucked the kingpin. 

When he's flush with cash from his next job, he buys a bottle of the scotch Shigaraki said was actually his favorite and waits for a lull in the crowd before he catches the bartender's eye and moves towards that back stairwell that leads up to his apartment. Shig's eyes are hot on him as he turns to say something to his staff before waving him on. Dabi has only just managed to find what cabinet he keeps his glasses in before Shigaraki enters the apartment and pulls him in for a kiss. 

///

Things have been so good in Zogas that it really shouldn't surprise him when one day he wakes up and it's bad again. Dabi barely manages to roll over before he is vomiting out a stream of bile, blood, and the remnants of his meal from the night before. Fuck. He can't keep his shape and Dabi watches his skin bleed the mottled purple of his burns all along it that he wishes he didn't have to see. He stumbles up out of bed, the apartment thankfully so small that he doesn't have to go far before he can get to the kitchen cabinet. He wasn't able to buy much honey, being worried that someone would see him getting a fair amount of it and put together too much about the strange witch that rolled into town, but he does have a jar. He doesn't have an enchanted ice box in this apartment though, so he doesn't keep any milk on hand. That would sustain him more than just the honey and figs that he does have, but he hopes some of the heavy, creamy cheese he'd splurged on will help as well. 

He cuts open the rind on the cheese and splits the figs down the center before upending the honey on all of it. He doesn't want to eat after just being so sick, but he will have to if he doesn't want it to get any worse. So he starts to shove the food into his mouth, the sweetness and richness filling him and making it easier for him to breathe past the agony that is screaming through his skin at every single point of connection in his body. It's been so long since he's felt this terribly, but he's been using his magic more than he's had to in months of travel and work. It's really no surprise. Iron is poisonous to fey after all. 

///

It takes hours after his meal for him to feel slightly better and when he is, he has to clean up the sick on the floor by hand to avoid chancing hurting himself by pushing his magic right now. He cleans up and then goes and takes a freezing shower, actually enjoying the chill when he feels like each piercing is a brand that is trying to further mar his skin. Dabi lets the water rush over him and does his best not to curse the life he was given. No use in doing that. All he needs is to work towards strengthening his body enough to withstand the magic he'll need to curse Enji's. 

He wonders sometimes, who the fey who sired him really was. Why his mother was so desperate to stay married to a man like Enji Todoroki that she went to a faerie ring and struck a deal with the one who granted her wish. She and Enji were married three years before he was born and she hadn't been able to have a child. So she found a fey who said he would give her the ability if she carried his first. Dabi thinks his mother might be the only woman in the world to have willingly carried a changeling to term without even a thread of deception in the mix. Probably the last too, because the stress of seeing him when he was born, too soon for a human pregnancy, his skin white as paper and eyes just as stark, had frightened her. When she had tried to nurse him he would sink his inhuman needle-like baby teeth into her skin and suck out blood and milk until she started to put honey on her skin instead. That had made him start to look more human most of the time, and when Enji came back from his duties as a warrior, she had presented him with his premature son. It was instinctive and not something he'd had any control over, but Dabi had immediately taken on his 'father's' features to ensure he wasn't rejected. Rei was able to have three more children after him, but each pregnancy drained away more and more of her vitality until her skin was nearly as pale as Dabi's was untransformed, and she seemed one strong wind away from snapping. 

Enji was that wind but it was Dabi's fault. He wasn't actually born of the other man, a warrior mage who had command over flames that had not been seen even in great scholars in generations-- but still not as powerful as one of the others in his guild who had been selected as the next head of it. Dabi tried and tried, but the magic that humans wield and the magic that fey do is different. He was a changeling. Illusions and transmutation of his own flesh were easy, but everything else was impossible. He kept pushing, Enji kept pushing. Beat him black and blue, had gone after Fuyumi and Natsuo next, but she only had weak magic, and he'd had the aptitude to be a healer instead of a warrior. Shoto was the only one of them who seemed to have gotten it right, but his birth sapped the last of her strength. She had clawed at her hair, had confessed to him what he was when he kept trying to push his body to do the magic he couldn't over and over again, and he had spit barbs at her, called her a whore that should rot away to nothing for bringing him into this world and letting him be raised with the hope of a future that was being torn away from him. She'd lost her mind after that. Had used her own weaker magic to try and freeze Enji's blue eye out of Shoto's skull and had been sent away. With her gone and Enji still away most days to do his work, and spending the ones he had at home training Shoto, Dabi had been able to comb their home library until he read about witches. 

He knew salt and iron could do damage to fey, but he had hoped that he would be able to endure the iron with the magic that would be forced into his body from the ritual. It took him a year or two after his mother was sent away to get the resources he needed to do the ritual himself, and he had gone to the mountain where his mother had made her deal, hoping to draw on whatever threads of power might linger there, and he had pierced the metal into his skin. He hid those piercings as they healed, though that took such a long time and was agony all throughout it, but when they had, he was able to cast the way Enji had always wanted him to. He was so excited. He made his father come to the mountain and showed him how strong his fire conjuration was now. Enji's expression hadn't lit up, he hadn't told him that he was proud. He looked at him with rage and horror and Dabi only realized as he suddenly collapsed, bloody vomit spilling from his lips, that his skin was paper white again. That at some point as he overexerted himself through the casting, he had shown his father his true form. 

Enji had raged at him, demanding to know what he'd done to his son, and when Dabi choked out that he never had a son before him, he was told that he wasn't any son of his. That he wasn't a Todoroki, that he was nothing but a bastard and he would not care for him any longer. Dabi tried to show him again. He'd tried to tell him that he made himself everything that he could have wanted, but he was left alone on the mountain as his magic thinned and the poison spread through him. He couldn't control the fire enough to put it out and he had burned. 

Dabi thinks, maybe, his biological father had come through from Fayundell and took him out of the flames, because when he woke many years later, it was in a hospital that was half a continent away from the mountain and he was wearing a talisman that kept him in the form of a human for the time it took for him to wake. Large sections of his body were warped with purple burns, but he was alive and he was able to cast still. He had to start smaller, had to start doing things that keep fey healthy instead of doing things that humans and other races need. Milk and honey is practically a healing potion for him. It revitalizes him and staves off the effects of the iron in his skin. Figs, berries, cheese, some mushrooms, bread, all of that helps too. Cured meats can be a special indulgence, but they don't give him nearly as much sustenance as he gets from other things. 

When he gets out of the shower, he realizes it's only barely nine in the morning. He only needs two or three hours of sleep each night, and he must have woken at before four for it to be so early after how long he spent sitting on his kitchen floor feeling so awful after his meal. He needs more fey food. It's agony to get dressed in his leathers. He has iron sunk into his cheeks, chin, tongue, ears, in seven points down his spine, through his nipples, his sternum, over each hip, through his belly button, on the backs of each wrist, and a row of three down the backs of each of his calves. Each one helps to keep the magic he's forced into his body from tearing him into pieces, and they're all too hot and tender from how his fey-born body is trying to reject them. He really doesn't want to go walk to the market when he's gotten dressed, already exhausted again, but he has to.

He goes slowly, but he walks to market and finds a shop that has everything he needs. He buys himself a large sack of flour, yeast, a gallon of milk, a pint of honey, butter, more fruit and cheese, and a few jars of local jams. When the woman at the stall asks him what he's making, he tells her that it's his mother's honey bread recipe. Honey bread is a common staple that he could just buy from a baker, but saying it's his mother's recipe gives him the guise of nostalgia to hide how his purchases give him everything he needs to help him feel better. 

As soon as he's back in the privacy of his home, he pours a full glass of milk and dollops in two hefty spoonfuls of honey. Drinking that down settles away the last of the fatigue and sickness in his stomach and he considers the massive amount of flour that he has now. Bread can help and it will keep longer than the milk will. He might not bake often, but this is something that he can manage. 

///

It takes a few hours for the bread to be done and he ends up making three loaves of it and he still ends up drinking another two cups of the milk and honey to finish off the milk. The overindulgence has made him feel much better though, his clothes no longer a stark and uncomfortable reminder that he is killing himself slowly with every spell that he uses. It doesn't matter. Going that low and recovering each time allows him to call up more and more magic each time afterwards. He just needs to give his magic channels time to adjust to how much use they've gotten over the past few weeks and then he'll be fine. But for the next couple, he needs to slow it down. So he wraps up one of the loaves of bread in a clean towel that he chances a tiny burst of power to enchant to keep it warm and fresh for the walk over, before he heads back out at around three in the afternoon. 

The Shattered hand doesn't actually open until six in the evening, but Dabi goes around to the back entrance and takes the stairs up to Shigaraki's side-door. He knocks lightly, a little worried that a human who keeps the late hours that he does might still be sleeping even though it's well past morning, but there's only a momentary pause before this lock is sliding open and Shigaraki is pulling open the door. He's wearing leather breeches in the same deep red as his favorite coat and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

"Dabi," he doesn't sound or look upset by the surprise visit, and before Dabi can open his mouth, he's stepping out of the doorway, opening it wide for him, "Come in." 

He supposes that this is a conversation he would rather have somewhere that no one else will be able to overhear, so he moves into the now-familiar apartment. Shig shuts the door behind him.

"What brings you here so early?" 

"Wanted to talk to you about the jobs you've been sending my way." He says, making his way down the hall past the bedroom and bathroom and into his living area. He absolutely won't be able to hold it together if Shigaraki were to pin him down and fuck him as well as he normally does right now so he doesn't want to give either of them that temptation by staying in the narrow hallway or having this conversation in the bedroom. 

"Have there been any issues?" Shigaraki's voice shifts slightly as he follows after him. It doesn't become hostile, just focused on their work and Dabi appreciates that. No matter how many times he's found his way into Shigaraki's bed, he never slips with his professionalism when Dabi needs to talk business instead of pleasure. 

"No, I like the work, I've been completing my jobs as asked. But I've been taking on a lot of them." He explains. He barely has to lie about this part. Witches can combust if they use their magic too much too quickly, not like scholars or healers who can simply fall into a coma. When a witch pushes too far, they burn, Dabi has done that once-- not that Shigaraki knows that-- and he doesn't want to do it again. "I think for at least the next couple of weeks, I only want to take on one or two of the higher paying jobs. Since you've been screening most of them for me, can you--" 

"Of course." Shigaraki says so easily. "You can make your own schedule and set how much work you want to take, firefly." He's been calling him that more often now, once he caught wind that Dabi really does burn all of his clients' problems to cinders. "I'm just here to help make that easier."

"Good. Consider this a 'thanks' instead of a bribe." He pushes the loaf of bread across the counter to him and prepares to stand. 

"Did you make this?" He isn't expecting Shigaraki's voice to sound so... softly astounded. 

"Yeah? It's no big deal. I ended up having too much milk." An easy lie to keep up so no one wonders about this. 

"I can't cook to save my life." Shigaraki tells him. "It's impressive to me." 

"You have low standards." Dabi tells him. "It's a recipe that's more common up north."

"From your home?" 

He hesitates. It's been months, but he hasn't told Shigaraki almost anything about where he's from or who he was before this. But he supposed that 'north' is thousands of miles of land. It won't give the other man too much to work with if he doesn't tell him anything else. "Yeah. Family recipe." 

"Eat with me?" 

Dabi considers protesting, but Shigaraki turns to his cabinets and takes out some honey before he turns to his ice box and takes out some jam, butter, and an apple. He sets it on the counter with the bread before he retrieves some knives and a plate. It's practically a compulsion to not pass up food when it's been offered to him. Something fey inside that keeps him rooted to his stool. "Okay." 

Shigaraki smiles at him and Dabi takes one of the knives and cuts the bread as Shigaraki cores and slices the apple. He drizzles honey over it and lets Dabi smear butter and even more honey over the slices of bread that he eats. By the time they're finished, Dabi is very glad that he didn't wear the face of the cat-kin or he might have started purring. Shig catches a drop of honey on the plate and lets Dabi lick it off of his finger and his lips are sweet too when they seal over his. It's probably from the overindulgence in fey food and the fact everything but the bread became an offering that Dabi even has the energy to stay human after the other carries him into his bed again. 

///

The next job that he takes is supposed to be a relatively simple one: One of the competitors to a local industrial smith has opened a new factory that has already been getting in trouble for not being safe for workers yet, but the moment it is, the new factory will take over all of the business that the other smiths have been relying on. They might have emptied their savings for this job, but if the factory burns, their competitor won't have the funds either to try this again. Dabi is just supposed to go to the factory at night and set a fire from the inside. The forge is already having problems. The idea of it sending out a stray spark after cooling incorrectly isn't that unlikely. He just has to set a fire. That's easy and his specialty and he isn't worried about doing it. 

Not until he gets there and breaks in to find that the bastard hired security to make sure that something like this doesn't happen. Dabi doesn't usually have a problem killing people, but he doesn't necessarily want the scrutiny that this job will get him if it comes up with a body count. So he has to be very strategic with how he starts the fires to make them believable and make it so that he doesn't get caught. That takes much greater command of his magic than his fire usually does, and as he's crouched between machines, disguised as a cat-kin for his darker fur and sharper ears, he is desperately trying to bring the embers in the forge back to life without letting the flames creep blue. It takes so long to manage, and when he does, he is trembling from the overexertion and there is sweat on the beans across the palms of his hands. But the forge relights, and then it's a much easier manner of putting a container of machine oil in the way of one of the guards who calls out about it and rushes over to try to figure out how to put out the flames. He stumbles over the container and sends its contents spilling across the floor and Dabi lets a spark jump from the forge. The man all but skitters back as the flames lick over the floor quickly and decisively, others calling out to make sure that the other is alright and to try to coordinate efforts to put the flames out. But Dabi keeps the fire spreading, a little faster than it should, the smoke starting to fill the area thick and black as chemicals burn too. 

It's not long before they are all fleeing, deciding their lives are more important than their jobs. Dabi stays for a bit longer though, turning into his elemental-born form to ensure the fire won't be able to lick at his skin, before he makes sure to bring the flames hotter and hotter, ensuring the metal of every machine is badly warped and that there will be nothing salvageable of even the foundations of this building. He's still ensuring that when all of the sudden, pain spikes through his body again and he's doubling over, lava spilling past his lips and dimming the fire beneath his skin as his magic subjects him to a burning that he can't make himself impervious to. Fuck. Too much magic, too much focus. He needs to get out of here. 

He flows through the fire and smoke and slips out into the night, hearing people calling for casters and anyone who can carry a bucket to try to put out the flames before they can spread to the other buildings. Dabi gets far enough away to stumble into an alley to change to his human form before he starts to walk deeper into the city. He needs his pay for this job and then he needs a week of rest. 

He goes straight towards the Shattered Hand, but he doesn't bother to enter the brightly lit tavern. He is weak and exhausted, something that even his human visage won't be able to hide, and he doesn't want anyone to see how much that took out of him and start to believe that he can't be trusted to handle work like this. He needs more work like this to get the money he needs to grow his funds, he just needs to space out the jobs. Dabi goes up the back staircase and digs out the lockpicking kit that he hasn't had to make use of in nearly four years. But Shigaraki's door is warded, of course it is, against using spellwork to unlock it. He isn't surprised that it also shimmers when he manages to pick the lock and push it open, a silent alarm that the bartender will hear in the back of his mind and will alert him that someone is in his space. That's fine. He can apologize for entering the apartment unannounced when he comes upstairs. 

Dabi's legs feel weak and he pulls the door shut before he lets himself slide down it, sitting on the other's floor so he can try to catch his breath and stop trembling from the overexertion of his muscles and magic. He isn't in danger of burning himself up right now, but he is absolutely not going to have a good time if he doesn't feed his real body again soon. 

Maybe he's more out of it than he thought he was, because the next thing he knows, Shigaraki is kneeling in front of him, bringing a cup to his lips. Dabi means to push it away, not wanting water or any liquor, but he smells the honey a second later and lets out a soft sound of surprise before he's getting his hand around the cup and greedily drinking down the mixture of milk and honey. There's too much honey in it, but Dabi can't complain. For one blissful moment, all he knows is that his body is getting what it needs to feel better. And then the cup is empty and he's gasping for breath as his mind catches back up to him. As he looks up and sees red eyes staring back unwaveringly and he realizes that the human knows. 

Dabi waits for the punch. Waits to have salt and iron shavings poured over his skin, waits to be threatened, to be hurt, for the human to demand a deal with him that he can't give, but Shigaraki's hand just comes up to his cheek and he strokes his thumb very gently around the piercing sunk into his cheek to check their temperature. "Do you need more? I've been keeping it on hand since you visited last. I have some figs and cheese too." 

The terror of discovery has closed up his throat so completely that Dabi is surprised that breath can make it into his lungs. It's really no wonder that words can't make it out. When he doesn't say anything, when the human must be able to see every fearful shadow that is dancing over his features and behind his eyes, his eyes soften and he gives him a soft, tentative smile. 

"Stay here. I have an offering for you." He says. Shigaraki takes the cup and stands, and Dabi tries to get his legs under him. He needs to leave. He has to get back to his apartment and get what he can, get out of town on what little he's managed to save up because if he doesn't now, he's not going to take anything with him when Shigaraki sends people after him or lets it slip that a Changeling has come into Zogas. People are too afraid of him. Husbands and wives terrified that he'll slip into their homes and take their children to replace them with ones of his own. Workers and bosses afraid that he'll become them and sneak into businesses to rob them blind. Even if he hadn't been the cause of the fire tonight, Dabi knows that would still be blamed on him. All bad things, every fight that anyone has gotten into with a loved one since he arrived, he will be blamed for it all and they'll come after him with pitchforks and torches and the city guards will come after him with loaded crossbows, darts soaked in saltwater, and iron blades so they'll know every cut they land on him will poison him more and more until they've weakened him enough to pin him down and cut his head from his neck. He won't be given a trial. He won't be arrested. Fey are too wild and too dangerous. He will be killed for the crime of existing--

Dabi pushes himself up and fumbles for the doorknob, but as soon as it opens, he hears Shigaraki's voice and the spell slams it shut again, locking it in place as the other man comes back down the hall with a bowl of the fruit and another glass of the milk and honey. "Please," he begs immediately, his chest aching so sharply. He's had to run so many times before, but this hurts more than the others. He hasn't spent so long in one place for such a long time, has never taken a partner throughout that either. He doesn't want to turn and see the blackness that he's sure is marring Shigaraki's features now that he's confirmed what the human must have suspected. He doesn't know how long he's suspected. It could have been since the first night he asked him about his illusions, it could have been one of the many nights they've spent in bed together. "You can keep all of the money from this job. Just let me leave." 

"Dabi," he hears the sound of the ceramic clicking against the floor as the bowl and cup are set aside. "I'm not going to take your money and you can leave as soon as you don't look like you're going to collapse. But your apartment is a long walk. You already had one tonight. I have plenty of food for you, eat whatever you need to feel better and then you can leave." His hand catches his shoulder and Dabi can't help the tiny, fearful sound he makes as he shifts forms abruptly to his elemental-born body, the patches of skin that he has lava rock and so hot that he immediately sears Shigaraki's flesh and causes him to rear back with a hiss. Dabi tries to focus his magic enough to undo the ward the other man placed on the door, but he's too weak, the potential of flame too close to the surface of his skin. 

It's only half a threat when he says, "Let me leave, or I'm going to burn your entire building to the ground." He would burn with it. He's too close to combusting. 

There's a long pause and then the ward falls. Dabi immediately turns the handle and stumbles out into the night, tuning into his cat-kin form so he can run as fast as possible to get home. He has more resources than he's ever had available to him before, he doesn't want to have to run away from the city without those. 

Dabi has only just stepped into his apartment when the strain his body has been under sends another wave of sick streaked with blood and ash up from his throat, expelling all of the milk and honey that the other man gave him. The loss makes him even weaker and he's still fumbling with the jar of honey in his kitchen when black rushes in through his vision and the world falls away from him. 

///

When he wakes next, it's in his bed with a little glass being tipped to his lips. The mixture is a little less overwhelmingly sweet with honey this time, and he manages to take small sips. It takes a few before he can manage to open his eyes, seeing that it's very bright in his room. Daylight. No. He was supposed to run under the cover of night. He wasn't supposed to rest. He tries to push himself up from the bed, but a gentle hand pushes him back down so easily. He whimpers and the touch retreats and brings the glass back to his lips instead. 

"Rest, firefly. You're safe." 

Dabi feels his eyes burn and a few bitter tears slip over his cheeks. He's never been safe in his life. But he's too weak to even lift a hand from the bed. He doesn't have a choice but to subject himself to whatever happens to him next. 

///

When he wakes again it's dark outside of his window, but someone has lit a couple of his oil lamps that Dabi barely bothers with from how strong his eyes are in the dark. His whole apartment smells like warm milk and honey, fresh bread, ripe fruit, and a thin smell of stress and sweat. The sweat smell is coming from him, the odor acrid and unpleasant as it is tinged with fear and the sulfur of his magic that tried so desperately to burn through him the night before. But the stress smell is coming from Shigaraki. He's sitting over on the windowsill, looking out over the edge of the city that is visible from there. He is wearing the same clothes as the night before, but there are dark circles under his eyes that Dabi hasn't ever seen him with before, freshly scabbed scratches over his neck from where his nails must have bitten into the skin, and his hair is more wild than he's ever seen it, like he couldn't keep his hands out of it when he wasn't too busy clawing at his skin. 

Dabi's chest feels tight when he manages to speak, "Why are you here?" 

"Dabi," Shigaraki's voice is too relieved. He moves quickly off of the sill and crosses the room to the stove, moving past the counter that Dabi now sees is covered in food that he most certainly didn't have in his apartment before. Custard tarts heaped with berries and drizzled with honey, fresh bread, flower buds, mushrooms, and nuts, and a warm pot of milk simmering on his stove that Shigaraki picks up with a cloth wrapped around his bandaged hand before he pours half of it into Dabi's only mug before he takes a small bottle of what Dabi immediately smells is cow's blood before he fills it the rest of the way with that, mixing the two together with a spoon before he brings the steaming contents over to him. It smells so good, but he doesn't want to take it until he knows the catch. 

"I won't make a deal with you, mortal." He hasn't had to reach for this persona in a very long time, but pretending to be a fey who knows what they're doing tends to give him a better reaction than just bluntly telling the humans that he genuinely can't actually do the things that get demanded of him. 

"I don't want to make a deal," Shigaraki frowns. "I didn't think changelings could do that anyway." 

Dabi stares at him, his mouth dry. He hasn't said what he is... ever. His mother called him that, Enji called him a monster, other people have hurled that word at him like an accusation, but he hasn't ever used it for himself outside of his own head. He still can't claim it now when he manages hoarsely, "What do you know about changelings?" 

Shigaraki sits on the edge of the bed and offers him the mug of milk, honey, and blood and Dabi's stomach tightens sharply with his need. Shigaraki must have cleaned up the sick on the floor because there's no puddle of it that he has to move around to get to him. "Not too much," he says gently, offering him the mug again, "My father did business with some Threadwalkers when he was alive. They had interests in Feyundell and traveled there somewhat infrequently. A few of their clients were changelings who went there to escape the prejudice here." His expression tries not to pinch, but there is something unhappy in the set of it when he asks, "Is that why you've been focusing on taking bigger jobs? To get the money to hire a Threadwalker to take you there?" 

"No." Dabi has never been interested in traveling to any of the other planes let alone Feyundell which is home to the kingdom of elves and courts of fairies that survive an environment so harsh and ruthless that even their plants sometimes try to devour them. Dabi would not survive there when he is already slowly dying to the poison he has in his skin. He turns his eyes away from Shigaraki's before he answers again, "I have things to do here before I consider anything else." 

"Okay," there's no mistaking the relief that comes from the other's voice. "...Are you really a witch?" Shigaraki asks, reaching one hand for his face. Dabi realizes that, despite how horrible and exhausted he feels, he somehow managed to keep his human form intact even unconscious, this one so common and used from such a young age that he was able to cling to it with the barest scrap of his natural abilities. 

He manages a slight nod. 

"... I thought iron was poisonous?" 

Dabi doesn't respond to that at all and Shigaraki's thumb rubs over the grounding iron again. 

"I won't tell anyone," Shigaraki promises him. "This is your secret, your life, you can wear whatever forms you choose, come to me for work, for--" he hesitates, his voice softer when he continues, "anything. I won't tell anyone else what you are." 

"...How long have you known?" He's tried so hard--

"I suspected after the first night," Shigaraki tells him, "After you shifted from a sanguine-born to human so effortlessly. I have a friend who is a master illusionist and even he can't cast without using a word or gesture to do so. You were nearly naked, I knew you couldn't be wearing a talisman for the effect either. When you brought me the bread and got more drunk off of honey than any drink we've shared before, I knew for certain then." 

"Just because I can't steal away your child doesn't mean I couldn't take your place if I so choose." He snaps, trying to make himself seem more threatening when he is so weak now that he thinks reaching for even the barest thread of his magic will have his body burning on the sheets. 

"You don't want that." Shigaraki tells him. "You want to live your life freely. That's why you use a dozen different names with everyone else in town, why you barely let yourself eat the way you need to to keep from drawing attention to yourself. You are deadly when it comes to your work," his hand is still so gentle as it cups his cheek. "But you are not a threat to the identities of any person in this city. You won't even take espionage work even though it would be such a simple matter for you." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's felt so achingly small and seen since Enji Todoroki was condemning him to burn on that mountain top, but any other words that he might have tried to find are lost to him. Discovered and being offered the chance to continue existing? Oh, if ever there were a fairytale for his kind. But if Shigaraki doesn't intend to show his viciousness yet, he needs to take the opportunity that he can to get stronger now. He takes the concoction and brings it to his lips. He doesn't think he's imagining that the smell of relief in the air is coming off of them both when he finally begins to drink deeply. 

///

He's bedridden for days for the first time in years. But Shigaraki comes to his apartment each day in the early afternoon. He brings him fresh milk, more cow's blood, more of the tarts, custards, and fruits. He makes sure that all of it is drizzled in honey and makes sure that Dabi is eating a lot more than he normally would allow himself. Shigaraki brings his payment for his last job, he makes sure to open the window to let in fresh air, even brings him some books from his own collection to keep him company if he needs the entertainment. It takes days for him to recover, but when he has, he knows that his magic is stronger than it was before because the skin all around each of his grounding points feels tight. He has to dig out his kit and stand in the bathroom, looking at his body, trying to find a new place to help keep the magic settled. He ends up placing a row of three dermals along the inner side of each forearm. The iron sinks in, burning slightly as it does, but the new magic swells around the fresh groundings and takes away some of the feverish heat living under his skin. That, at least, leaves him more comfortable and feeling like he can actually move. Shigaraki already left for the day, and he goes to the counter and makes himself pack away the leftovers from the abundant meal he'd brought him today. If he's going to leave now, then he won't be able to go to market to get supplies before he goes. This will last him a while, especially if he turns to an earth elemental-born. His stomach will take longer to feel empty. Long enough to make this portion last him to the coast. It's not much money that he has saved away, but he can get on a boat, maybe he'll even be able to convince one of the crews to take him on as an extra worker in exchange of cutting some of his cost of being there. 

He packs up the few things in his apartment and leaves the books that Shigaraki brought for him neatly on his bed. He could have gotten him killed at any point since he came to Zogas. The least he can do to show gratitude that he hadn't is by not stealing from him. 

It's been a very, very long time since Dabi has ever felt saddened to leave somewhere. The little places that he's carved out for himself as he's traveled never feel quite like homes. But he... likes Zogas. He liked going to the Shattered Hand and soaking in the atmosphere. He liked that his many personas were all starting to gather good reputations and to be recognized on the street as someone to greet with a smile or nod. He liked... the way it felt to celebrate a job gone right with a drink and then as much pleasure as he could get while he was laying in Shigaraki's bed. He always planned on moving on, but he thought that this time he would have more of a choice about when that would happen. He didn't expect that he would have to run again. Didn't expect that this time it would hurt without the pulse of adrenaline through his veins that made him run harder and faster to avoid the mob that was on his heels. 

There is no mob this time. Just Shigaraki. Just one person. If it were anyone else, Dabi thinks that he would be able to slip into his house, would go to bed with him again and slit his throat as he slept. A murderer would be looked for, but he could ensure that it wasn't any of his faces that they were seeking. But Shigaraki is a master criminal with half of the guard and the entire underground on his side. Not only would it be foolish to assume that he would be able to kill him without a fight, but it would be even worse to do so thinking that he might not have a backup plan in place that will get him caught. 

Dabi sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his pack, looking at this apartment that was a shithole, but belonged to him, would still belong to him for another six months because he chose to sign a long-term lease instead of living month-to-month for the first time in years. Dabi reaches into the purse that Shigaraki left him with the rest of his payment and he does something that he hasn't since he was a very small child and his mother and father made him-- he prays. There is a wide pantheon of gods, none of which, he thinks, have ever turned a kind eye towards him. He selects Gidona, goddess of good fortune, and asks for guidance, before he flips the coin. He holds it cupped in his hand. Heads and he may have gotten her blessing. Heads and maybe for once in his life some greater power might let something work out in his favor. Tails and Zedos the god of misfortune might have turned his eye to him again. Dabi stands, holding the coin against his skin for a long time before he lets it fall to the floor. He grabs his bag and the coin purse and moves swiftly to the door. The gods may have cursed him from his first breath, but he is not beholden to their whims now. 

The evening air is cool and fresh as he wears his elven visage as he makes his way towards the Shattered Hand.

///

He makes sure his bag is hidden on the landing of the back door behind a planter, and then he uses his lockpicks to break in again. He can hear the music coming up from below, but he has no doubts that Shigaraki will find a way to leave the bar to come see what's going on in his apartment. It only takes a few minutes for the front door to swing open and let him in. As soon as he sees him sitting at his table, he sighs softly and flicks his fingers, a strange dull shimmer of energy dissipating as he does so. 

"If you're going to keep doing this, then I'm going to have to key you into my wards." Not 'stop breaking into my house'. 'Stop pulling me away from my work by breaking into my house and making me think that there's a threat in my space'. 

"What do you want from me?" Dabi asks, his chest tight. "I can't make deals, but you must want something. If anyone found out I was here and you knew-- even all of your contacts wouldn't protect you from the backlash. No one would trust you again." His bar is entirely built on the trust that he has with his clients. If he loses that, then he won't have anything anymore. 

"I want you," Shigaraki says, closing the door behind him and moving slowly over to the table, "To believe me when I say that I want you to stay here. I want you to feel comfortable enough to build a life here because I want to stay in your life. I enjoy your company, Dabi. I don't want to lose that." 

"Why? All I've done since we met was lie to you." 

"You've hardly ever told me a lie," Shigaraki says. "You omit things," he concedes, "but you never hide it when you are. You make it perfectly clear that you don't want to talk about that subject. I never push because if you ever do want to talk to me, then I want you to do it of your own accord. You never have to tell me anything about your past or how you got here, Dabi. I'm just happy that I've gotten to know you now." 

Dabi's eyes search his face for any ounce of deceit, but it's hard to find anything but the sincerity that Shigaraki has treated him with for all of the time they've known each other. He should still leave. He should go right now before the human realizes how bad this will be for him if someone else finds out about this. 

He's never noticed how tired he is of running until he tries to get his legs under him again. "You'll change your mind." 

"Even if I do," and Shigaraki doesn't sound convinced that he will, "I won't tell anyone what you are. I've been able to make a name for myself by keeping my client's secrets and never wavering. You won't be the person I start with." He promises. 

Dabi doesn't say anything as he turns to leave the way he came. He doesn't know if he'll be back. 

But he only makes it about an hour out of the city limits before he's letting a few desperate, frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he turns around and makes his way back home. 

///

Shigaraki knocked on his door tentatively the next afternoon, and when Dabi opened it, his expression had gone from worn and worried to elated in a second. He had curled his hands around Dabi's hips and pulled him in to kiss him so sweetly. He offered Dabi two more jobs and he had declined both and sent him away. Shigaraki came back the next day with a fresh offering instead, whipped cream filled pastries with fresh strawberries that Dabi had wanted to take so badly, but that he had rejected as well. And the day after that Shigaraki brought him new books. Dabi gave back the ones he already loaned him and told him, 

"Don't come back." He watched his face fall, watched Shigaraki swallow down whatever words were caught in his throat, and the human had just nodded stiffly and left. He didn't come back for a week after that, and Dabi kept waiting for the scorned man to lash out. To reveal his secret or come to his home to force himself on him or kill him himself. But nothing happened. He got letters, ones encoded with the language of criminals that were other job offers, but those weren't written in Shigaraki's hand save for his address. Proposals for jobs that clients were still looking to book and that Shigaraki was making sure made it to the right address even though each of his personas pretended to live elsewhere. He took a few of those, telling his clients to send the kickback to the Shattered Hand, but never going to the bar himself. He stayed away. He waited. 

After two months, he heard someone bragging about being bedded by the owner. They were in for a rude awakening when Shigaraki didn't give them any kind of special treatment afterward and Dabi's chest had been sharp with his spite. He has no right to jealousy, but he feels it anyway. The person he'd bedded was a man nearer to Shigaraki's age. He had freckles, tan skin, curly bronze hair, flecks of gold in his eyes, and the small point to his ears that spoke of sun elf blood in his veins. Dabi always favored moon elves for the basis of his look. He always leaned pale because pale mortal flesh was closer to his real skin that was the color of curdled cream. He tried not to think of it too hard, but he found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror. He tried to make himself younger, prettier, softer. Gave himself skin that was kissed by the sun and eyes bright green instead of blue. He gave himself birthmarks and freckles to give his skin more life. He made his hair warm brown instead of stark white or black, orange, pink, lavender, blue, the colors of the sky as the sun moves across it as he flickered through every race that he's always been able to make himself so effortlessly. He gave himself a fuller figure that wouldn't look so gaunt and starved as he went back to eating so little of what he needed to avoid drawing attention to his diet. He practiced and practiced until he thought that all of the new forms he could make for himself were more beautiful than the ones that he'd been showing Shigaraki up to this point and he ached with hatred for himself when he glimpsed bits of his real form slipping through as he exhausted his abilities. 

He doesn't know why he's doing this. He's been trying so hard to keep Shigaraki away from him. To make sure that he wouldn't break his promise of keeping his secret safe even if Dabi slipped out of his life. He hasn't. It's been months and he hasn't. He hasn't come to his home again, he's kept all of his jobs coming to his home for him. He hasn't ever once gone back on his word. But Dabi wasn't asking him to wait for him, to prove himself before he would crawl back into his bed. He doesn't have any right to jealousy. He doesn't have any right to ask him for his attentiveness and care back. Why would he even want to give it to him-- he turns into the man who he slept with before and touches the pretty features that don't belong to him-- when he could have someone like this? When he could have someone better? Dabi's stomach sours sharply and he changes his face again. Thicker lashes, prettier features, softer hair. He could have anyone he wants, but Dabi can be anyone he does. He can at least make it a fraction more appealing to let him slip back into his bed now if he can use his abilities to show the other man that he can be worth the trouble.

///

Dabi goes back to the Shattered hand the next night, wearing one of his new forms, but allowing the metal of his piercings to glitter in the light. He wears a tunic that is open across his chest and a coat that hangs off of his shoulders artfully. His legs are encased in tight pants that cling to the more defined and softer curves of his legs, trailing up to a fuller ass that he hopes the other man will find appealing. He thinks other people are finding this form appealing, plenty of them coming over to introduce themselves and offer to buy him drinks. He puts on an accent. That's not that hard to do, he can mimic voices very easily and taking on the lilting tones of further east makes his requests for whisky mixed with milk, a Snow Drift as it's called there, allows him to drink the alcohol in a way that makes it actually able to sustain his body as well. It will still take him far more of these to get to the point of overindulgence than it would one of the mortal races, but he can drink and give his body the fuel it needs to wear this form for as long as he needs or to change it to whatever else Shigaraki might want. He lets people flirt with him as he makes his way around the room until he is finally passing by Shigaraki's table. He isn't working tonight, he's sitting in his favorite booth, his favorite red coat hanging off of his shoulders. He hasn't cut his hair since Dabi saw him last, the white locks even more wild, even with a portion of it tied back again. And those intense red eyes are tracking him around the room. 

He makes his way closer and closer until one of the people at his table takes notice of him too and invites him to sit. 

"There are no more chairs," He says in his thick accent. 

"That's alright, you can sit on my lap, doll." The man speaking must have orcish blood in his veins-- it's the only explanation for his size. Dabi glances at Shigaraki and the other man is doing a very good job of keeping his expression neutral. But he's given Dabi so many offerings at this point. He can smell him much more clearly than he's ever been able to pick up on anyone else's scent before. He can smell the jealousy, the bitterness as he watches his companion ease him down into his lap, his large hand cupping Dabi's ass as he does, which he doesn't call out. "Never seen you around before, you new in town?" 

"Yes," he surrenders himself to small talk, letting the other man ask him who he is, where he's from, what he wants to drink-- that is what pushes Shigaraki's smell from bitter jealousy to anger and he tells the two companions that he wants the table to himself for a moment. 

"Oh come on, Shigaraki, you always steal the cute ones--" 

"If--" He sees the other man almost slip with his name, "Cyran wants to court your company further after our conversation, then he'll be welcome to do so." But his tone is hard enough for the other men to move away from the table and let Dabi slip into the booth alongside Shigaraki. 

"Should I sit in your lap, sir?" He asks sweetly with his accent still firmly in place. But Shigaraki is having none of that and he moves the cards and chips that were on the table, but haven't been played since he sat down, aside so he can hit the rune at the center of the table which closes off the booth in a bubble of silence that no one else will be able to hear past. 

"What are you doing?" 

"...Reintegrating myself into the city." He says, dropping the accent, but nothing of the ditzy persona that he's been cultivating since he first entered the bar. 

Shigaraki takes a slow breath and seems to try to get a hold of his emotions. "Right." 

"Am I not welcome to do so here anymore?" Maybe he should have appeared as one of his other forms first. Maybe he underestimated how bitter his abandonment of the other man would make him even if it never got to the point of him wanting to reveal his secret. 

"You're welcome to do business or make merriment here however you see fit. I was just surprised. It's been... months." 

Dabi reaches for one of the curls falling around his face, but doesn't meet his eyes. "And you didn't go back on your word." 

Shigaraki stiffens slightly beside him. "If this was a test," he says waspishly. "All you've done is tested my patience-- not my word. Nothing short of you betraying me or my other clientele will make me betray your secret, Dabi-- Cyran, fuck--" he tries to regain his composure and that makes that place in his chest ache again. Dabi pushes in close, pressing his chest to Shigaraki's arm and tangling his fingers in the other man's coat. 

"You can call me whatever you want." He says, hating how quickly the desperation comes into his voice. He sees Shigaraki's hand clench against the table out of the corner of his eye and then he loosens it so he can reach for Dabi's face again like he's done so many times before. His thumb rubs over the piercing through his cheek and then he's pulling him in. Dabi goes readily. His lips are softer than his mouth was before, but he doesn't know if it's that change or how long it's been since they did this that has Shigaraki's tongue pushing so hungrily into his mouth. He just knows that he wants the other hungry for him. 

"Take me upstairs," he demands against his lips when it seems like the human is tempted to have him right here in the bar. "Or I'll just break in again." 

Shigaraki doesn't have to be tempted further, pulling him up from the table and bringing him back towards the side stairwell. He heard a heavy thump against the bar and glances back to see the orcish man's head against the surface and his friend patting his back and ordering them another round as they pass on the way to the stairs. They stumble into the apartment and Dabi finds that not much has changed since he was here last. But he doesn't care about that. He's too busy shrugging out of his coat and kicking out of his boots. 

"Dabi," Shigaraki catches him again, pulls him back in and kisses him like he's been starving for the taste of his lips. He is more than happy to throw himself into this kiss. He made himself shorter, to make himself even more cute, and it's different to have to stand on his tiptoes to get the other's kiss comfortably against his lips, but he isn't going to complain. Shigaraki doesn't seem to like it as much though because he pulls back, red eyes searching his new face. "Let me see you." 

"Which one?" He shifts to one of the other new ones he's made for himself, a sanctuary-born with olive skin an opalescent sheen to it, and natural coily black hair a halo around his head. "I have so many." 

"You," Shigaraki insists, his hands moving over the new body, touching him like he's scared that if he lets go, Dabi might disappear forever. "I just want you, Dabi." 

That's... a little disappointing. He spent so much time practicing all of these different bodies. "I can be anything you want," he insists. "I can make myself perfect for you. Anything you could ever want. An ex? An unrequited love? A famous courtesan? I can be it all. You'll never have to pick," Dabi insists. "I can be all of them." He turns himself into the man he heard bragging and Shigaraki's expression pinches, the hands on his hips not holding him as tightly as he was before. 

"That's not what I want, Dabi." He tells him, his hands shifting to his face again, rubbing his thumbs over his piercings like those are the only things grounding him in the moment instead of the things that are keeping Dabi together. "I don't want you to change your appearance to suit my tastes. I want you to be comfortable showing me who you really are. I want to see you, firefly, what you really look like." 

Dabi's stomach sours and he shifts, instinctively, back to one of his more practiced human forms. The one that he's been interacting with Shigaraki with for months. "... I can be beautiful for you." His voice is too small, too weak, but there are only a small number of people who have ever seen what he looks like. His mother, Enji, presumably his biological father if he really was the one who pulled his body from the ashes. All of them had condemned him or abandoned him. He'd never even let Natsuo know what he was or see him plain. He didn't think he would be able to stand the way he would look at him when he saw his sibling-- not even his real sibling-- was so different from him. 

"I already think you're beautiful," Shigaraki tells him, "And it doesn't matter if you're a human, cat, sanguine, or anything in between. It's your company that I want to indulge in. How you look when it happens doesn't matter to me." 

Dabi has to bite back the bitter tears that he feels trying to well behind his eyes. "If that doesn't matter then why do I have to be anything else to get you to touch me?" 

Shigaraki looks at him in a way that Dabi can't make sense of. It's something heavy and sad, but he does draw him closer. He kisses him softer and slower. For one minute, Dabi thinks that he's going to be turned away. That he got it all wrong when he offered Shigaraki everything, that he waited too long, and that he'll be sent away, but Shigaraki keeps kissing him. He reaches down to the backs of Dabi's thighs and he knows the way he grips him now. He hops up, wrapping his legs around the other's waist, his arms around his neck and tangling his hands in his hair so he can angle their heads to make the kiss desperately hotter again. Shigaraki lets him as he carries him to the bedroom. 

Dabi is warming again, able to put away some of his trepidation as he is placed so gently on the familiar bed. Shigaraki shrugs out of his coat, kicks off his own boots, and then has his hands back on Dabi's clothes. He unthreads the few ties that are keeping his shirt in place and pulls the fabric away, kissing across each inch of the revealed skin as he does. 

"I'll touch you, firefly. I'll never turn you away. I'll never tell your secret." His hands move over his skin, and his mouth gets distracted as he licks over his nipple piercings. Pleasure stirs through his body even as he feels a slight trepidation. He threads his fingers through the human's hair. It's soft and wild, and he sets it free of its tie so it can tickle his skin as the other presses their bodies closer together. He tried to make his hair as soft as Shigaraki's when he mimicked so many of his different forms. "I'll make sure that you have all of the milk and honey that you could ever want and that no one ever looks at you strangely for demanding it. I'll let the entire city think I'm bankrupting myself so I can bathe my beautiful witch in it every night to make your skin even softer--" 

Dabi whimpers slightly as he feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He's never had anyone talk to him like this. Never had anyone know what he is and try to take care of him without resenting him on some level as well. But Shigaraki's voice and touches are so sweet as he gives them. 

He moves his hands down his waist, over his hips so his thumbs can rub against the barbells pierced through his skin there as red eyes meet his, so aching and earnest that Dabi forgets how to breathe. "I'll love you for as long as you let me-- even if you never show me your true form." 

He promises this to him. He's never gone back on his promises before, but Dabi's whole body is a horrible tangle of desperate arousal and aching sadness. He wants to believe him so badly, wants to be loved for once in his life, "It's ugly," He says, and his voice cracks as tears slip over his temples. 

Shigaraki leans down and kisses away a track of his tears. "No part of you will ever be ugly to me, Dabi." 

"It's broken," he tries to tell him, a fresh sob working out of his chest. "I-- I already burned once. That body-- it's horrible," it's his. It's the one that he was born with, the only one that doesn't cost him effort to exist in, and he won't even live in it in the privacy of his own home so he can avoid looking at it. He hates it. Hates himself. "You won't want it. You'll change your mind." 

Shigaraki pulls him closer, cradling him against his chest as he strokes his hand through his hair. "I would have hoped," he says softly, his breath tickling his hair, "That after all that you've observed of my character in the past few months, that you would know by now that I never go back on my word, Dabi. I couldn't stop loving you after months of being told that you didn't want anything to do with me. Nothing about your appearance could change that." He holds Dabi as he tries desperately to make the frustrated, bitter tears stop slipping across his cheeks. "Show me once," he says, "and if you want, you'll never have to show me again. I won't ever ask. You'll be able to be anyone else you want to be while you're in my bed, firefly." 

He lets Dabi think that over for a few minutes, his hands so gentle over his skin. But he doesn't rush him. Once. Just once. He can show him how awful it is one time, and then he can spend the rest of his days in this warm embrace, can have his offerings and sweet words. He can have one person in the whole world who cares for him as deeply as he wants to care about someone else. He didn't know that was something that he wanted, but he can't stop wanting it now that the thought has been dangled in front of him like a carrot. He has been alone his whole life, even when he was a child. Even when he didn't understand why he was different from his siblings, he knew that he was. He knew there was a distance that he couldn’t cross between them no matter how hard he and Natsuo used to try. He just didn't understand people the way he should, just didn't know how to behave correctly unless he was mimicking others which they always found alien and insincere. Shigaraki is the only person who has reached with hands that knew what he was and that wanted to grasp him anyway. 

"...Once." 

"Once, baby." He promises. "Unless you get comfortable enough to be like that around me more afterward. I'm never going to resent seeing you in any of your bodies, firefly." 

Shifting forms is supposed to be natural, supposed to be easy, but as Dabi tries to let his form go, he finds himself flickering instead. Too many nerves, his fear instinctively trying its absolute hardest to keep him looking like one of the other visages he's used for years. He needs to do this to keep himself safe. He has to, his instincts scream, and more frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he is made to be so impossibly weak. 

"You don't have to force it, baby." Tomura tells him. "Lay down," he tells him, lowering him back to the bed from his embrace. He cups his cheek in his hand and doesn't flinch even though Dabi's appearance is flickering between all of the ones he's worn before and all of the new ones he's been practicing. "I know it's hard to hold when you're feeling so good, let me help make it easier?" 

Dabi will take whatever he can get from the other man before he sees him and decides that this is one promise that he just can't keep, so he nods weakly and Shigaraki sighs softly. He smells soft too. Warm even though his magic makes his skin perpetually chilled. Affectionate, Dabi realizes distantly as his hands start to move over his skin again, trying to soothe him into holding one form, even if that's not his real one. He's never had someone smell like affection for him before. 

Tomura's mouth moves gently over his skin, lavishing every spot he knows is sensitive on Dabi's body. When his tongue moves over his belly button, licking at the stud there as his fingers move to the ties of his pants, Dabi gasps softly and his body shudders as he unintentionally grounds himself in the form of the moon elf he wore the first night they spoke. Tomura kisses across to his hip, his teeth tugging teasingly at the grounding iron and then licking around the sensitive point as he lifts Dabi's hips enough to let him peel the leather from his legs and expose him to the cooler air of the room. His emotions are still such a mess that he's still soft, but he reaches down to thread a hand in the human's hair so he knows that he doesn't want him to stop.  

The other man understands, but doesn't push for him to find words. He sucks a bruise over his hip as his hands stroke over the tops of his thighs and then up along the inside, spreading them wide so that he can settle more comfortably between his legs. He kisses and nibbles at his skin there too, making sure that each one leaves a little mark against this form's skin as he moves up. Dabi is starting to harden when his cool breath ghosts over his skin, his lips following immediately as red eyes flick up to look at him as he does. It's such a light touch, but it has him squirming and biting his lip all the same. Always so embarrassing when Tomura watches his face so closely as he puts his mouth on the most intimate parts of his body. It's part of the reason that he always insists the other man fuck him on his knees or stomach. He never faces him, always too scared of something bleeding through across his facial features when he's lost to the pleasure that the other man is able to give him so easily. But Tomura is trying to let him find that peak so he can slip and let the other see. 

His mouth is cool, soft, and wet as he takes his cock between his lips, licking around his head before he is moving his tongue further down so he can tease each point of his ladder as well. It's been months since he's been touched-- he hasn't even touched himself since he was last in Tomura's bed, and he can't help but harden rapidly as he's reminded how good this can be. The suction and softness of his mouth moving down him, feeding him deeper and deeper each time as one of his hands shifts from his thigh to cup his balls instead makes him breathless. His fingers massage him, pulling just enough to make his toes curl against the sheets, in time with each soft suck and flick of his tongue over his head, and soon Dabi is biting his lip, trying to ground himself with that little spike of pain but knowing it's no use. It's been long enough, and his emotions are so thin, that he feels especially sensitive now. He doesn't think he'll be able to hold on for much longer and his balls give that away as they tense in the other's hand the closer he gets to his orgasm. 

But just before he crests that edge, Tomura pulls off of his cock, watching as he, so hard now, immediately is pressing up against his stomach and leaking pre as he whines. "Tomura--" Never called him that aloud before and it earns red eyes going even hotter on him as he pulses out the smell of his arousal as his mouth moves back to the skin of his thighs. 

"Not yet, pretty boy. Not until you show me." 

That earns him another pitiful sound. It's so hard to concentrate, and when he tries to switch forms again, he instinctively tries to avoid the one he knows will get him hurt. His tail sprouts from his back and wraps around Tomura's wrist instead as he goes sanguine-born, the appendage trying to get the other to bring his hand to his cock to pump him through to his completion. But Tomura won't. He just chuckles softly before he moves his mouth against him again, tongue laving along his balls in such a teasing lick that Dabi is growling and cursing as his hips try to jump up to get more anything as such a sharp ache centers itself on his groin as his orgasm starts to slip completely back from the edge he was so close to. 

Tomura's hand shifts to his hips as he kisses down over his balls and to his hole. Dabi keens as his breath tickles him there before he's laving his tongue over him. Dabi can't help throwing his head back as he moans and he hears fabric tear on his horns as it catches and sends feathers spilling across the bed. His tongue flicks around him, teasing the nerves that haven't gotten to feel like this in mouths, getting him slick and wet, but not nearly enough to take the thing he's been missing so badly. As masterful as the human can be with his tongue, it is nothing compared to the ecstasy that comes when he's so achingly full of the other's cock. But this is still good, still more than he's had in so long and making it even harder for him to focus as his tongue presses into his body and licks along his walls like he's been starving for him as one hand goes to the base of his tail to stroke it the way he always does. Doesn't miss a beat when his forms change and he never has. Always tries to find the things that each of his bodies crave. 

His tongue moves inside of him, one hand over his tail, and Dabi is aching and leaking again so soon. He keeps one hand in Tomura's hair, trying to keep him as occupied as he can with his mouth, so that he won't notice as he unclenches his other hand from the sheets. He reaches down to his cock and starts to stroke himself. He was so close before and the movements of the other's tongue inside of him are only bringing him there even faster. He is going to fall apart and he needs to do so before the other realizes what he's doing and stops him. 

But he can't make it before Tomura's other hand reaches and catches his wrist, pulling it away from his body and leaving him thrusting up into nothing, and withdrawing his tongue when he tries to grind down on that instead with a sob. "Please, please, please--" he normally gets as many orgasms as he wants when he's in the human's bed. He's the most indulgent partner that he's ever had in his life. His body doesn't know how to handle it now that he's not being allowed to get them. 

His breath cools the spit that's dripping out of his hole as he speaks, "No, baby. Not until you show me." He won't stroke his tail anymore, won't lick him again, doesn't touch his cock at all as it is flushed and aching against his stomach. Instead he kisses his skin so gently and sweetly. "It's okay, firefly," he promises. You can let go. I'll make sure that you keep feeling so good. You just have to let yourself relax. Don't you think it will feel even better if you give yourself over to the pleasure completely?" 

Dabi whimpers, but he can't find any real words as his whole body is left vibrating, so desperate for a relief to the ache in his cock, and unable to let go of the fear that keeps him rooted in one of his false bodies as he turns to a human instead. 

Tomura sighs softly. "That's okay, baby boy. I know what helps to make you even hotter." He strips away his shirt and moves off of the bed for long enough to grab the bottle of oil he has in the nightstand and slip out of his boots and pants. Dabi doesn't know if he's ever been so desperate for pleasure that just the sight of the other's body and his thick, perfect cock, could bring him so close to the edge that his balls visibly tighten as a fresh gush of pre brings him closer to his orgasm without actually giving him the satisfaction. But that just means that Tomura doesn't immediately move back between his legs. Instead he presses soft, sweet kisses to each of the new grounding irons that are set into his forearms, to the one in his sternum, the ones at his wrists. Little touches places that won't bring Dabi over, but make it hard for him to settle too. 

But he must know how desperately Dabi likes to be stuffed full of him, because he decides that isn't enough to cool him down and keep him from coming right away if he tries to get him wetter with lube. Instead he chills his palm further with his magic and makes Dabi keen brokenly when he cups the cold flesh around his balls. It makes his erection flag sharply enough that he thinks that he'll be able to hold on until he shatters, and the hand goes away and is a more moderate temperature when the slick fingers make sure to wet him in a way his saliva never could. Dabi is near full hardness again, his lips swollen and sore from the kisses that Tomura has been giving him as he makes sure he's open enough to take his cock. 

It takes so much effort to make his heavy limbs move enough to wrap his legs around his waist, his heels biting into the small of his back to try to get his body full faster. "Tomura," he whines. 

"I know, firefly. Never happier than when I'm filling you up," the human's voice is also thick with his desire as he moves his hand over himself enough to ensure that he's soaked with oil too. Dabi moans so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if the people downstairs could hear him through the ceiling as Shigaraki's cock presses inside, stretching him open so wide that Dabi's control starts to tremble. Instinctive to want to roll on his back so he can hide, but this is what Tomura wants. He wants to see. But Dabi is still fighting the transformation as he's made so full. Tomura's cock presses in along every inch of him in that perfect symphony of pressure that makes him see stars and has him aching again. Never fucked Tomura on his back before. His cock is rubbing up against the cut lines of muscle across his stomach and smearing both of their skin with more pre as he goes breathlessly needy for his release. He needs it so badly. He just has to let go and he'll get it. 

But he's fighting it still as Tomura starts to fuck him so slowly. The sounds of his pleasure spill out between them and he is so breathless with his want. And once again, this time barely a few thrusts in, as his muscles tighten around the human's cock, he pulls out until only his head is inside, letting most of Dabi's walls clench down hard on nothing as he steals away his orgasm again and Dabi sobs like he might die without it. 

It takes him smelling blood in the air and hearing the sharper intake of Tomura's breath for him to realize that his form has fallen. He is a changeling, the unburned portions of his skin white as bleached bone, and eyes damaged so badly from the fire that ate away at his skin that he can only cry crimson now. He is scared that means that he's not going to get anything else because Tomura will surely be too disgusted to keep wanting to touch him, but in the next second he is being filled to the brim again. 

"That's it, firefly. There. I'm so proud of you. I'm so happy that you let me see. You're still beautiful, baby boy." He says the words and they are sweeter than any offering of honey he's given him. Dabi is crying harder, sounds of his pleasure mixed in with everything else. Tomura kisses the blood from his face as readily as he kissed away his tears. "Not going to love you any less if you look like this all of the time. It's all just you, Dabi. I just want you." He tells him again as he rolls his hips in that same, slow, agonizing rhythm that isn't bringing his pleasure high enough fast enough to give him his release. 

"Please, please, please," he showed him. He wants to feel good at least one more time before Tomura really does change his mind. He's going to have to. No one could ever want a changeling. That's why his kind have to sneak their babies into cribs or disguise themselves to take partners. Smart people don't even want full-blooded fey and they, at least, are beautiful. 

"You're so sweet, precious." Tomura tells him as he shifts to make sure that his cock is putting pressure on his prostate each time it brushes over it as he sinks in deeper. "You can cum now. Let me see. I've wanted to watch how your face twists with pleasure since the first night I took you to bed, firefly." But he won't touch his cock. He even shifts between his legs so that he is only bouncing with each thrust, but can't grind against his stomach like he did before. Not going to give him friction. Only going to make him cum from how good it feels to be stuffed so full of his thick cock the way he's been craving for so many months. That lack of friction is the thing that makes him last longer than he wants to. He's aching so badly, his cock convinced that he's going to have all of the good sensation in his body taken away just like it was the first time. Each movement inside has his nails biting harder into Shigaraki's back, and he answers that needy desperation by moving harder, but never faster. He makes Dabi creep up to his orgasm. Makes him hurt so much that the pain loops back around to the sharpest, sweetest pleasure he's ever felt in his life as he sobs and moans as his cock finally, finally kicks and gushes his cum up over his chest and stomach. His mind whites out entirely and for a second he wonders very distantly if he was wrong about this being his real body, because he thinks he's going to melt apart completely against the sheets. Maybe he wasn't made to have any physical body at all because he doesn't think that this one will last as he's brought sharply up against the edge of a second orgasm from his prostate impossibly fast as he savors how full he is as Tomura focuses on finding his own completion in his body too. 

Dabi is crying so hard, another very thin stream of milky cum forced out of his limp cock as he's fucked completely full as Tomura peppers his skin with kisses. His mouth doesn't hesitate over the unnatural pale sections or the warped, ugly burns. The smell of his arousal never wavers. Red eyes don't shut to pretend he's something else as he moves so deeply inside of him until his hips sink in one more time and he floods his insides with his release. Then it's just his soft, trembling sobs in the dark of the room and Tomura's sweeter breaths as he pulls out.

A keen ache goes through his chest, so scared that the human will pull away completely and tell him to get his things and go-- but he doesn't. Doesn't go back on his word. His eyes are still too soft and warm as he pulls him close to his chest again and goes right back to kissing his lips and kissing his tears away. 

"Shh, it's alright, firefly. You did such a good job. So perfect for me, baby. I'm so proud of you." He murmurs as his hands stroke over his skin. He holds onto him as the tears come harder and faster now that they're not muted by the pleasure the other was putting into his body. He can't stop them from coming, but it takes him a long, long time to realize that he's not just crying because he was scared of losing this completely, but because he's weeping for all of the years of his life he's spent being utterly convinced that he would never be allowed to have this at all. 

///

"Welcome back!" 

Dabi's head snaps up from the drink he was pouring, a little furious that Himiko spotted his lover returning before he did. He and Iguchi are still making their way through the crowded bar, but the dragon-kin is already having his attention pulled by some of the other regulars. Everyone else knows better than to stop Tomura on his way to the bar, on his way straight to him. Dabi passes off the drink and immediately moves out from behind the bar, abandoning Himiko to keep up with demand as he moves to meet his lover halfway. 

Three weeks. It's the longest they've been apart since Dabi came back into his life a year and a half ago. Since he showed him what he was and Tomura carved out a place in his life and used every ounce of influence he had in Zogas itself so that he would never have to hide that again. Three weeks since, to pay one of those debts he took on to make a life for them, he had to travel like an adventurer again to slay some monster that was wreaking havoc in the countryside. He promised he would come home and this time when Dabi had been scared, when he'd doubted, it was because he knew that the world might conspire to keep his lover away, not any worry over the sincerity of Tomura's words. 

"Dabi," he doesn't have to ask. Dabi is letting the form of the elf fall away as he presses himself into the other's chest. If anyone else cares what he looks like, they've learned to hold their tongues or risk his lover's wrath. "There's my firefly." He says, eyes warm and lips twisted into a smile that he borrowed a few times when he was missing him so badly while he was gone. Tomura lets him taste it fresh when he tangles his hands in the mess of hair that he still refuses to cut and pulls him to his mouth. 

"I missed you," He says against his skin when he has to part lest the jeering and peanuts being thrown at them turn into Himiko or one of the other staff throwing a pitcher of ice water on them. 

"I missed you too, precious. Brought you something," he says as he lets his bag down from his shoulder so he can get a hand in it. He pulls out a jar of honey that is a deeper, darker amber than anything he's seen sold in the city. "Buckwheat honey, the seller said that it's malty and spicy." 

Dabi would purr if he had the right parts for it now. "Come feed it to me?" 

"Absolutely, pretty boy." Threads his fingers through the strap that holds his swords to his back and pulls him towards the stairs, towards their apartment. 

"Wha-- hey! He's working!" Magne cries out. 

"Not anymore." Tomura says with finality. "Have Jin make a shade. " 

He doesn't ever take his eyes off of him as he pulls him up the stairs, not even as his clients, employees, and friends jeer at them as they leave. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed consider dropping an ask/reply!

[glitter-stained]

Another day another ask mysteriously disappearing from my inbox when i'm about to hit post on the reply

Anyway the question was basically "what do you think of the "Jason isn't able to get over his death while bruce is capable of forgiving joe chill and sitting by him as he dies" take and doesn't it sound a little like the "everybody died he ain't special " take?"

Why yes. Yes it does sound like that. My thoughts on that idea, in no particular order:

- it's almost 2025 are we still placing moral judgement on characters based on the comparison between how they're enduring their trauma what happened to the universal singularity of human suffering what happened to not comparing apples and bananas weren't we taught not to do that in elementary school

-Is this about the Three Joker comics? It sounds like it is, anyway uh that comics is not mainline (and has pretty shitty writing imo), in mainline even in his least flattering runs (ie Battle for the Cowl) Jason hasn't gone postal because of his death in a while (in BTFC it was Bruce's death and the mention of the "unresolved dark horrors of his childhood" triggering a bad parody of some sort of psychotic break) so like i guess criticizing Jason for something he isn't doing is kinda strange

-if anything Bruce is the one "not over" Jason's death considering the flashback he had right at the beginning of Failsafe arc (though of course demanding he just gets over the trauma of holding his dead son's corpse is just as absurd as demanding Jason gets over the trauma of having died)

-honestly staying by Chill's side as he died was pretty cool and heroic on Bruce's part, totally agreed, that was badass of him to not let him die alone despite his trauma. That being said can we please stop tying morality to the concept of forgiveness? Implying there's a goodness of heart to forgiving/getting over your trauma is weird, it way too puch pressure on the victim, we should stop with the "good victim/bad victim" narrative, martyrdom culture is harmful. If forgiving Chill helped Bruce, cool for him, Jason is in no obligation to forgive Joker, and also Bruce forgiving Chill =/= staying by his side as he died, those are two separate things

-if we're comparing coping we have to compare resources, what does Jason's support system at that time compared to Bruce? Should we make a tally to see who has more friends especially close ones? We both know who will win but also that it's a completely stupid and pointless arrangement, how many apples and oranges must we compare before we conceptualize that it's not the same fruit?

-in terms of personal taste, I find placing moral judgement on characters is about the least interesting analysis angle I can imagine, like, congrats, you've established Angel McPerfect is a better person than Asshole McInteresting! Now multiply me by one and subtract zero.

-kinda hilarious to criticise Jason for not getting over his death and compare that to the coping of a man who dresses as a bat to cope with something that happened thirty years ago. Like if he's so over his trauma why is he wearing pointy ears

-also, obviously, the idea that characters should just "get over their trauma" is insanely dumb. Trauma is like a wound. It can scar, if treated properly, and then the scar will always be there. Imagine telling someone they should get cosmetic surgery because "we get it, you got stabbed, you don't have to shove it in my face every time I look at you." Or telling someone whose wound got infected "why can't you be more like this guy? Look, his stab wound is all healed nice and clean by now. It's like you're not even trying !"

Anyway I hope that answers your question and you have a good day anon, I agree with you that that take is weird, I truly don't understand the reasoning beside "i don't like jason". Idk maybe these people just need to...chill.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Gyns I know what it's like to have a mother who "doesn't get it" when it comes to feminism, I really do, but I also promise you it's not for a lack of suffering under patriarchy that they're like that. If your mother is questioning whether a type of rape is really rape, there's a decent chance she's asking because *nobody thought so when it happened to her*. She didn't think of it as rape, just something to shut up about, forget about, and hopefully not be used against her.

Somewhat related example: my friend was raped by her uncle and her mother kept contact with him, which naturally upset my friend. The turning point was when his mother was talking to my friend's mother and said, "I don't know what she's so upset about; we were raped and molested by our uncles and we just dealt with it". My friend's mother then chose her daughter instead.

But the point is when you've had patriarchal abuse normalized your whole life, it warps your ability to understand just how bad the abuse is or even the ability to tell that it's abuse in the first place.

[voidsturn]

title: no. 1 party anthem

pairing: stranger!chris x stranger!fem!reader

plot: while suffering with the consequences of unprocessed hurt, loneliness and self-hatred, chris is forced to yet another party. he finds himself in a conversation with someone new, which proves to be weird, comfortable, stupid and real.

type: fluff (maybe hurt/comfort), strangers au, close proximity, open ending

warnings: this fic does touch on some sensitive topics but i’m not sure it qualifies as angst. mentions of anxiety attacks, alcohol, smoking/vaping and sex

author’s note: ahhh my first fic on this blog! i’m extremely excited and nervous cuz it’s somewhat longer than i expected but oh fuck. yes, i know this song isn’t actually a happy love song but i just couldn’t bring myself to give them an unfortunate ending. i might in the future but i didn’t want my first fic here to be completely angst (there will be in the future tho, no worries about that) for now, i really do hope you like this!

chris - orange | the girl - pink | nick - purple | matt - blue

“chris, are you making your goddamn piss in there?!” screamed nick, while almost breaking down the bathroom door. he was getting on chris’ nerves, probably more than the thumping bass of some party song or the loud moans of some hookup next door. he was still breathing weirdly but told nick to just leave him alone. nick shortly after, gave up and ran towards the dance floor once he heard the first few beats of some charli xcx song.

while getting out of the bathroom, chris got stopped in his tracks. it was some idiot who couldn’t hold his fucking liquor better than a toddler. he was on the verge of punching that same idiot in the face. “jeez, can you walk like a normal human you fucking moron?” chris realised the asshole spilled some of the disgusting drink on his previously crisp white shirt. he couldn’t believe the theme of this party was ‘classy’. in a matter of thirty minutes, chris almost had an anxiety attack, was caught squatting in the bathroom by his own brother, heard some really unfortunate noises next door, and got his only formal shirt ruined.

chris was stuck replaying the last few moments in his head when the drunk idiot dodged chris and basically threw himself into chris’ safe space - the last empty bathroom. muttering a string of curse words, chris decided to give up on this ‘stupid fucking party’. he thought, or was hoping, that at least matt might be having a bad time as well. in a borderline ritualistic way.

once he saw some familiar faces, chris interrupted a discussion about pokémon between matt and sam. “chris, is it okay if we leave in an hour? i’m finally having a nice time at a party”. matt just said the words he thought would never leave his mouth. sam and colby along with matt tried to calm down the clearly uneasy chris. all he wanted was some fucking peace. chris was getting so goddamn overstimulated, he was fully ready to accept the jail time of a few murders. he wasn’t ready to take an uber either so he just basically ran towards tara after colby told him where she was.

while walking towards tara, chris was so fucking done. doomed actually to be at this party. the big hall felt endless with the maze of sweaty, icky bodies of completely wasted people on the dance floor. this, coupled with the strobing led lights and almost deafening party playlist, proved to be the final boss of overstimulation for chris. he finally reached tara, who was hosting the ‘stupid fucking party’. tara immediately knew chris wasn’t feeling good once he started to frantically ask if there was someplace less chaotic. she said that there’s a rooftop where she saw people go for a smoke.

tara made it seem like the rooftop was a chimney when in reality, there were only three other people. two of them were on their phones, editing pictures taken hours ago, occasionally taking a hit of something bubblegum flavoured. the third was looking at the city skyline. the rooftop was dimly lit with a few fake lamps, streamers and rogue balloons from the loud party downstairs. it was pretty small in size so chris was basically forced to go near the third girl. she had on a sparkly dress. her hair was up in a ponytail with bangs. chris thought she looked pretty but was in no mood to chit-chat cause the environment still reeked of alcohol, pretend and bubblegum. the alcohol smell was probably cause of his ruined shirt. chris walked towards the edge of the rooftop and leaned against the edge, slyly looking for a ‘fucking place to sit’.

he questioned why he was feeling way more sad than at the previous parties he had been forced to. sad wasn’t the word. more like left out. numb… lost even. yeah, his brothers and friends were all present downstairs, having the time of their fucking lives. but why couldn’t he? maybe he wasn’t in a good place mentally. he hated himself and his fucked up predicament for that while the others were just living it up, talking to other excited strangers, dancing, enjoying the ‘stupid fucking party’.

thoughts of self hate started their inevitable projections onto others. in a weird way chris felt almost betrayed. he hated coming across as a complainer but on the way to the party, matt was quick to say shit like leaving in half an hour, while nick was ranting about hoping tara didn’t invite the same morons from two weeks ago. all that bitching and moaning and praying and hating and now nick’s probably dancing his heart out to some ariana grande remix while matt’s chatting with people about fucking pokémon. just pokémon actually, that was phrased really weird.

it wasn’t always like this. all three of them were supposed to be in LA for business and pretend to like this. but at this point, nick and matt were getting a bit too good at pretending and chris just wasn’t. hence the shocking betrayal. now chris knows that entire cycle of thoughts started okay and just spiralled. completely outta his hands. now, he hates that he thinks like this about his two favourite humans in the world. thus began the voices in his head.

“you’re such a loser, useless without your brothers, and still you’re thinkin’ shit like this. fucking pathetic. don’t even have a fucking driver’s license? scared of having a girlfriend? again, you’re fucking pathetic. stop crying and whining and complaining like a stupid baby and suck it up for the love of-”

chris was quick to pull out his nearly dead phone and hence began his doom-scroll during moments like this. he wanted to avoid this shit, at least till he was in the comfort of his own bedroom. he heard the ‘sparkly’ girl behind him muttering and breathing? if anything, he thought she was staring at him cause of the two burning holes he felt at the back of his head. ugh, the one time he doesn’t have a hat or beanie on. he hoped ‘taylor swift doppelgänger’ took the hint that he wanted to be left to his own goddamn devices.

she didn’t. of course she didn’t cause that’s just who she is.

“you should sit down. that glass railing isn’t as strong as it seems. wouldn’t wanna witness a-”

“i got it, thanks” snapped chris as he finally made eye contact with the girl. she had wide eyes, really big hoops and glitter on her face. her dress resembled a disco-ball.

“fine by me, more room on this… floor” chris let out a soft chuckle. can you blame him, he needed it. well to her, it sounded more like a scoff. “sorry, things are just harder to process tonight and i don’t know why” chris didn’t know why the girl was saying things that someone closer to her should hear. ‘maybe she’s drunk’ he thought, while thinking of something weird to ask so she’d go away.

“are you a disco-ball? i’m asking this to see how shit-faced you might be”

“i’m not a disco-ball, i’m a mirrorball… see that’s funny because they’re the same goddamn thing. and, this isn’t a fucking halloween party. and no, i’m not drunk, i’m pissed”

“oooh mirrorball’s got some lip on her huh?” shock wasn’t the word chris could use anymore. more like glad. glad that he wasn’t the only one pissed, again, in a borderline psychotic way. nick had tara to dance with, matt had sam to catch pokémon with. maybe chris could just talk to this girl. it wasn’t completely unrealistic, right?

he walked towards where she was sitting. getting comfortable on hardwood floor was no joke but once he saw her gratefully smile at him for a change, it was weirdly comfortable. she began talking yet again. “any good shows you’ve been watching?” wasn’t the question chris thought he’d be asked. maybe his name or something, but decided to roll with it. “nah, more of a music guy. matt’s the crazy binge-watcher”

“excuse me, more like matt’s the fun one. and yes, i took that personally cause i love shows” the girl was fully ready to defend her slightly insane ways to finish a series. “okay, well i love breaking bad, what about you?”

the girl shook her head “sadly, breaking bad is currently rotting on my watchlist but hey, you’re motivation to finally start it” chris was still hoping for something in common between them. not in a romantic way, of course but it did make talking to a complete stranger easier.

“so what about music?” the girl’s eyes lit up when she said taylor swift. chris was quick to speak. “okay but i don’t get why she’s so popular music wise? she’s cool don’t get me wrong, but-”

“because… she makes us feel seen dude” the girl continued. “the fact that someone as awesome as her can go through some of the same shit as me, makes me feel validated… seen. but then again, i won’t try to make you like something if you just don’t wanna. i do fuck with r&b and rap though if that’s what you listen to”

hoping this is the overlap between them chris asks “you heard of lil skies?” “i have, but i’m a local. more on the chill rap scene”

“so you like drake don’t you?” “say what you want but the guy’s got some hidden gems and his old stuff’s pretty awesome” chris couldn’t agree more. “totally get it, matt and i used to always jam out to the motto and she will-” “is matt your brother?” chris is in disbelief. egotistic disbelief but still. he widens his bright blue eyes. “oh my god, you have no idea who i am don’t you?”

the girl shakes her head “i mean i don’t know which one you are? are you one of those who refers to themselves in third person?” “please say something other than that. you’re making me feel like an idiotic species with that sentence. see now that’s funny cause that’s pretty weird of you-”

“i got it, thanks” the two couldn’t help but laugh. chris was feeling light and it was all thanks to this ‘mirrorball’ he found. he thought he could ask why she was previously pissed, hoping she didn’t take it the wrong way.

“oh i saw my drunk ex downstairs. he said some really weird shit and i got super mad at him and almost punched that bitch in the face” chris let out a wheeze which was promptly stopped by the girl’s pissed face. he couldn’t relate to her, yet he tried to understand. “how did it end?”

“whoa. you just made a taylor swift reference! you’re learning. see that’s funny cause-” “not funny dude. and you’re dodging the question so i’m sorry i asked” chris knew he overstepped the pretty thick boundary with someone he met only twenty minutes ago. after a long sigh, the girl began her explanation. “i just lost feelings. and it sucks cause i didn’t wanna string him along. downstairs he made me feel like i was a monster”

chris completely respected her decision. “you aren’t. you’re already better than people who choose to cheat. how long was it?” he thought people like that are very rare to come by. “barely two months? i don’t really remember but thanks for saying that whole thing” the girl smiled and felt understood. she added. “i tried, but my commitment issues kinda got in the way” chris knew all about that. he really did. even though he was curious, he wasn’t sure if he should go any further. something between the two had changed. one could hear a spark of lighting a firework in the silence, that kinda silence. not the awkward kind at all. peaceful and understood, yet troubled by the past.

both were left thinking about what could’ve been if they didn’t just push people away. maybe chris would’ve had a girlfriend, or an ex by now. maybe she would’ve still been in that relationship. unfortunately, the need to be free and invulnerable overpowered the two’s want of romantic love.

the girl was first to break the silence. “i love how i just said that to you, yet i don’t even know your name”

“the name’s chris” she hummed “name matches the looks”

chris had an involuntary red tint spread across his face while he widened his eyes. “did you just say i literally look like a chris?” “yeah basically” said the girl as if he asked her the dumbest question of the week. maybe of the month. chris agreed and continued, “hmm yeah, we did just trauma bond, yet we met barely an hour ago”

the girl was taken aback. “excuse me, trauma bond where? you still haven’t told me why you’re sad.” chris thought the hard part of finding someone was over. maybe just saying this to a complete stranger was harder. ‘fuck it’ he thought.

“look, i can’t even begin to think why cause every time i do, i ignore it cause i just don’t wanna get into it, and it all just builds up-” chris stopped himself but the girl nodded, showing that it’s okay and safe for him to go on.

“i know i should be happy. i’m young, healthy, well-off… but i feel so lonely, now more than ever. i blame my brothers for finally finding fame and LA actually okay and i know i’m such an asshole for saying that. y’know every single time some fan asks, ‘oh who’s least likely to live without his brothers or who’s least likely to be in a relationship’ they always instantly say it’s me. and i get it. i’ve built an image like that and yes it’s partially my fault but it still hurts. it’s like… people just expect me to be attached at the fucking hip to my brothers, and scared of women. i’m still definitely not ready for a relationship, but when someone says something like that again and again, it fucking pisses me off even more. in a way, it just stops me from pursuing anything cause everyone just always has something to say, and i just can’t help focusing on the bad shit. now i’m here, troubling you. someone i’ve known for two fucking seconds with my shit. i just really fucking hate it”

the girl took in all of his words and hurt and inhaled sharply before she spoke. “it’s okay to feel that way. the whole thing about you just blurting this out is valid. sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than a loved one because they don’t know anything about you. and i’m weirdly proud that you said all that. it takes real guts”

chris felt the way he thought the girl feels when listening to taylor swift. seen. the girl continued. “and at the end of the day, you’re not gonna fucking end up cranky, sad and alone. as long as you have hope, faith and most importantly, love. not only for others, but really for yourself. if you feel hurt, you’ll hurt others and push them away. so it’s best to take care of yourself first, try to find a way you can open up to people closest to you. then you can definitely find whatever it is you’re looking for” chris didn’t take her words lightly and knew they were gonna be stuck in his head, regardless of his shitty memory.

he resumed the quip-off, feeling much better after letting all that out, and not being blindly judged for it. “so, we’re even now right?” the girl just knowingly smiled and chris couldn’t put a finger on why he just really liked a smile on her face. “y’know, i got all that from a taylor swift song”

“no fucking way. taylor’s songs give you wisdom?” the girl nodded but was quick to add. “more than wisdom, it’s clarity. and advice. honestly, she’s like the older sister i never had” chris wondered which song and as if the girl read his goddamn mind she answered, “well, it’s actually a combination of three songs. one’s the archer by taylor swift, the other’s escape from la by the weeknd-”

“did not think you fuck with him as well. they’re so different from each other” chris says while the girl just blinks. chris immediately apologises. “sorry, i have a habit of interrupting my brothers. my brain’s just really fucking weird and fast”

letting out a chuckle she says, “nah its all good chris. i can personally relate to that” to ensure he didn’t commit a fucking crime. chris lets out a sigh of relief while pulling out his phone, opening apple music in the process. “what’s the third song?”

as if right on cue, the five percent battery warning invades his screen. “ah fuck, phone’s almost dead” his panic continues. “i hate to say this but i have to go. otherwise my brothers will think i left already and my phone will be dead by the time i can call-” “it’s okay chris, go. i’m not mad at all”

chris hurriedly tries to find an outlet on the rooftop but there aren’t any. even the other two people who were previously there are gone, leaving their trace behind with the sweet smell of bubblegum. the girl’s eyes kept following chris, who was spastically still searching for a goddamn power bank or something. anything. “i’m pretty sure there’s no chargers here”

he turned his head towards her so quick, whiplash never felt more real. “okay then tell me your number, your name. anything” he was so out of breath from running around like a hooligan. yet, chris was determined to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating that entire conversation. the girl smiled yet again. ‘that damn smile’ he thought. “i hope you’re coming to jake’s party next weekend. i’ll be there”

chris really liked that answer. of course he did. he liked the chase and was finally excited to come to the next party. his phone started buzzing, messages from the triplet’s group chat appeared on his lock screen asking chris’ whereabouts. they were dying to leave but he wasn’t. he bid his ‘mirrorball’ goodbye and started to run down the stairs. just before chris could go he asked. actually… screamed.

“what was the third song!”

the girl turned around and screamed back the third songs name.

she blushed and looked away while chris’ signature grin took over his features. he saw the rooftop one last time. the battery on the phone was low but his spirits were high. he somehow managed to take a really shitty picture of that very ‘shiny’ rooftop.

the downstairs scene still felt like a thick and claustrophobic fog of pretend, but chris knew that if he really wanted to, he could find something real and grounded.

in their car, the triplets like after every ‘stupid fucking party’, talked about their individual experiences. nick as always began. “tara really needs to invite better people cause what the fuck. why’d they all look so judgy when i told them my favourite genre’s pop? after that whenever i tried to talk to them they’d just ignore me, like a bunch of goddamn high status judgmental uglies. like hello?! the music was loud but you’re not fucking deaf!”

“nick, i thought at least you were having a nice time. sam and colby had to leave five minutes after chris asked me to leave. honestly can’t believe i’m saying this but i should’ve listened to the kid. after that, i locked myself in one of the bathrooms and fucking played cheese escape. that’s right.. CHEESE ESCAPE. chris, where the fuck were you?”

before nick could answer, he saw the slight red tint on chris’ face as a cheeky grin was plastered his face. “oh my god, did you fucking hook up with someone?” the shock value was a bit too high for both matt and chris. the car slightly wobbled on the road. “no you fucking idiot i didn’t. i just went to the rooftop after tara told me it’s quiet up there and just scrolled on my phone. that’s why my phone was dead”

“well since you could’ve called me, i say bullshit. but it’s fine. i won’t ask further” said matt as he partially believed his story. nick was weirdly proud that chris finally talked to someone he didn’t know at a party, all by himself.

after a short thirty seconds of quiet, chris started blabbering about playing a song before he forgot the name. “oh my god, stop saying the fucking name of the song and just play it you brain-dead moron” scolded nick cause kid was morphing into a monkey while matt was on a highway.

chris finally opened apple music on his currently charging phone. he started playing a song called, ‘no. 1 party anthem’.

[ninjatrashpanda]

Jingle All The Way (To The Damn ER)

Written for @bucktommywinterfest

Prompt: Holiday themed calls; Mistletoe Kiss

Rated: G

Tags: established relationship, fluff, holiday shenanigans

Read on AO3 here.

“Well, that’s…” Eddie said the moment the team had arrived and climbed out of the engine.

“Unfortunate,” Hen finished, her eyes fixed on the roof of the house they’d just pulled up to. Buck couldn’t exactly blame her. Up there, surrounded by absurd amounts of fake snow (and some of the most garish Christmas decorations Buck had ever seen), was a rather burly man in a Santa costume, his lower half stuck in a chimney, screaming and shouting out curse after curse. (Some seemingly not even in English, Buck noted. They sounded vaguely German to him, and for a moment he wondered if that made him racist.)

“That’s gotta be a new one,” Chim muttered, squinting up at the struggling Santa. “I mean, we’ve seen plenty of Santas in sticky situations, but this? This takes the fruitcake.”

How did things like these even happen? How did someone look at a chimney and say ‘Oh, yes, I’ll slide down there, no biggie!’ It was absolutely asinine, so completely unhinged and idiotic that Buck’s brain hardly was able to comprehend the thought process it must’ve taken this guy to end up where he did.

Then again, Buck probably really shouldn’t judge people for making harebrained decisions.

“Do you think he realizes that he probably would’ve busted his ankles if he’d actually slid down there?” Eddie asked, trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. The team’s radios crackled with a faint background hum, the absurdity of the scene almost enough to make them forget they were here on an actual call.

Buck tilted his head, stepping forward, his eyes narrowed. The more he looked at the scene, the more unreal it seemed. He decided to reconsider his earlier thought. He was allowed to judge, cause even he wasn’t lacking foresight this hard. “Is it just me, or does that chimney look way too small for him to have even considered crawling through it in the first place?”

“It’s not just you,” Bobby, who now rounded the engine to join the team, said, reaching for his radio. “Dispatch, Engine 118 is on scene. We have one victim, male, age seems to be mid to late forties. Victim appears to be stuck. And dressed as Santa.”

There was a pause before Dispatch answered, the crackle of static barely covering what Buck could’ve sworn was a snort of laughter. “Copy that, 118,” came Josh’s slightly strained response. Buck noticed Bobby side-eyeing his radio, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame Josh. He’d be laughing too if he wasn’t on this call professionally. “Please confirm: is the scene secure, and do you need additional resources?”

“I don’t know, maybe a team of reindeer to pull him out?” Chim called up toward the house, earning him a glare from Hen, who was probably already assessing what kind of injuries this guy could’ve suffered from…well, this.

“Scene’s secure,” Bobby said, ignoring Chim’s antics, and exchanging another couple of words with Josh. Then, he turned to the crew. “Buck, Eddie, grab the ladder and all the lube we have. Hen, Chim, get ready to check this guy out as soon as they get him down here.”

Buck shook his head as he jogged over to the rig to get the lube, their victim’s voice calling out every swear under the sun. “You know, for a guy playing Santa, he’s not exactly spreading holiday cheer up there.”

From the roof, Santa’s voice rang out, muffled but clearly annoyed. “I can hear you, you know!”

“Good!” Chim called back, a slightly catty edge to his voice. “Then you’ll be delighted to know we’re here to rescue your jolly behind!”

Eddie followed Buck to grab the ladder while Hen remained firmly planted, hands on her hips, staring up at Santa like he was her children’s math homework she was trying to help them with. “How did you not realize this is a terrible idea before you got halfway in?”

“I bet you he lost a dare,” Chim said, a wide grin spreading across his face. “There’s no way this guy just looked at that chimney and thought, ‘Yeah, I can make it.’”

Raising an eyebrow, Hen turned toward Chim and let out a small huff, “I’m sorry, but should you of all people make fun of that? Should I remind you of why we call you ‘Chimney?’”

Chim’s grin faltered for just a second, and Hen’s smirk grew triumphant. “Low blow, Hen,” he retorted, though his tone was light. “But, for the record, I didn’t willingly wedge myself in anything. I was an innocent victim of faulty construction.”

“Sure, Chim,” Hen said, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe him. She turned her attention back to the roof, where Santa continued to struggle, his efforts achieving nothing but a faint creaking noise from the chimney that made everyone on the ground cringe.

“Why am I not surprised?” Buck muttered, setting up the ladder and turning to Eddie. “Come on. Let’s get Santa out of there before he Tim Allens himself.”

Eddie planted his hands on the ladder to keep it steady as Buck began to climb. “Think he’ll go on the naughty list for this?”

“Not if we save him before Hen smacks some sense into him,” Buck called down, his voice lighthearted as he worked his way up toward the roof.

From below, Hen sighed and shook her head, her exasperation at Santa finally getting to her. “One of these days, I’m going to get through a shift without an incident that makes me question humanity.”

“Today is not that day,” Eddie replied, barely stifling his grin.

“Yeah, well,” Hen said, watching Buck hoist himself onto the roof, “let’s just hope Santa’s dignity is the only thing that got bruised tonight.”

As Buck reached the chimney, he peered down at the man’s awkwardly wedged body. This was worse than he had expected. Like he’d thought, the man’s stomach was plugging up the chimney entirely, but he hadn’t predicted the small cracks that were forming all around the top of the shaft, some of which already ran up to halfway down the sides. “Okay, big guy, hang tight. We’re gonna get you out of here, but try not to move too much.”

“Believe me,” Santa grumbled, a deadpan expression on his face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, that much is obvious,” Buck said under his breath, before reaching for his radio. “Uh, Cap? Send Eddie up here with the tools. This is a two-man job at least and the lube’s not gonna cut it.”

Chim’s voice chimed in immediately. “Santa’s had one too many cookies, huh?”

“Not helping, Chim,” Buck shot back, shaking his head as he turned his attention back to the task at hand.

This was going to be a long shift.

🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄

“So this is not what we usually get called in for.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow at the, frankly, ridiculous scene in front of him. Somehow, a guy on skis had managed to not only crash into the giant Christmas tree that had been set up right by the main lodge, the guy had somehow managed to get himself completely tangled up in the lights, which still blinked in all colors of the rainbow.

In all his life as a soldier, a firefighter and now a rescue pilot, Tommy had never seen something this idiotic before.

“How did this even happen?” he asked the manager of the resort, a woman who appeared to be in her late thirties, who wore a sharp, dark grey pantsuit. To her credit, she seemed just as exasperated as he felt.

“I wish I knew,” the manager replied, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she were fighting off a migraine. “All I got was a frantic call from one of the lodge staff saying there was ’a skier emergency’ and that I should ‘bring someone who knows how to untangle knots.’” She gestured toward the blinking, flailing mess of a man. “I didn’t expect this.”

Tommy let out a long sigh and turned back to the scene. The skier, who was now groaning softly, looked like a particularly unfortunate ornament hung by an overzealous child. The man’s goggles were askew, his skis were pointing in entirely different directions, and his jacket, a garish neon green, made him look like an elf who’d lost a fight with Santa’s workshop.

“Is he…conscious?” Tommy asked, squinting.

“Yep, sure is,” García, one of the paramedics of the 217 he’d flown up here said. She straightened up and pulled her gloves on tighter. “Hey, Kinard, can you get me a backboard? I feel like we’re gonna need to tie this guy down even if he somehow managed not to break his spine.”

“On it,” Tommy replied with a sigh, and headed back to his chopper. He still wasn’t sure just how this could’ve possibly happened. He had a sinking suspicion that alcohol had played a part, but he kept that to himself, instead silently grabbing the backboard from the back of the helicopter.

He trudged back through the snow, (If the way the artificial stuff felt under his boots was anything to go on, he would absolutely despise real snow.) a soft hum under his breath. The resort’s cheery Christmas music (now an unfortunate backdrop to this circus) had invaded his brain and wouldn’t leave it for probably the rest of his shift (or a week later. Or a month. Or a goddamn year).

As Tommy handed the backboard over to García, he crouched down to get a better look at the skier. “Alright, buddy, you with us?” he asked, his voice sharp but not unkind.

The man groaned again and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “The tree came out of nowhere.”

Tommy blinked. “The tree came out of nowhere?” He exchanged a look with García, who rolled her eyes and smirked, biting her lip.

“I swear it did,” the skier slurred, his head lolling slightly to the side. “One minute, skiing. Next minute, tree.”

Tommy sighed, a sound that felt like it came straight from his soul. “Yeah, I’m sure the tree leapt right out to grab you. Happens all the time.” He shot a glance at the manager, who snorted softly but quickly disguised it as a cough. She was clearly trying to keep her professional veneer intact, but her expression betrayed her amusement.

García got to work, carefully cutting away a few strands of the blinking lights that had wound tightly around the man’s torso. “This guy’s tangled worse than my Abuela’s Christmas lights,” she muttered.

“Don’t disrespect your Abuela,” Tommy quipped. “At least she didn’t knock over the tree.”

The skier let out a low groan. “I’m never drinking eggnog again…”

Ah, there it was. Tommy resisted the urge to say, called it, and focused on the task at hand. “Look, pal, we’re gonna get you out of here, but I need you to stay still. Can you do that?”

The skier didn’t respond directly, but he gave a lazy thumbs-up that didn’t inspire much confidence.

“Great,” García muttered. “Kinard, help me stabilize him before we move him.”

Tommy stepped in to assist, holding the backboard steady as García and the other paramedic carefully maneuvered the man’s limbs. The lights resisted, clinging stubbornly to the skier as if they were part of some cosmic punishment for his sins against Christmas decor. It took some creative maneuvering and a few choice curses from García before the last of the lights finally snapped free.

Once the skier was secured to the backboard, Tommy stood up and dusted the snow off his pants. “Alright, let’s load him up. We’ll fly him down to the hospital for a once-over.”

The manager stepped closer, looking at the still-blinking lights strewn across the snow like abandoned tinsel. “What about…all this?” She gestured vaguely at the scene of destruction.

Tommy shrugged. “I’d say leave it. It’ll make for a great story. ‘The Tree Incident of 2024.’ You could make it an annual thing, build some buzz.”

The manager shot him a flat look. “I think we’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” He turned back toward the helicopter, falling in line behind the paramedics carrying the backboard. “Let’s get Bode Miller here some help before he decides to start singing carols.”

As they walked, the skier managed to lift his head just enough to croak out one final, utterly sincere question: “But…did I win?”

Tommy couldn’t stop himself. He grinned. “Oh, buddy. You definitely won.”

🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄🎅🏻🎄

“Dispatch, this is engine 118,” Bobby spoke into his radio, snapping the rest of the crew into Business Mode. “We’re pulling up on scene.”

The truck came to a halt outside a large community center, which seemed almost normal and boring. Except for the plumes of smoke coming out of one of the windows. Buck groaned and rolled his eyes. He hoped this wasn’t an actual fire, or at least that the window had already been opened by the time it started, because he didn’t know how he’d react if he found out someone in there had opened a window on a fire.

“Copy that, 118,” the dispatcher’s voice (Maddie this time) came through their radios as they all rushed to grab their gear. “Community Christmas Baking Event, one of the ovens caught fire. The 217 is on scene, Captain Chen is IC, he’ll give you more details.”

Buck’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of the 217, but he quickly shrugged it off. Sure, running into his boyfriend on the job would be nice, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Besides, Tommy was on helicopter duty today anyway. He was way up in the sky, riding his bird through the clouds and saving lives by bringing victims to the hospital far faster than an ambo ever could.

It brought a sigh to Buck’s lips as he jogged after Eddie and into the building at Captain Chen’s command, the same love struck one he always seemed to sigh when he thought about Tommy and his effortless coolness, and big heart, and dashing good looks. (And especially the cleft. God, did he love that cleft!) Less than a year ago, he hadn’t even known he was into men, and now here he was, happily, knowingly in love with the very same one who had blasted his closet door open with all the force of the hurricane they’d flown into when they had met.

The smell of burnt sugar and smoke hit Buck like a fist to the face as soon as he and Eddie entered the community center, every thought of Tommy instantly pushed to the back of his mind as he went into rescue mode. Eddie was already barking orders to one of the event organizers, a frazzled woman in a holiday sweater that had seen better days, while Buck took in the scene.

The lobby was a chaos of flour-dusted people, from crying children to panicked adults to people from the 217 trying to evacuate everyone, and a steady stream of smoke curling out of the kitchen at the far end of the hall. Buck followed Eddie through the hall, their boots clomping against the polished floor as they approached the kitchen door, quickly checking every frazzled bystander for injuries before urging them to leave the building already.

“Cap, this is Diaz, we’ve got thick smoke but no visible flames yet,” Eddie reported over his shoulder. “Kitchen is at the end of the main hallway. Looks like the sprinkler system hasn’t gone off.”

“At least the fire’s contained, then,” Bobby’s voice crackled through the radio. “Chen said two of his men are already in the kitchen, Hayes and Kinard. Assist them however they need.”

Buck’s brain came to a screeching halt. Kinard? Did Bobby just say Kinard?! His heart thudded in his chest, and he nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself just before Eddie noticed his sudden shift in demeanor. Kinard. Bobby had said Kinard. Tommy’s here. The realization brought a wide grin to Buck’s face at the thought of seeing his boyfriend in action, all big, and tough, and competent. He didn’t have time to process it, though, as he and Eddie reached the kitchen door, where the thick haze of smoke was quickly becoming stifling.

Eddie pushed it open, and they were greeted by chaos. Two firefighters from the 217 were already inside, one, Hayes according to his turnout jacket, directing a fire extinguisher toward an oven that was the apparent source of the problem, while the other worked to move large trays of baked goods away from the immediate area. The oven in question was blackened, with flames licking at its edges, a few stray flames dotted around the floor.

“Buckley! Diaz!” Hayes called out, practically bombarding the oven with foam. “We could use another set of hands on this.”

“On it,” Eddie shouted briskly, moving toward him. Buck’s eyes, however, had already met the other firefighters, and for a moment, it was as if everything around them didn’t even exist.

There he was, helmet on, jacket slightly singed, cleft chin invisible under the oxygen mask, but just knowing it was there and waiting for him to come kiss it made Buck weak in the knees. Tommy’s eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Evan,” he called, and Buck couldn’t put his finger on why, but his voice sounded…hot. Hotter. Or something. He wasn’t sure what it was, just that he really wanted to tear the turnouts off of Tommy, fire and smoke be damned. “What are the odds?”

Buck managed a lopsided grin (that he knew Tommy would’ve loved if he only could have seen it!), his heart pounding a mile a minute. Tommy, all professional, and sooty and goddammit, Buck could almost smell the musk radiating off of him from over here. “Right?” he somehow brought out with a wiggle of his eyebrows. “It seems so unlikely!”

Tommy gave a quick shake of his head, exasperation evident in the way his eyes crinkled even under the helmet, but there was an unmistakable fondness too. “Focus up, Buckley,” he said, and if Buck wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the edges of his voice. “There’s still an oven fire to handle, and I’m pretty sure Captain Nash won’t appreciate me distracting his star firefighter.”

“Oh, I’m the star now?” Buck shot back, already moving to sort out the flames on the ground while Eddie and Hayes double-timed the burning oven. He could feel the warmth of Tommy’s presence nearby, but there was a job to do here, so he couldn’t even bask in it.

“Always have been,” Tommy replied, the words so casual Buck nearly choked on the laugh that bubbled out of him, all while Tommy had already turned his attention back to the task at hand with all the casualness the situation allowed. It was like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Buck’s overactive heart, and that only made him more feral inside.

“Hey!” Eddie barked, snapping Buck back into focus. “Quit flirting and help us!”

Right. Fire. Job. Professionalism.

Finished with the smaller fires, Buck moved to assist Hayes and Eddie with the oven, which turned out to be a much bigger problem than they had anticipated. Together, they aimed for the stubborn flames that were trying to escape the oven, working in tandem to snuff them out. The smoke was thick and cloying, stinging Buck’s eyes even through his mask, but the blaze was already starting to die down. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy check the rest of the appliances for damage and ensure no other hotspots could reignite, causing another swell of pure affection and, frankly, borderline horniness to rush through Buck’s body.

The team worked efficiently, their movements seamless and practiced. Within minutes, the immediate danger was contained, the oven reduced to a smoldering mess. Eddie called it in to Bobby while Hayes and Tommy began assessing the kitchen’s ventilation system to clear the remaining smoke.

Buck busied himself by checking out (and mourning) the remaining trays of half-burnt cookies and pies, but his mind kept wandering to Tommy. It was surreal seeing him here, grounded instead of flying high above the chaos. Buck had always admired the cool confidence Tommy exuded in the air, but now he was seeing it up close, in action on the ground.

Once the kitchen was declared safe, the teams began packing up their gear. The smoke was thinning, though the acrid smell of burnt sugar lingered in the air. Buck caught Tommy leaning against the wall, his helmet tucked under one arm, looking as composed as ever despite the soot smudged across his cheek.

“So,” Buck said, sidling up to him, “what’s it like working with your feet on the ground for a change?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow, that smirk reappearing. “Not bad. Less turbulence, more smoke. And I get to run into you.”

Buck chuckled, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks despite himself. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“Yeah, I had to fill in for Callahan. Broke his arm on a call this morning,” Tommy said casually. “Guess I was meant to be here.” He tilted his head, his gaze softening. “You okay? You look a little... out of it.”

“I’m fine,” Buck said quickly, though his heart still hadn’t entirely settled. “It’s just that you don’t meet an absolutely irresistible beast while out on a call.”

Tommy’s smirk grew. “Ah, so I made you look like a lovesick puppy. Figures. I have that effect on people.”

Eddie’s voice cut through their moment. “Buck! We’re wrapping up. Let’s go.”

Buck flinched at the sudden intrusion of his and Tommy’s bubble, and he quickly shot his partner a venomous look, (not that Eddie seemed to care much, judging by the exasperated expression) before turning back to Tommy.

“Duty calls,” he said with a shrug, but he hesitated before stepping away. “I’ll see you later?”

Tommy gave him a small, private smile, the kind that made Buck’s heart flutter in a way that still felt new and thrilling. And then, without a warning, he placed his fingers under Buck’s jaw, his thumb brushing over his chin, before pulling him in.

Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss, one that sent a shockwave of warmth through Buck’s body. Almost instinctively, Buck grabbed Tommy’s hips to pull him closer, any space being between them making him feel like he was suffocating. He craved the heat of Tommy’s body, the firmness of his chest, even the smell of smoke and burned gingerbread in his hair.

Despite Buck’s excruciating hunger, he didn’t try to deepen the kiss beyond the chaste, soft peck it was. He wanted to, of course, the craving to rip Tommy’s turnouts off never having gone away, but he knew none of that was something they could do right now. Even just this was highly unprofessional and probably shouldn’t ever have happened, though Buck couldn’t possibly care less about it. His hot boyfriend was hot, and he had initiated smooch time, and Buck was only a man.

Tommy pulled back after a moment, his smirk softening into something tender, and Buck’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes found Tommy’s watching him with that familiar sparkle of pure, unadulterated love.

“Uh, what was that?” Buck chuckled. He tried to fight it, but he couldn’t help the smile that started to creep onto his face. “That wasn’t very…I don’t think Captain Chen and Captain Nash would approve of…”

“I think they would,” Tommy cut him off with a shrug. “You know, just this once. We were legally obligated to, after all.”

At Buck’s quizzical look, he simply pointed upward. Buck followed the gesture, tilting his head back to look up. And his heart nearly stopped. Hanging above them, just barely visible amidst the smoke and the still-swirling chaos of the kitchen, was a small sprig of mistletoe. It was a little toasty, but most of it, including the shiny, bright red bow tied around it, had miraculously survived.

He blinked at it, then back at Tommy, who was now grinning fully, his teeth flashing white despite the soot smudged on his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Buck muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up even more. “Mistletoe? In the middle of a kitchen?”

Tommy shrugged, his expression infuriatingly nonchalant. “Rules are rules, babe.”

Buck let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.” Tommy repliplied, wiggling his eyebrow. And really, Buck couldn’t argue with that logic, but before he could respond, Eddie’s voice echoed sharply through the kitchen doorway.

“Buck! Seriously, let’s go!”

Buck groaned, giving Tommy one last lingering look. “Duty calls. Again. I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Tommy said, his voice warm, his smirk softening into something gentler. “Go save the world, babe.”

Buck pulled Tommy into one more short hug and planted a quick peck to his lips before turning around and jogging over to the door, always aware of the fond expression Tommy watched him with. As he followed Eddie back out the building and to the truck, he couldn’t keep the grin off his face, even as Eddie shot him a knowing look.

“Don’t,” Buck said preemptively, waving his hand around. “Not. A. Word.”

Eddie smirked. “Didn’t say anything.”

But he didn’t need to. Buck knew what his own face looked like right now, the power Tommy had over him no secret to him. It wasn’t like he cared much, either. He’d been the happiest he had ever been this past year, and if this continued, well.

He wasn’t going to complain.

[thefandomsfervent]

Viktor x Reader Personal Pigments(Part 17) - Prussian Blue

This is a jayvik x reader fic now but it'll still be labeled as a Vik Fic until it's fully implemented. Ft. JayVik and wine, drunk Jayvik, it goes 18+ here (masturbation). Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom. It's late, I was on a roll, and I didn't proofread this a whole lot, I'll edit it later.

Planning on writing as much as I can this weekend to post in bulk before Christmas week, I'll be traveling a distance away and can't bring my laptop with me.

stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3

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It only took you thirty minutes to find your way back to the lab. Although, those first few minutes had you stressed and embarrassed. You and Mel had spent almost two hours walking and talking and you thought she had taken you all over the Academy, but she really had you both walking laps. You were closer to the dining hall than you thought, from there you were able to find your room, and then the lab. Just as you walk up to that heavy door it swings open. 

“Zlato, please, use your feet.” It’s Viktor, doing his best to keep Jayce above the floor. You rush forward without thinking and get under Jayce’s other arm to prop him up. You have to drop your pouch and your sketchbook. It gets kicked behind you into the lab once you’re able to stand taller. 

“What happened?” You’re asking as you shift Jayce between yourself and Viktor. He’s laughing to himself at the situation. “Oh my gods. He was drunk. Jayce Talis sensible golden boy was drunk.” You remember the wine that Mel had gifted them. But it had only been two hours. Three and half maybe? 

“The wine was stronger than we thought.” When you look at Viktor you see his hair is tousled, his cheeks red from exertion or his own drinking you aren’t sure. 

“Did he have the whole bottle?” You’re laughing and trying not to. The shaking of your shoulders makes it hard to keep Jayce up straight. “Hun you have to help us help you okay?” 

“Mmm you’re both warm. ‘S nice.” You were not letting him live this down tomorrow, if he wasn’t suffering a raging hangover. 

“He had four glasses, too close together I think.” Viktor is adjusting his cane straighter with one hand and moving his shoulders around to get a better grip on Jayce’s back with his other. 

“And you?” 

“I also had four, but I am much better with alcohol than he is.” He thinks back to the first time they had drank together. Some whiskey that was spiced heavily at a cocktail lounge many many months ago. Viktor had enjoyed it, nursing a glass for the first thirty minutes. But Jayce? He slammed it and immediately gagged. Coughing and sputtering. That one drink alone had almost knocked him clean on his ass ten minutes later. He’s laughing at the memory. Especially when he remembers that Jayce made the exact same mistake another ten minutes after drinking a seltzer and they had to sit on the curb outside nursing water. Since then Jayce had learned how to pace himself, learned that he preferred drinks that did not burn his throat and were easier to sip on. Wine was hit or miss. “The wine was sweet, so he was not as cautious as he should have been.”

“WE ARE CELEBRAATING!” The sudden input from Jayce surprised you both. Despite his jelly legs his arms are strong, squeezing the two of you closer. He wasn’t yelling, as much as he was whisper screaming.

“Oh! Congratulations, a new development?” You’re following Viktor’s lead as you take patient steps down the hall. Viktor looks down to Jayce, whose face is flush from all the wine, who has a smile so bright it could be seen in the dark, and who is actively starting to fall asleep in their arms. They needed to move him quickly before he was dead weight. At that point it would be impossible to move him even with your help. There was no time to explain what they were celebrating.

“Yes, a new development.” He can’t help the gentle grin growing on his face. It was so warm. This endearment blooming in his ribs, the wine finding its place throughout his body, feeling your arm against his as you help him haul Jayce down the hallway. He can see their rooms. His was closest and Jayce’s was a couple doors down. There were many reasons he was thankful for the proximity of their moved rooms, but now more than ever. His hand using his cane was starting to go numb from the pressure, a pain shooting up his arm into his shoulder. “Here, to the left. Can you get him to the wall?” Jayce is heavy but you manage to move him to the wall by yourself, needing a breather as you slump against it with him. 

He looks sleepy. Eyes struggling to stay open, his mouth parted, his usually perfect combed back hair disheveled.. “Pretty boy indeed.” You’re brushing it out of his face when he leans into your hand. He’s smiling, white teeth and happiness blinding even in the dim light of the hall. “You alright?”

“Neveerr betterrr.” It’s a slurred breathy reply and he slots his head against your shoulder. Viktor is glancing at you while also fiddling with a ring of keys. The clinking sound of metal against metal echoing in the hallway. He finds the one for Jayce’s room and starts unlocking the door. He nods at you to try and get Jayce to his feet. 

“Hey big guy, you ready to get up again?” Jayce just hums, pushing the back of his head against the wall now. “Don’t you want to lay down all cozy in bed?” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Okay then I’m going to get up and I’ll need you to come with me. Can you do that?” Jayce gives another hum of agreement and Viktor watches how gentle you are with him. Helping him stand gingerly, holding onto his waist with one arm, and pulling Jayce’s arm over your shoulder again. Intertwining your fingers with his golden partner’s as you try your damndest to get him through the door. He watches as you give Jayce affirming words and praise for just moving forward with you. It pulls at his core, at all the things him and Jayce had discussed tonight. At all the moments that have been shared. “I’m a sappy drunk,” he thinks as he directs you to Jayce’s bedroom. Viktor pulls the covers back on the bed and lets you set the man down before he sits with him. Helping him take off his shoes. 

“Thank you for your help. I am sure he will apologize tomorrow.” Jayce is leaning against Viktor, whispering something you can’t catch. 

“I can’t say I won’t give him a hard time.” You laugh at the thought, then again when Jayce’s hand is slapped away from Viktor’s tie. It almost dies in your throat when you watch Viktor’s slender fingers work at Jayce’s. You know it’s to help Jayce get ready for bed, but after all that you’ve seen today it was an image you weren’t sure you were supposed to be burning into your memory like you are. “Goodluck. I’ll be in the hall if you need help.” Viktor just nods, trying to get Jayce to sit still as you leave.

You can hear Viktor talking to Jayce, instructing him as you close the bedroom door. Jayce’s apartment is neat but lived in. It smelled a little of oil? And baked spices. A jacket tossed over a couch, shoes neatly lined by the front door. A table with notes and blueprints that looked similar to how he kept his own room. Stacks of books filled with sticky notes. There are a few plants around. A guitar? So much information about a person in one space. It made you wonder about Viktor’s room. If it was neater than this knowing that he barely spent any time there. As you make your way into the hall you remember that Viktor had a key, on his own key ring, to Jayce’s place. So intimate, the care they had for each other. So sweet in its normalcy. A feeling brews in your chest as you wait by the door. Overwhelming and unknown, something akin to wanting. 

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“You are drunk Jayce.” Viktor is trying his hardest to not laugh at the man in front of him, struggling to unbutton his own shirt. 

“ ‘know that.” An irritated huff, an uncommon sound for his partner. “ ‘m trying.” 

“I know you are, let me help.” It takes a few minutes to get Jayce set up for bed. Viktor leaves him in his undershirt, let’s Jayce take care of his pants despite the struggle. There’s a want brewing in him. He wants to stay here, to hold him til he sleeps, be there with water and maybe a pain reliever when he wakes up. But he doesn’t. He ignores the whine in Jayce’s throat when he goes to the kitchen to get his partner water. When he returns Jayce is out cold. Snoring softly under the covers. He leaves the water on the bedside table, watching the even breathing that moves Jayce’s chest. A hand moves to cup his cheek, rubbing a circle into the apple of it. Viktor’s heart swells when he feels the weight of Jayce push into it unconsciously. 

He joins you in the hallway shortly after. You were staring at the wall in front of you, zoning out when the closing of the door snaps you out of it. 

“Hey, he alright?” You’re leaning forward, hands by your side as you face him.

“He will be fine. Embarrassed, but fine.” Viktor was tired, the wine making him sleepy and warm. He starts walking towards his room and you follow. 

“Didn’t think he’d be a lightweight. It’s kinda-” cute. You don’t finish the sentence but it seems like Viktor agrees with you, laughing softly as his cane taps against the floor. 

“Unexpected. I did not know either when we first met. He will deny it though, if you ask it. Blames it on anything else.” He likes hearing you laugh. He likes knowing he caused it. He frowns when he realizes how short the walk is to his room. You would be leaving now. “Goodnight Ms. L/N. We shall see you in the lab tomorrow, yes?” 

“Yes. Goodnight Viktor.” Your voice is so soft, so sweet. Viktor watches as you walk down the hall, flipping through all the keys he has before finding the one for his door. He hadn’t gone to bed this early in a long time. It wasn’t even ten o’clock and he was already in his room getting ready to shower. Discarding clothes, finding ones for tomorrow. Brushing his teeth as the shower heats up. 

When he steps in it fogs up the window over his sink. The warm water soothing the aches of his body. He goes over today’s events as he lathers a shampoo through his hair. How Jayce’s teasing of you led to teasing him. And now they were… together. Officially. Finally declared as two parts of a whole, and that they both wanted you. He thinks about the wine. How it was sweet and rich and strong. How it was sweeter on Jayce when he kissed him again. How pliant Jayce was in his hands, the heat of those broad shoulders in his palms. The sounds of their kissing, teeth clacking, lips hungrier after every glass. 

He should be rinsing the soap out of his hair, he should be washing his body. The routine of putting soap to a washcloth, rubbing it between his hands to form suds lingers in the back of his mind as he continues to think of those kisses. How he could taste fermented fruit and cinnamon and Jayce. A different familiar memory cuts through the haze, much stronger this time. Of release, of teasing touches from past lovers. His imagination taking over. When Jayce tried to bed him would he touch him the same way? The shower is getting hotter, the wine on his breath despite having brushed his teeth. When he tried to bed you, would you react like he did? Would you feel the same that he and Jayce did, would you want them together? 

His hand was moving lower, lower, lower. He could feel it happening, the blood moving down, the water against it but he is surprised at how hard he is. When he moves his hand down, the tip moving past the opening of his fist he imagines your lips. How would they feel on him,  would you be experienced enough to wet them before starting. The image of you on your knees alone has him moving faster but then his thoughts wander. Would you start slow or would you try to take him all at once? Could he fist both of his hands in your hair and hold you there so could he fuck your mouth.  Or would you take the lead,�� bobbing your head up and down. He imagines your hands holding it or maybe braced on his hips, fingers digging into the flesh. Would Jayce talk you through it once he knew what worked for Viktor?

He can feel it building, all too quickly.  It's been a while since he indulged himself like this.  A raspy breath falling from his chapped lips. You were so soft. Sweet. Your voice. Quiet and gentle. Would it be honeyed with a returned lust or would it be strained? Dazed like that morning he woke you? "Viktor?" It’s your voice. It’s Jayce’s. The intensity almost knocks him off balance, free hand bracing on the tiled wall as he finishes. Shooting forward onto the handles of the shower. A long burst followed by several short ones as he slows his hand. Twitching when he lets himself go.

And then the only fog he's left with is the steam of the shower. He felt faint, the shower water was too hot and he hadn't been taking full breaths. He turns a handle to make the shower cold and his hand is sticky with his release. Shame. Regret. Oh. What did he just do? He wants to blame it on Jayce’s teasing today. On the glass of wine that warmed his chest. But he knows that's not it. That it's his own depravity.

Well, he could blame all of those things. Embarrassment burns his cheeks more than the water, more than the wine. He hadn’t indulged in that in so, so long. And the realization that there would be something with Jayce in the future settles in his chest. That Jayce wouldn’t be upset with him for this. He takes a deep breath. 

More thoughts for later. Exhaustion is deep in his bones now, it had been a long day despite coming to his room early. He needs to sleep, to clean up. He lathers the rag on the hook and enjoys the rest of his shower. Tomorrow will be a new day. A good day. 

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