#keeps one thing for himself but people are not quite things . . .

[xinganhao]

🥊 older brother!soonyoung vs. boyfriend!jihoon.

@choco-scoups -> "what do we think about brother's best friend jihoon, but your brother is soonyoung"

ⓘ cussing, good-natured sibling bickering, suggestive joke. headcanons under the cut.

🥊 jihoon's notes on surviving the kwon siblings .ᐟ

The Kwon siblings are sulky as hell. Jihoon had thought that Soonyoung was the king of brooding, but then he met you. If he weren't dating you, he might even be impressed. As it is, though, he can only focus on managing the two of you's moods. Sure, Jihoon is a little biased. He thinks you're cute when you get all pouty; it makes him want to pinch your cheeks and hold you until that frown is gone from your face. When it's Soonyoung, though, he's a lot more exasperated. "You're a grown man, Soon. Get over it," he might grouse— right before turning to a sullen you and asking if you want a kiss.

The Kwon siblings bicker. A lot. Jihoon doesn't have any brothers or sisters of his own, so he spent quite a bit of time worrying if the two of you were normal. He quickly learned that most siblings tend to butt heads, though you and Soonyoung tended to be a little more... over the top than the average pair. One too many times, Jihoon has been caught in between the two of you's screaming matches. His three-step plan to coming out unscathed is to 1) not take sides, 2) only step in if/when physical altercation occurs, and 3) try not to insult either of you. Even if he is inclined to believe that you're right, more often than not.

The Kwon siblings can be clingy. Before he was your boyfriend, Jihoon was Soonyoung's best friend. And so Jihoon had grown used to Soonyoung's insistences for meals out, Soonyoung's need to be responded to lest he thinks it's the end of the world. When it turned out that you were more or less similar, Jihoon could only shake his head and sigh to himself. He should have known what he was getting into. Really, Jihoon has the patience of a saint in balancing your overthinking and Soonyoung's peskiness. It's a whole love language, and Jihoon is fluent.

Soonyoung loves you. It's not something he says often. Call it the tendency of brothers to brush off emotion or downplay their own sentiments. But Soonyoung loves you in a ride-or-die kind of way, in an if-anything-happens-to-you-I-don't-know-what-I'd-do kind of way. Jihoon knows this. He knows it well. When you and Jihoon had started dating, Soonyoung had been fully supportive. He made a couple of 'jabs' here and there— "If you break their heart, I'll never forgive you!"— but Jihoon knew from the look in his best friend's eye, the set in Soonyoung's jaw, that it wasn't that much of a joke. Jihoon knows that Soonyoung trusting him with you is no small thing. He makes sure not to take it for granted.

You love Jihoon. You love Soonyoung. You would never— not in a million lifetimes— choose Jihoon over Soonyoung. Even though you've threatened bodily harm on Soonyoung more times than can be counted; even though Jihoon is everything that you could want and more. Blood runs thicker than water. Jihoon knows that, too. That's why he never makes you choose. He's content to share the spot of 'favorite person' with your brother, the same way that there's no one else in the world that he trusts more than you two.

+ When the three of you are able to get it together long enough to go somewhere without gauging each other's eyes out, it's those moments that Jihoon secretly adores the most. He sometimes falls quiet, letting you and Kwon fill the conversation at the table, and he thinks of the time you forced him to watch that one Disney movie. Looks like the princess was right; Jihoon is spoken for. Everyone he's ever loved is here, within these walls, at this table, and he couldn't be more happy about it.

✉︎ jayyy! i know you said i could "keep this for a while," but when the req features two people on my bias line.. well! (ᗒᗨᗕ)

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[avelera]

Can we hear your thoughts on Jayce’s and Viktor’s intelligence? I can’t help but feel like Jayce is often…dumbed down. Which feels insulting to the both of them.

Rarrrr.... I should be doing other things... but this is a rage button issue for me... so....

Jayce is just as smart as Viktor.

The reason he doesn't come across as just as smart has multiple elements:

1 ) Arcane S1 in particular does a lot of sleight of hand to set up Jayce as facing down a corruption arc where he's tempted by fame and power. They achieve this in multiple ways. On an emotional level, they often zoom out for his more tender lines and zoom in when he says something dumb or unfortunate.

Intellectually, they tend to show things like his chalkboard after the fact, when he's not at it, but they show things like Viktor actively working in the lab quite a lot. Basically, we see Viktor doing a lot more active science stuff while he's doing it, but with Jayce we tend to see the effects of the science stuff he's already done, like presenting prototypes that are already made, him holding hexgems that are already created, showing equations and notes of his that are already complete instead of showing him making them.

Overall, this creates a visual impression that Jayce is the dumber of the two, because we see him doing less actively, but if you pay attention he's doing at least as much science as Viktor regularly, it's just more off-screen.

2 ) Viktor wouldn't partner with someone who's not as smart as him.

Viktor reroutes his entire life to work with Jayce after reading his notes on Hextech. It's insulting to Viktor's intelligence to think he would "lower himself" to working with Jayce. Jayce is his equal, his partner, they compliment each other and both accomplish things the other couldn't.

For my money, Viktor is the more out-of-the-box thinker, Jayce comes from a family of tool makers and he tends to think in straight lines, most of his innovations are direct results of the spells he saw his Mage do, like weightlessness and transportation, while Viktor tends to come up with things like the Hexclaw and the Hexcore.

But both are also craftsmen and tinkerers, and it was Jayce's idea originally to do magic with technology, Viktor is working with him to innovate on that vision.

3 ) Jayce is a better public speaker and he's physically attractive and muscular, in a way that makes people underestimate his intelligence. It is very common for people who are good at speaking, people who are of above average attractiveness and, god forbid, people who keep an exercise routine to be seen as less smart even though those things have nothing to do with one another. Because Jayce is seen as the "face" of Hextech it's assumed that he's the lesser intellectual partner, when the truth is, it's just a division of labor. Viktor is terrible at public speaking and doesn't like doing it, Jayce is charismatic so he does it.

He's not a gym jock, his muscles come from the forge where he makes absolutely mind-bogglingly advanced items like Caitlyn's sniper rifle and his own hammer, the guy is basically making Hadron Colliders over an anvil. But because people tend to judge based on appearances, people tend to think he's dumb.

4 ) Jayce thinks in straight lines. He's incredibly direct. The reason he agrees to raid the Shimmer Factory with Vi is because he's sick of politics and he's sick of the corruption, and he wants to just deal with a problem directly. That's why he and Vi bring out the worst in each other, because they both think like that, and straight lines aren't always the best way to tackle a difficult problem, but Jayce is a scientist, he's used to seeing a problem and just fucking solving it.

The problem is, that doesn't work for all problems. He's incredibly smart as an engineer, literally Ambessa can't even find a scientist in Piltover as good as him and Viktor, but he's not widely read. He's not a politician or a diplomat or a social scientist. This also lends to the perception that he's dumb but you'll notice, Viktor is never put in a position to make decisions like that, Mel is never put in lab to solve a scientific equation, and in general, most characters aren't put in a position where they have to perform at the top of more than one field in the way Jayce is, so yeah, Jayce ends up looking dumb because he has to handle being the leader of a city when he spent his life working on Hextech and promoting Hextech. Of course he's not going to be perfect.

But that's also another case of sleight of hand, we see Jayce failing at more things because we see him thrown in a position to impact more things. A lot of characters maintain their image of being smarter or more skilled than him because they're not asked to work outside their range of skills nearly so often.

[mattnott]

𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY. in which mattheo seeks power and needs your help to perform a blood ritual. WORDS. +6.3K (ups). english is not my first language.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, porn w//plot, mean mattheo, aged up characters, friends to fuck buddies, blood play, blood kink, cuts, spitting, nipple sucking, oral sex f!receiving, pussy drunk mattheo, handjob, dirty talk, biting, marking.

navigation -> masterlist

He was insane. Truly insane. Almost unhinged. Mattheo Riddle was the definition of impulsive thoughts turned into reckless actions, actions that always led him to trouble. He was raw, magnetic, and dangerously unpredictable, the kind of person who attracted attention without even trying. Every move he made, every word he spoke, every breath he took was saturated with confidence and superiority.

He didn’t just attract trouble; he craved it, needed it like it was the only thing keeping him seen.

Mattheo was like a storm no one could outrun, an enigma without resolution, and that was exactly what made him so intoxicating. There was something in his presence that pulled people toward him, whether in admiration or fear, and no one could quite decide if it was for better or worse. He wasn’t just hard to ignore; he was impossible to overlook. He demanded attention simply by existing, and it was maddening, the way he could dominate a room with nothing more than a simple glance.

It could have been for a lot of reasons. Maybe it was the way he acted like he didn’t have a care in the world, the sharp, biting comments he always seemed to have ready, words that stuck like blood on stone.Or maybe it was the fights, the way he seemed to throw himself into them too often, always coming out with the same satisfied expression. After all, he was the only son of the Dark Lord, and that alone was enough to draw all kinds of attention.

Whatever was the reason, chaos seemed to follow him everywhere, like he thrived on it. Perhaps he didn’t care at all. No outsider really knew, and no one ever tried to figure him out. Nobody had the courage to do so.

Either way, there were always whispers about him, cruel rumors about his personality and massive ego, some saying he was just like his father, or maybe even a darker version of him, while others came from students eager to get close in obscene ways, hoping to spend a night with their bodies tangled in his. 

Yet Mattheo didn’t show that he cared, always pretending to be focused on his own goals, moving through the chaos unshaken and unbothered, though deep down, the truth was different: he thrived on attention, bad or good, as if he needed it to keep himself whole.

But you had seen enough to know the truth. He was cruel, ruthless, and everything people whispered about him, perhaps even worse. And yet, here you were, trapped in his chaos, each moment with him drawing you deeper into the darkness.

You were trapped. Absolutely trapped.

Perhaps it was in the way he looked at you, his deep brown eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away, leaving you struggling to keep your heart from racing, as if he saw something inside of you that you weren’t capable of seeing. Or maybe it was the way his words stayed in your mind long after they were spoken, carving their way into your thoughts like a knife you didn’t want to pull out, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were already in too deep.

If you thought about it more, you didn’t know what had brought you here. The main factor to why you were so attracted to an ongoing fire.

Could be the adrenaline from his strange proposal, or the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, his presence always glued to your mind. Could also be the need to be near him, the way your body moved toward his as if it had no will of its own, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to control your heart in a way you couldn’t even understand. It was twisted, even a little scary, but neither of you cared.

After all, you were friends.

You didn’t know when it stopped feeling like curiosity—just a lingering thought— but the doubt never really went away. Instead it became prominent, tight in your chest whenever he was around. There was something darker about him, something dangerous in the way he lived recklessly, only focused on his own desires, how he thrived on the attention he got, pulling you deeper without even trying.

And now, standing there, you couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever came next, there was no turning back. No escape.

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in dark shadows, the silence broken only by the faint hiss of flickering candles. Their soft, wavering light offered a fragile sense of comfort, though it did little to ease the tension hanging in the air. The atmosphere was thick and heavy, saturated with the acrid tang of burning incense and something darker, almost unspoken.

Torchlight flickered across the cold stone walls, making jagged patterns that twisted and stretched with each almost shiny flicker. That night, the requirement room felt weird, unlike the form other students seemed to used—every corner seemed like an unsettling, cavernous form that resembled a muggle abandoned cathedral. It felt sacred in a weird twisted way, as if it were built to bear the weight of sinful actions that were too heavy to confess elsewhere.

The faint metallic scent in the air lingered, sharp and heavy, mixed with something even more heavy, felt almost like a warning. On the stone floor, crude runes spiraled out in precise, jagged lines, their edges glowing faintly as though alive and energetic, pulsing in time with the biting silence as if they were watching, waiting to know what was about to take place.

In the center of it all stood Mattheo Riddle, the one person who seemed to take up every space in your mind, his dark robes draping loosely over his strong frame, giving him an effortless air of power, his features, defined and almost angelic, partially hidden by his messy curls that always fell into his pretty eyes.

The flickering torchlight danced off his hair with every movement, making it seem almost alive; there was something strange about how his appearance seemed almost angelic, yet you knew Mattheo’s true personality, making him all the more dangerous, like a trap just waiting for you to step in.

He could look still, even controlled, but there was nothing controlled about this. Nothing about him was controlled.

Mattheo looked at the dagger in his hands, his gaze drifting over the blade, but it wasn’t the dagger that had his attention. It was you. Your eyes were on him, and it felt like he was being torn apart with just that look. It wasn’t like the attention he was used to—no fear or admiration in it.

No, this was different. It was more like an assessment. The weight of your gaze was almost suffocating, as if you were digging into him, getting under his skin in a way that made him feel stupidly exposed and making him feel a strange sensation tighten in his chest, choking his throat in ways he couldn’t understand, and he hated it.

He hated how you made him feel like this—torn between wanting to get closer and wanting to run away from that. And even if it was good or bad; neither mattered. He didn’t want to know. The only thing he knew for sure was that you almost had him entirely.

And for him, that was awful enough.

He never quite understood why his heart raced when he was in your presence, as if it might break through his ribs, his flesh, and fall directly into your palms, fully out of his power. At times he couldn't help but press his hand against his own chest, trying to stop it, trying to hold it back, but it only frustrated him further.

Nevertheless, there were times when he nearly wished his heart would simply give way and land in your hands so you could do with it whatever you pleased, whether that meant crushing it entirely or holding it tenderly between your fingers. He wasn't certain which would provide him with greater comfort, but he was certain that if you gave him that satisfaction, he will never be the same again.

Mattheo sighed and shook his head rapidly, making a dramatic gesture as he attempted to avoid your concentrated, evaluating stare on him once more. He concentrated on the tiny silver dagger in his hand, trying not to hold it too firmly in his palm, but nothing could take away the sensation, and even if it didn't cause him any discomfort, the pressure that made it was obvious.

He let out another sigh, this time frustrated, rubbing his forehead, but couldn’t help releasing another, this time a relieved one, when he saw your attention shift to the two circles drawn around him, almost like some kind of illustration, and he couldn’t help but smirk knowingly as he noticed the change in your expression; at the confusion in your eyes and at your furrowed brows as you tried to make sense of the strange symbols, carefully etched inside the circles on the floor.

Mattheo looked away, quickly shifting his focus to the symbol at his feet. In comparison with the other symbols, this one was far more complex, with each line and curve being meticulous and precise. As he raised his chin in satisfaction with what he did, Mattheo couldn't help but widen his smirk into a full grin, an equal amount of pride and arrogance coming across his expression.

This ritual, this moment—it was his, only his. Yet, for some reason, he felt a twisted satisfaction knowing he was going to share it with you. Even though you were there not completely voluntarily, you still had a place in it, whether you liked it or not. 

This time, it was Mattheo who looked at you with an intense, almost predatory gaze, his hand tightening once more around the blade in his palm as he kept his eyes on you. He was already preparing to take the first step toward the power he would gain from what you two were about to do. All he needed was your final confirmation and for you to step into the middle of the circle with him.

“Are you ready for this?” His voice broke the silence, low and almost a purr, making you look up at him. Ready? Fuck no. In fact, you were terrified. Every part of you screamed to run, to get as far away from this room and this stupid ritual as possible. But your body didn’t listen to your brain. Your heart didn’t either. Instead, you stayed still, frozen, your eyes locked with his own, already filled with amusement and something darker, like a challenge. 

You knew this was stupid. Hell, it was almost suicidal. A ritual to give him more power, cutting your own hand, spilling your blood, mixing it with his just to make him stronger. It was madness. More than that, even.

But then again, a part of you wanted it. A part of you wanted to leave a piece of yourself with him, to bind yourself to him in some twisted way. And for some fucked-up reason, you craved that. You wanted to be marked by him, to have a part of you inside him forever. Mattheo had already carved his mark into your mind, into the darkest corners of your heart, and now you wanted to do the same.

Stupid curiosity.

“Well?” Mattheo asked again, his voice dripping with amusement, though you could hear the faint edge of annoyance creeping in. He tried to hold onto his usual confident, relaxed demeanor, but it was slipping. “What’s it gonna be?” The same damn question. You wouldn’t be stupid enough to make him ask a third time. 

“I…” You paused, your voice cracking, and you couldn’t help but curse yourself under your breath as you felt his gaze digging into you, waiting for the answer he wanted. “I think I’m ready,” you finally said, taking a step forward, ignoring the part of you screaming to get the hell out of there. Yet your body moved faster than your mind, and before you knew it, you took an unconscious step closer to him, making his eyebrow quirk in amusement. 

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think?” he repeated, his voice thick with mockery. He almost laughed; if it were not for the situation you two were in.

“Fuck—” you hissed under your breath, cursing yourself again, and Mattheo’s smirk stretched wider. “I’m ready.” You corrected yourself, the words tasting wrong. “I’m ready,” you said again, this time to convince yourself more than him.

Mattheo let out a low, almost manic laugh as his gaze remained fixed on the blade in his hand. The sound sent an unexpected shiver down your spine, and your cheeks flushed as his voice echoed in your ears. When he looked back at you, his eyes were softer than before, though the usual intensity remained, as if he was offering something that, despite not being comfort, somehow left you feeling relieved in a way.

He stretched his hand towards you, his voice calmer than before but still firm. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner this thing is going to end.” The sooner he would have control. Mattheo called you again, and you let out a soft sigh before taking that first step.

Each step you took was filled with hesitation, but your body didn’t seem to care. It moved toward the circle, fighting the doubt gnawing on your mind. When you finally stepped inside, you couldn’t hold back a small sigh as your hand found Mattheo’s. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, your cheeks flushing as you saw the same smirk on his lips, the reaction causing a tug on your heart. He didn’t need to say anything; you could feel how much he enjoyed this, how much he knew the effect he had on you.

Sometimes you wanted to punch him. 

As soon as you took his hand, Mattheo’s confidence wavered slightly; his heart pounded just by your touch. However, he couldn’t hide the dark amusement in his eyes as he watched your flushed cheeks and how your body betrayed you. It was too easy.

“This,” he said, gesturing to the intricate runes carved into the floor with the tip of his dagger, his grip tightening around your hand, not to soothe you, but to remind himself you were still there. “It’s going to hurt like hell.” He said it with such ease, as if the pain and the blood were just a minor part. You swallowed hard, the confirmation of what you already knew settling deep in your stomach. “At least for you,” he added with an eyebrow raised, his voice laced with amusement.

His words weren’t reassuring at all—not that you expected them to be. He didn’t care about calming you or making this easier to bear. That wasn’t his style, and it never had been. Mattheo thrived in chaos, in mess, and he wanted you to feel every bit of it. He wanted to pull you into the madness, to push you until you struggled to keep yourself together.

“You’re not exactly helping me calm down, you know?” you said through gritted teeth, barely stopping yourself from telling him to go fuck himself. 

Mattheo chuckled dryly, releasing your hand to stop you from gripping it, from finding any comfort in his presence. “Glad to know, sweetheart.” He said casually, like it didn’t matter at all. “But who said I want you to calm down?” he murmured, and you might have thought he was joking if it weren’t for the fact that you had known him for years.

You scoffed at his lack of sympathy. It wasn’t surprising, though; his attitude was one of the things that drew you to him, even if it wasn’t exactly healthy. You watched as he lit more candles, the flame dancing with every step he took, highlighting the sharp lines of his features. He was an insensitive prick, but dear god, he was a beautiful one. 

After a few seconds, Mattheo stood up, still holding the dagger in his hand. He glanced at you, and for a brief moment, something in his gaze made his heartbeat almost thud down his ribs. He took a few steps toward you, and your eyes met. His dark eyes were intense, unreadable, and the weight of the air between you made your stomach twist. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady, with a hint of mischief in his tone. The corner of his mouth twitched, the excitement creeping slowly.

“Take off your shirt.”

You blinked, shocked, and for a few seconds, all your fear vanished. “Excuse me?!”

Mattheo observed you, almost as if he were stripping you bare. “Your shirt,” he repeated, his tone annoyingly dismissive. He spun the dagger in his palm with flawless precision, taking a step closer as if your hesitancy pleased him. “Take it off,” he said almost coolly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

You crossed your arms, feeling your heart race as your face flushed with heat. “And why, exactly, do I need to do that?” You snapped, your voice sharp. You had fantasized a thousand times about Mattheo asking you to do this, but you never imagined it would actually happen, especially not now, in this situation. 

“For the ritual,” he said simply, tilting his head and giving you a smirk that bordered on taunting, as though the answer should’ve been obvious. “I need access to your skin, sweetheart. The magic won’t work otherwise.” His words were smooth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling they held a hint of mockery.

You hesitated, studying him closely. There was something about his response that didn’t sit right, too casual in a way that felt almost taunting, like he wasn’t being completely honest. “You’re making that up,” you said flatly, letting your arms drop to your sides, your eyes narrowing as you searched on his face for a sign of truth. 

His smirk widened, and he continued to twirl the dagger between his fingers, his eyes locked on you. The sight of your flushed cheeks only seemed to make him think with his other head. “Am I?” He took another step closer. 

“Please, Mattheo, I know that’s bullshit!” you spat out, trying to ignore how his smug expression made your skin heat, though particularly of you couldn’t help but consider it.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, stepping closer, the tension between you nearly unbearable. His voice dipped, rough and almost deliberate, as his dark eyes shamelessly trailed down your body before locking onto yours again.

“Alright,” he murmured, a smile laying wickedly on his lips. “Maybe it’s not entirely necessary. But it helps. A lot.”

The dagger moved lazily in his hand, the sharp edge skimming his palm without cutting his palm. His gaze never left you, steady and intense, like a predator watching its prey. “And we both know you want this to work out, don’t we, sweetheart?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, a truth you hated to admit even to yourself. You wanted him to notice you—really notice you—the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare, peeling back layers you didn’t even realize you had. But the sharp flare of anger clawed its way up your chest, tangling with the strange pull he always seemed to have over you, leaving you somewhere between furious and helpless.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head, the disappointment cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. You weren’t sure if it was aimed at him or at yourself for falling into this moment—this trap. Probably both. 

“And yet,” he said, taking another step toward you, “here you are.” He mocked you, making you bite your tongue to stop yourself from telling him to fuck off. 

The space between you two was basically nonexistent now, and Mattheo fucking hated it. Hated that it was him moving closer, like he couldn’t help himself. Hated how his body had a mind of its own, reacting to you in ways that made him feel like an idiot. The thought of you, without your shirt, without anything, was driving him insane, his imagination running wild no matter how much he tried to shove it down.

Fuck. He could already feel the strain in his pants, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the fabric. It pissed him off—how easily you got under his skin, how fucking hard it was to keep his cool around you. 

“Fine,” you bit out, your voice rougher than you felt, and Mattheo’s smile twisted with satisfaction, practically waiting for you to do it. You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way his eyes were glued to you. Your fingers lingered at the hem of your shirt, heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find the guts to go through with it. 

Mattheo’s smirk only deepened, his eyes never leaving you, and for a moment, it felt like he was inside your head, reading you like a damn book. His gaze dropped low, just enough to make your skin prickle with awareness. You seemed so fucking soft. “Need help?” he asked, voice dripping with mockery. 

“Shut up, Mattheo” you snapped, yanking the fabric over your head in one swift motion, a shiver running through your whole body. Shit, you’re not wearing a bra.

The second the shirt left your body, the air felt heavier, but you felt the coldness against your exposed skin and nipples. Mattheo’s expression shifted, his smirk slipping for a moment as his eyes scanned over you, taking in more than you were prepared to show. You cursed yourself for not wearing a bra under the thin fabric, your chest bare under the dim torchlight and his searing gaze. Mattheo swore the zipper on his pants was going to break any second.

You couldn't help but feel trapped by his piercing stare as his eyes remained on you, shamelessly tracing your hard nipples. He seemed oblivious; nonetheless, his eyes burned with need as his mind wandered, thinking about the taste of his tongue on your nipples, sucking and biting until all you could think about was the feel of his wet tongue. He held the dagger tightly, only reacting when the blade cut into his flesh.

“Well,” he began, attempting to put the thoughts flowing through his head to the back of his mind, his voice rougher than before, “guess you were more ready than we thought.” He mocked you again, but it seemed like he was also mocking himself.

You could feel your cheeks burning, a mix of anger and something else boiling inside you. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to block him out, but the moment you saw the way Mattheo’s eyes were fixed on you filled with desire, your hands fell to your sides, betraying your own brain. You wanted this. You wanted him to see you, to really see you.

But as you realized you were staring at him in the same way, you quickly shook your head, trying to push down the desire and need, force some control back into your own voice. “Just get on with it,” you ‘snapped’, trying to hide how much it stung, how much you craved that attention. 

Mattheo’s smirk returned, but this time it was sharper, full with devilment. He took another step toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and gestured toward the circle with a lazy flick of his hand. “As you wish.”

His expression didn’t shift, his confidence simmering just below the surface as he stepped even closer to you, trying not to look at your bare chest. His eyes flickered to the symbols on the ground, their faint glow reflecting in the depths of his gaze. Without a word he reached up and tugged his shirt over his head, casting it aside without care. He didn’t look at you but still waited for your reaction. You had already drawn one from him—only fair if he returned the favor, right?

You, on the other hand, swallowed hard, your gaze shamelessly tracing the lines of his abdomen and bare, muscular chest. The candles and torchlight cast sharp shadows across the scars etched into his skin, and you held your breath without meaning to. When he glanced forward slightly, his eyes still on the ground as he did so, he had to stifle a chuckle at the sight of your clenched fists, trying to control yourself.

This was going to be fun, at least.

For a brief moment, neither of you spoke or moved. The silence stretched thin, both of you consumed by the same thoughts, the same dirty images racing through your minds. Your chests rose and fell heavily, both of you struggling to regain a normal breath. It was fucking madness. 

Mattheo quickly composed himself, standing at the point of the small symbol on the ground, making sure you mirrored his position on the opposite side. Your bare chests were almost touching, the air thick with tension, your hard nipples brushing just slightly against his skin. He gave a low sigh, words slipping from his lips in a language you couldn’t understand, his voice deep and commanding.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the symbols on the floor pulsed to life, glowing with an eerie light, while the candle flames flickered wildly, as though responding to his words. 

He looked at the dagger in his hand, a proud glint in his eyes before letting his gaze drift up to your face. His eyes lingered on your features, the softness of your eyes, the way your lips parted just enough to drive him insane. He almost couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to touch you, but he stayed still, his jaw tight. “Are you ready?” he asked, his lips moving without sound. “I am,” you mouthed back, the hesitation in your eyes impossible to miss. But he ignored it, choosing to focus on the way you stood there—no turning back now, and honestly? He didn’t want you to cover up. 

Mattheo gripped the dagger with steady hands, his brown eyes flickering briefly to the runes as if making sure everything was aligned. Without a second thought, he pressed the sharp blade to his palm, slicing through the skin with quick, practiced precision. The blood surged from the cut, dripping thick and dark onto the glowing runes below. They reacted violently, flaring brighter, more alive, as if the blood was feeding the symbols, feeding him. 

You held your breath, knowing you were next. But you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at the ground, watching his blood drip onto the floor beneath both of your feet.

After a few seconds, he lifted his chin, pride in his eyes, his curls moving like the magic around the circles. He grabbed your hand without a word, pressing the dagger into your palm, his gaze never leaving yours. He was waiting, daring you to cut yourself just like he had. 

You felt his blood drip onto your wrist, the warmth of it sending a jolt through your veins. As the dagger pressed into your palm, a breath caught in your throat. The weight of the blade was more than you expected, and for a moment, your eyes lingered on the crimson stains left by Mattheo’s cut, almost hypnotic, tempting you.

Your heart quickened, your pulse echoing in your ears. You hesitated—for a moment. His eyes found you once again, a look that urged you to continue. The hesitation lingering in your heart suddenly dispersed; you wanted nothing but to mark him as yours.

With a deep breath, you pressed the blade to your palm, hissing softly as the edge cut into your skin, making you feel even more bare and open than you already did. The pain was sharp, fleeting, quickly replaced by the blood spilling down your skin, as the runes reacted violently to your action, their glow flaring in response. 

It was instantaneous. The moment your blood touched the floor, the room seemed to exhale, the light flaring brighter and the air humming with a charged, almost electric energy as the ritual began. But the reaction was brief, for Mattheo’s focus shifted.

Mattheo’s gaze was fixed on the cut on your hand, his eyes wide and unblinking, as if he was mesmerized by the crimson blood streaks trailing down your wrist, mingling with his the drops of his blood already on your skin. His jaw clenched, and you swore you saw him swallow hard as he continued to look, his chest rising and falling with a depth of intensity you’d never seen in him before. 

“Mattheo?” You called softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your heartbeat quickening against your bare chest. Yet, it was enough to break his attention.

His eyes naturally met yours once again, vulnerability flickering in his gaze, though the rest of his expression remained unreadable, like a contrast to the hunger simmering beneath. But Mattheo didn't step back. Instead, his calloused fingers brushed against the blood on your wrist, smearing it slightly. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a moment, neither of you remembered how to breathe.

“Mattheo…” you called out again, but this time it was almost a plea for him not to stop. He obeyed your unspoken request, his fingers tracing your skin as if exploring new territory, so gently that it almost made you forget the lingering sting in your hand. 

Mattheo’s hands moved deliberately, spreading the blood from the deep cut on your hand. He seemed oblivious to the matching wound on his own skin as he dragged the crimson trail up to your neck, smearing it across your skin. Without warning, his lips pressed against the spot, his tongue tracing the blood. He let out a low groan at the taste, and you couldn’t suppress your own when you felt the warmth of his tongue against you. 

“It’s so sweet,” he murmured, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck, the crimson of your blood staining them as he pulled you closer, pressing you against him in a way that felt almost inhuman. “So fucking sweet.” His teeth continued to drag along your skin, while his hand slid down your arm, seeking more of your blood. His fingers tightened around your palm, squeezing to draw out more of the liquid, making you groan in a mix of pain and pleasure as the burn surged through you. 

“Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” Mattheo whispered, biting your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin painfully. He didn’t care about the grunt of pain that escaped your lips, not when more blood joined the one already staining your throat. Right after his first bite, you moaned, your thighs rubbing together in an attempt to ease the wetness in your cunt. 

Mattheo chuckled in satisfaction, bringing his bloodied hand to your stomach, the crimson spreading across your exposed skin like a mark. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured against your throat, pressing his lips to the marks he had left with his teeth. But when he noticed you hadn’t answered, he bit your neck harder than before and squeezed your stomach, causing more blood to spread across the area. 

You swallowed hard, locking eyes with him as you tried to form a sentence, but the only words that escaped your lips were a barely audible, “Yes, fucking yes,” which only made him laugh harder. He tightened his grip on your skin, sending a sharp sting through your own body. 

“Of course you do… such a fucking slut,” Mattheo chuckled again against your throat, his teeth sinking into the spot once more, making you moan. He mimicked the sound, feeling his pants tighten around his cock as he tasted your blood again on his teeth. His tongue throbbed with desire, savoring the metallic taste. Holy shit, he could cum just from the taste of your blood. “But you taste so damn good.” 

He seemed to have completely forgotten the ritual, and you, too, had let it slip away. You didn’t want to remember, not when his blood stained your skin, not when your own blood marked him, and not when his mark lingered on you. 

Mattheo pulled back slightly, looking at your state and the way your plush lips were parted as you stared at him, your eyes filled with the same desire he showed. 

Without warning, Mattheo grabbed your cut hand with the one resting on your stomach, his blood mingling with yours as he guided your hand to your neck, then down to your breasts, trailing the blood like a map. Before you could react to the sting of your hard nipple pressing against the cut, Mattheo moved faster, pulling your nipple—now smeared with your own blood—into his mouth. 

You let out a loud moan as you felt his tongue teasing the tips of your bloodied breasts, the taste of your blood on his tongue making him swirl around your breast more eagerly. The sensation only made him harder beneath his robes, each moan of his growing louder as he savored the taste of you. 

You were lost in the pleasure of his mouth, concentrated with the way his tongue lapped like a hungry animal. The way his hands pushed your now bloody breasts together enough for his head to dive between them as he continued to whisper praises, words of hunger. You didn’t hear nothing but the sounds of his mouth nor saw how he desperately reached for release, your body causing him to react out of character.

“Fuck...” he murmured, his hand releasing the softness of your skin as he reached down towards his pants. Fast, uncoordinated, he released his cock from the restraints, his bloody hands wrapping around his cock that dripped with precum. His movements grew faster, driven by the growing intensity of the taste of blood on his tongue.

You looked down, catching a glimpse through the small crease of his neck as he dragged his palm over his hard cock while sucking on your nipples. You couldn’t help but moan louder, your bloody hand gripping his shoulders as you tried to ignore how your body was responding—the wetness between your legs that you knew he could feel. 

“Your tits…”Mattheo moaned even louder, dragging a moan from your lips in response. Fuck, he was so close.

“Fuck, your blood tastes so fucking good.” He moaned louder, and as he sucked harder on your nipples, his mouth closing around the bud tighter. Your chest was now covered in his bites, the marks of Mattheo Riddle, almost like a sign of ownership. Your body quivered against his hold, rubbing pathetically against him as you felt the tingle flutter in your stomach. You were close, lost in the daze, you had no idea whether it was from pleasure or the lost of blood—or both. You were desperately clinging to his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a spell.

The hold on his length tightened in his hand, and he came instantly. Another hoarse moan escaped his throat, and he pulled away from your chest for a moment, gasping for air. You gripped onto his shoulders once more, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. So sudden, so quick you fell against his hold as your body convulsed with pleasure.

Mattheo leaned against you, allowing himself a moment to relax. But when he noticed the blood still running down your throat from where he had placed your hand, he couldn’t help but let out a growl. He yanked your hair back harshly, making you gasp and exposing your throat, your scream barely escaping as he did so. 

“Mattheo…!” You tried to speak, but he didn’t care; he never did. He only pushed you further against him, your nipples pressed against his bare chest as he licked your throat, letting out another groan as he tasted the metallic flavor again. His tongue traced the line of your throat, dragging the blood up to your chin, before he licked it off obscenely, making you sigh at the sensation. 

Mattheo’s hand in your hair tightened, and in one swift motion, he turned you onto your back, pulling your hair even harder as your back arched against him. “Open your mouth,” he commanded, an order you immediately understood. You obeyed without hesitation, and before you could react, he spat into your mouth and thrust his tongue inside, kissing you deeply.

The kiss was rough and erotic, the fire burning from the inside making it impossible to avoid it. You could taste your own blood on his tongue, and it only made your cunt wetter, the intensity overwhelming. It was too much—more than you’d ever imagined.

You had pictured moments like this, where you and Mattheo would kiss, tasting each other’s tongues, but this was different. It wasn’t the fantasy you had dreamed of; it was raw, wild, and rougher than anything you could have ever anticipated. His teeth clashed with yours, and your tongue tangled with his, as he unleashed his most primal side. He was giving you a taste of the part of you he had consumed, and you were trapped, just as you always would be.

You didn’t care about the pain in your scalp, only the hand that held you.

Mattheo’s hands were rough, touching everything he could. His mouth marking you over and over as he swallowed every small noise you released. He was warm, too warm, a sting feeling in your mouth as he sucked and bit into your lips, the softness of your skin tethering as his mouth was once again filled with the sweetness of your blood.

He was about to lose his mind.

Mattheo sighed against your now split lip, “Stop me… Tell me to stop, and I will.” He wouldn’t; you both knew it.

You held him against you tighter; you were already too deep into him—all you wanted was to devour him, mark him enough to show everyone he belonged to you, only you. You wanted to inflict a pain he would never forget, a pain similar to the pain he caused you, so you did. Your hands wrapped around his neck, your mouth tracing his lips, then his cheeks, then suddenly the warmth of his neck. Mattheo gripped you hard; he made no sudden movement, anxiously awaiting your motive. You bit into his neck, sucking the flushed skin as your teeth marked him with the same strength he did to you. 

Another soft flow came into your mouth, you gasped, the metallic taste odd in your mouth but enough to send your heart thundering.

Mattheo whimpered, his dominant facade slipping as he sickly enjoyed the way you took control. You were so sweet, so delicate—you were completely the opposite. The idea he corrupted you twisted a sick, powerful thought in his brain. You were his. 

Your tongue reached towards his mouth again, finding yourself eye to eye with the man you wanted nothing more than to control. “Don’t ever stop; I need you.”

Mattheo grinned, his lips bloody, his brown eyes becoming dark as he suddenly pushed you towards the runes that glowed against your body. The symbols glowed, vibrating with the blood that dripped onto it. As he stood over you, he wished to capture the moment forever. You looked so fucking pretty.

He leaned over, his knees staining with the blood smeared against the cold tiles. His fingers moved quickly, desperately. He watched as your body spoke to him, reacting to every touch. Your breasts covered in his marks, his blood and yours on them that caused his cock to twitch violently.

He wanted more than the taste of your breasts; he wanted to taste the juices that gathered in the silk of your panties. He wanted to feel the way your cunt twitched and throbbed against his mouth, and damn, did he want nothing more than to have you fuck yourself on his tongue. The sweetest angel from Hogwarts all displayed for him, to hell with the ritual; now he just wanted to swallow you whole. 

Without warning, he hoisted your legs onto his shoulders with an almost violent urgency, a deep moan escaping his lips as he leaned closer to your wet pussy. The intoxicating scent filled his senses, making his bloodied hand tighten around your thigh, gripping it as if commanding you to choke him; a command you had no intention of disobeying.

Mattheo looked at your face, the dried blood around your parted lips, your cheeks flushed from everything he was doing to you, and your dilated pupils watching him anxiously. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and you instantly bit your lip. Fuck, he was about to get hard again. 

“Please, I need you, Mattheo,” you begged, rubbing your hips desperately, trying to get closer to his flushed face. You needed his mouth, and he was more than willing to be a good friend and give you exactly what you wanted. 

“No need to beg like a slut, sweetheart,” he said, moving closer to your pulsing cunt, the light from the dunes making your wetness glisten even more. You held your breath as his warm breath ghosted over your slick folds. “I’m eager to give you what you want,” he murmured, leaning even closer, his nose brushing against your arousal as he took in your scent. Just as you were about to beg him to do something, his tongue was quicker—teasing, tasting, and finally giving in to the need to lick you.

Mattheo followed his instincts and hunger, his palms gripping your thighs even tighter, leaving bloodstained marks on your skin just as he had on the rest of your body. The sting of his own cut burned with the pressure, but he didn’t stop, sliding his hands to your hips as his tongue moved swiftly against your folds, savoring and memorizing every inch of you.

You could feel Mattheo’s cheeks pressed against your thighs as he buried himself in your pussy, suffocating himself in your scent and taste. He mentally begged some higher power to let him one day die like this—only after his hunger was completely satisfied. Your back arched, heat swirling in your stomach as Mattheo licked your pussy with reckless desperation.

He was ravenous, savoring every part of you, and when your nails dug into his scalp, he let out another growl, pushing himself even deeper between your legs, making you moan even louder.

“Fucking yes, sweetheart,” he murmured against your pussy, sucking harder as your cries of pleasure filled the room. “Keep moaning like a slut, keep saying my name.” He bit down on your flesh, making you moan even louder, your legs trembling around him. He chuckled darkly, the vibrations of his laughter sending shocks through your body and making you cry out even more.

Fuck the ritual, fuck the power—the only power he craved was the power he held over you.

“Mattheo,” you moaned even louder, rocking your hips against his face as your fingers tangled in his hair, pushing him closer. “Right there, oh my—!” you cried out, feeling him lose himself between your legs, consumed by his thoughts and the blood still staining his lips.

Mattheo’s fast, steady movements continued, his almost feral tongue lapping at your cunt as his hands roamed your body. He could feel his cock harden at the sound of your sweet moans. Fuck, the taste of your blood mingled with your arousal was divine—almost too much for him to bear. 

He continued kissing your clit, desperate to savor your full taste, his tongue messily exploring your folds, drinking in every drop he could. All you felt in the moment was him. The sounds muffled as if underwater. Your fingers dug into his scalp, causing him to flick his tongue against your bud faster, his fingers circling it, his grin plastered with pride as he heard you cry loudly.

“Such a pretty one you are,” he muttered, his words slurring into the juices of your cunt.

You only released a jumble of words, your bare back arching as you squirmed beneath him. You were on the edge, and you could feel it—both of you could. The anticipation was electric, and you were both eager for the release. All he wanted was to make you cum.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured against your folds, the scent of your cunt making him dizzy. “Come for me.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than you let out a final scream, the orgasm hitting you hard as your body arched, feeling your cum dripping from your pussy.

Mattheo groaned against your cunt once more, lapping at your release as he lost himself in your flavor. Quickly, he grabbed your cut hand, spreading its blood over your pussy to mix with the cum. When he felt it was enough, he ran his tongue over your folds, savoring the metallic taste of blood combined with the sweet remnants of your orgasm, only stopping when not a drop remained, and you pushed him away.

The runes still flickered on the ground, glowing brighter with the smell of your release in the air. Blood stained both your bodies, marking each other, marking the new connection between you that neither of you wanted to escape. Mattheo stood there, watching you, his brown eyes observing, shining with pride watching your state. His eyes traced the blood on your skin, lingering on the cut on your hand, before meeting your eyes again. 

“We didn’t finish the ritual,” you managed to say, your voice soft, timid once again compared to the wildness you held as you let Mattheo control you, your body still shaking from one of the best orgasms you ever experienced.

Mattheo’s smirk grew, just a little as he continued to look at the mess he had done. “It’s fine, sweetheart. We can always try again.”

He was right; after all, friends helped each other.

© 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚝₂₀₂₄ — 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎.

— please be nice, it’s 4 am it probably has some mistakes!

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🫶🏻

also a big thank you for my favorite beta readers @earth4angels & @astrxq , without them i couldn’t write all this!! i love you both off you forever

venting: sometimes, i hate english because my hard lines in portuguese don’t make sense and seem so repetitive :(

[ylangelegy]

unknown / nth ⭐ minghao x reader.

your boyfriend gives you a language lesson before bed.

★ minghao x translator/interpreter!reader a.k.a the lost in translation couple ★ word count: 1.9k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, conversation about mandarin (my reference). takes place post-lost in translation! not entirely necessary to have read the fic prior to this. title is from hozier's song of the same name. not proofread. ★ footnotes: minghao did a brief weibo live and i've been missing lost in translation for quite some time now, so i jammed this out really quick 🚬🦆 may write more for/about this couple in the near future, so take this as the first of many! ♡

“I think Cold Love really represents me well. It’s probably because I’m an INFJ.”

You press your palm to your mouth to stifle your laugh. Minghao doesn’t react visibly, but his hand waves at you off-camera. A wordless reminder of Be nice. 

The two of you are across the room from each other— him, perched on the couch of his hotel room, while you’re already tucked in bed. Minghao had promised his fans a quick Weibo live to discuss his most recent EP, leaving you to your own devices for the next hour or so. 

You didn’t mind. It was one of life’s simple joys, listening to your boyfriend talk. 

He spends the next thirty minutes or so discussing his creative process and answering fans’ questions. You don’t bother him, knowing you’ll have all the time in the world later to tease him for some of his remarks. Like his indignance at growing taller or his jabs at his age. 

As you busy yourself with mindlessly scrolling through your phone, you relish in the familiar sound of Minghao’s Mandarin. It’s probably your favorite version of white noise, really. The mellow tone of his voice contrasts the rapid, sharp way that he speaks. Despite being well-acquainted with the language, there are still some words that elude you. You make a mental note to ask Minghao about them later. 

Less than an hour has passed before you hear Minghao beginning to wind down. “Good luck on all of your exams. To the people working, keep working hard! Make lots of money,” he says hurriedly. “And good luck with love, too. I hope you all find someone who loves you back so you can experience all sorts of feelings.” 

He’s never been the type to drag out his goodbyes, so you’re not surprised when— after a final heart sign and wave to the camera— Minghao is finally clocking out of his live. 

Immediately, he slumps back onto the couch like the whole thing had drained him. Sure, lives weren’t necessarily one-sided, but he did have to hard carry when it came to the talking part of the affair. You flash him a sympathetic smile as you sit up in bed. 

“Done, xīngān?” you call out. 

Minghao doesn’t respond right away. You don’t hold it against him. He sometimes needed a moment, needed a minute or two to pull himself together. 

After staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, Minghao lets out a shuddering exhale. “Done,” he responds, and he’s moving before you can register it. 

He gets to his feet and crosses the room in a few, quick strides. Once he gets to the bed, he wastes no time in reaching for you. His knees sink in the mattress; his hands dart out. 

You let out a slight squeal when Minghao tugs you into him. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. This had been a premeditated act. You can tell in the way his arms immediately snake around your waist. 

You let out a defeated sigh against his chest, but make no move to pull away. “Tired?” you ask, your hands resting on the small of his back as you return his embrace. 

He hums a quiet ‘mhm’. “I’m not built for this anymore, xīngān,” he whines. 

The two of you know that’s a bold-faced lie. Still, you indulge your sulking boyfriend lest he begin to pout even harder. “My poor baby,” you coo, running your hands up and down Minghao’s back in a show of comforting him. “Gonna blame it on being an introvert?” 

“Shut up.” 

You let out a small laugh. You can’t see it, but you swear you can feel the curve of Minghao’s smile as he presses a chaste kiss to the top of your head. 

“Thank you for being here,” he says after a moment of comfortable silence. “It means a lot.” 

A part of you wants to insist that it’s nothing. It’s not every day that you can steal away to his hotel room, though. In between your own work of interpreting for the boys and working on subtitles for videos, there’s also the added layer of keeping your relationship on the down low. 

Tonight, Minghao had just tried to asked. Texted a couple of hours ago that he wanted to see you. And you could never really deny him anything, not even on your best days. 

“Anything for you,” you respond as you stroke the short hair at his nape. 

Minghao buries his face in the crook of your neck, his smiling mouth warm as he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t give me that much power,” he warns. “I’ll abuse it.” 

You chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.” 

The two of you lapse into another bout of quiet. This had always been your way, even back when the two of you were friends: Comfortable silences, unspoken agreements. Your new relationship had only given you two the carte blanche to be a little more touchy during your shared moments of peace. 

You’re fairly sure that Minghao has fallen asleep when he speaks up again. “How do you think I did?”

“With the live?” 

“No, with cuddling. Yes, with the live.” 

“Ask nicely.”

“Please?” 

You put Minghao out of his misery by returning his earlier gesture— leaving a quick kiss, this time to the line of his jaw. “Stellar as usual,” you reassure him. “I didn’t pick up on everything, though.” 

“That’s new.” Minghao shifts around on the bed until he can prop himself up on one elbow. He rests his chin in his hand but doesn’t stray too far. He stays hovering over you, his free arm remaining around your waist. 

He goes on to goad, “Your Mandarin must be getting rusty.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, shooting him a half-hearted glare. “How can it be rusty,” you retort, slipping into the language as if to prove a point. “When you’re always insisting that we use it?” 

No matter how many times that you speak to him in his mother tongue, Minghao always seems momentarily startled. The surprise always fades into affection, evident in the fond way that he gazes down at you. 

He matches your code switch without missing a beat. “I’ve told you, haven’t I? I love it when you speak Mandarin,” he says, punctuating his words with a quick pinch to your side. 

You swat his hand; he giggles down at you.

“Which parts did you miss out on?” he asks. 

It takes you a moment to recall the terms and phrases you’d wanted to question him about. “撒娇?” you ask, the unfamiliar word sounding almost hesitant on your tongue. Sājiāo.

A thoughtful ‘ahhh’ escapes Minghao. “Think of it like aegyo,” he offers delicately. “It’s— often in the setting of a relationship. Acting cute to be endearing.” 

“Like when you gripe about me not responding fast enough.” 

“Examples aren’t necessary,” he says wryly. “But, yes. Like that.” 

You flash Minghao a grin before snuggling a little closer to him, entangling your legs. The added touch makes his expression softens in the way it only ever does when it’s you. 

“Anything else?” he prompts. 

It’s not everyday that Minghao gets to play the ‘teacher’ role in your relationship. In the beginning, you had been his Korean tutor. In the longer run, you had helped him translate and transpose words that he couldn’t reach. Every so often, you would run to him for some Mandarin help, and you could tell that he relished in the shift in dynamic. 

The thought pushes you to keep asking, even though the words are inconsequential. “You used the term 暖男,” you note. “What was that one?” 

“Nuǎnnán,” he echoes, correcting your intonation. You repeat the word as he said it, and he gives a small smile of approval.

“It’s our version of ‘nice guy’,” he explains. “But it’s rooted a lot in culture. A nuǎnnán is a man who can be considered inherently warm-hearted in an otherwise patriarchal society. And no—” Minghao’s tone takes on a more chiding quality when he sees you about to interrupt. “Do not try to call me a nuǎnnán.” 

You jut out your lower lip slightly. “Why not?” 

The arm that Minghao had around your waist rises, just enough so he can tap the tip of your scrunched nose. “Don’t pull out sājiāo on me,” he scolds. 

It’s not necessary for you to act cute. Your boyfriend would be endeared by you either way. 

You chuckle at being caught, and Minghao’s sternness mellows. “One last.” You hold up a finger as you try to nail the phrase that had first caught your attention. “裸婚?” 

There’s a flicker of surprise on Minghao’s expression. “That was from a fan making a joke,” he warns before repeating the word himself. “Luǒhūn translates to— hear me out, okay?— ‘naked marriage’.” 

The sight of your raised eyebrow draws a sharp laugh from Minghao. “It’s another one of those cultural things,” he says. 

When he doesn’t add onto his words, you shoot him an incredulous look. 

“What?” he asks with feigned innocence.

“That’s it?” you prod. “You’re not going to explain what ‘naked marriage’ means?” 

“You have access to the internet, don’t you?” 

“Xīngān.” 

“That’s me.” 

At Minghao’s continued evasion, you merely huff and give up. It’s getting late, anyway, and he has to be up early in the morning for sound check. Come tomorrow, you’ll have to slip away before anyone can come looking for either of you. The boys aren’t privy to your relationship yet, and God forbid any of the other staff find out.

“Fine,” you say, unable to resist the urge to just be a little haughty. “Let’s go to sleep.” 

Minghao is undeterred by your contempt. If anything, it only makes him smile a little wider, gives him an excuse to pull you into his chest. He goes to cradle the back of your head, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair. 

You lean into his touch, burying your face into the front of his shirt. There it is again. Those few, precious moments where the two of you can just bask in each other’s presence. 

The silence stretches on this time. You’re properly drowsy by the time Minghao speaks up, his words quiet as he mumbles them against your shoulder. 

“No house, no car, no fancy ring,” he murmurs, his tone contemplative and sleepy. “Luǒhūn.” 

“A naked marriage,” you respond mid-yawn. 

“Mhm.”

“Nothing but love.” 

“You got it.” 

The conversation feels like it’s teetering on the verge of something consequential, something of value. But with the two of you already halfway asleep in each other's arms, there’s not much you can do besides exchange some light pecks and mumbled words.

“I think I’d want at least a house before getting married,” you say. “Or, like, an apartment.”

“What, you wouldn’t live out on the streets with me?” he teases lowly. 

Your eyes flutter close. “You would have to convince me,” you shoot back. 

Minghao responds with a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

“How long will it take to convince you?” 

It’s a little too early in your relationship for the topic of marriage to be seriously brought up. It’s fun to dream about, though. To talk about in hushed tones, to toy with in Minghao’s mother tongue. 

To imagine a time where this might be your every night— falling asleep in each other’s arms. 

“Might take you years and years,” you answer, a giggle rising from the back of your throat. 

Minghao’s arms shake as he laughs. His lips stay on your head, almost like he can’t bear to peel away from you for a minute too long. 

“I don’t mind,” he says as the two of you begin to succumb to sleep. 

The last thing you hear is his affectionate, soft promise of, “I’ll start working on convincing you, xīngān.” 

[dreamerimpossible]

Slasher Jealousy Scale

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships, in certain cases yandere tendencies, +18 content.

Michael Myers 3/10

Not too jealous. He usually doesn't understand the reason for those feelings. Furthermore, no one would be able to touch what he marked for him, his superhuman strength and imposing figure would be on top of anyone who dared to look in your direction. So, he would never get jealous. There's just no need.

Chucky 8/10

Completely canonical that he's a jealous bastard. Just tell him he's not man enough for you and he'll get on top of you without thinking twice forcing you to back off. The person who set his sights on you doesn't have a good destiny, obviously. In reality, it's not good to play with him, his pride as a man is too strong.

Billy Loomis 9/10

Abandonment issues become too present. He doesn't like you getting close to too many guys. If his partner knows his true nature, he will be overly controlling and possessive, he would not like his partner to get too close to friends who could be a threat to their relationship. He is quite manipulative and will use such tactics to get you to stay away from those he doesn't like.

Stu Macher 6/10

Medium level of jealousy. He doesn't like being replaced by someone else, but he won't show much of a reaction if you talk to friends who like you. Anyway, he is also popular and will interact with all types of people. However, if he sees something very noticeable, he will pull the strings underneath and that person who made him jealous will magically disappear. For the sake of the relationship, don't talk about it.

Patrick Bateman 10/10

All your attention should be directed at him. The more genuine your interest and compliments, the more he will seek your attention, so making him jealous and paying attention to someone else would be the end of it. He needs complete devotion. He won't tolerate distractions and could take care of them. Making him feel insecure indirectly is not the best option you could take. It is better to dedicate everything to him.

Jason Vorhees 10/10

He literally keeps you locked up, that is the most representative indication of the matter. He does not like those people standing over you looking at you with lust. He is the only one you need. Yes, he will take care of you and protect you. You should be calm.

Leatherface 10/10

Too insecure with himself, so he expects you to have impeccable behavior. Although luckily for you, you will not have too many moments in which he will get jealous because your only environment is his family. So you must treat them with respect and with certain limits and distance. If not, he will get frustrated. And we know his way of dealing with that.

Art The Clown 2/10

He is not jealous, everything for him is a violent game. If someone flirts with you, he will laugh and do his thing with the same energy as always. Although he won't tolerate you ridiculing him, if you flirt with someone, you will pay, but not because he gets jealous, but because he is the one who makes the rules, not you.

Jason Dean 10/10

Dependent, possessive and obsessive. He's literally a warning in and of himself. Seriously, don't flirt or let yourself be flirted with. Don't break up with him, don't walk away from him, don't stop paying attention to him. Just don't leave him, he's very jealous and won't let you go for any reason. Oh, he's also manipulative, so he'll definitely get you to walk away from that harmless guy in your class.

Alex DeLarge 2/10

He doesn't formally qualify as a slasher, but I'm including him anyway. I don't really see him as jealous, he's more of a controlling guy. He doesn't like having his first choice role in other people's lives taken away from him, he is the leader and the one who commands, but he won't get jealous of anyone, because he thinks highly of himself and is charming when he wants to be. He probably has you wrapped around his finger, so…why get jealous?

Brahms 15/10

He won't let you leave the house for that reason. He doesn't want you to leave him, any outsider is a threat. You are only his, you must accept that. However, even if you accept it, he will still be jealous, because he can't help it. If you want to go out somewhere, he will wonder if it is because you want to see someone.

[hwnglx]

dating jungkook - q&a

physical ideal type, how to catch his attention, as a boyfriend, love languages (give and receive), favorite type of dates, jealousy, etc.

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

what physical traits in a person is jungkook most attracted to?

well-balanced features

humble, effortless and natural beauty (i keep seeing bare faces in my mind's eye)

sophisticated, well-groomed and clean

takes good care of their appearance

curves! (especially the top area)

graceful movement

soft and pretty hands

elegance

❥ more specific traits could include:

red lips

baby face

sharp face

black hair

light hair

long hair

straight hair

white clothing

beauty marks

i keep seeing iu in my mind's eye, dressed in this long and beautiful white dress.

she sums up his physical ideal type in many ways. i can see him feeling drawn to people who have this fairy-like aesthetic.

however! i do have to say, i can see him feeling attracted to several types of looks. he's not as specific in his preferences as others; more open-minded in that regard.

for example, i absolutely see him liking girls whose aesthetics are on the “baddie” side as well. someone with tattoos or piercings, and more casual but edgy clothing. he for sure really likes it when someone just has a lot of sex-appeal.

one thing i keep getting though, is that he likes people who are well-put together and look after themselves. he definitely likes people who put effort into maintaining their looks, but don't look like they try too hard; let's say someone who works out regulary, eats healthy, takes care of their skin. things like that.

he seems like the type to like it when his partner can do both; glamorous and fancy on special occasions (like going to the red carpet together all dolled and dressed up), and more casual, laidback and natural when alone with him.

❥ possible rising signs he could feel attracted to:

capricorn

scorpio

libra

leo

what does it take to catch jungkook's attention?

he finds it intriguing when a person is intelligent, bold and wellspoken. lets say both of you are in a group of people; if all of you get into a discussion, and you're the one standing out by the way you express yourself in an eloquent, impactful and strong manner, that can very much intrigue him. people whose words have depth; a voice that doesn't raise often but once it does, it makes everyone in the room shut up and listen.

he feels drawn to individuals who are independent, knowledgeable, fair-minded and self-sufficient. i also keep hearing “frank” .. someone who's direct and honest with him. jungkook likes it when people aren't too shy or afraid to talk back at him, and humble him. he definitely enjoys a challenge and feeling like he needs to prove himself to someone first.

he also likes it when someone doesn't put him on a pedestal due to his status, and doesn't approach him with starstruck eyes, and unrealistic expectations he can't reach. he likes it when a person isn't intimidated or burdened by his presence, and is capable of simply putting his fame to the side; just see him as a human being.

how does jungkook act when someone catches his attention?

basically, man loses all focus. once someone actually catches his eye, that person can quickly become all he sees. like tunnel vision, forget about everything and everyone else, you're all i see. he can lose his inner composure, and get kinda obsessive of the thought of them. it's likely he'll struggle looking away and find himself naturally observing them a lot.

i'm in his energy, and i keep feeling like.. “oh wow, i need to be with them and approach them before anyone else can”

i can feel his possessive vein coming out quite fast, and him being worried the person might possibly be snatched away by someone else. so, it's likely for him to act quickly.

if there's an opportunity for him to get to them, he will for sure take it. though i have to say, he's definitely the self-conscious type to overanalyse things; like the way they reacted, and worry about the things he said in the heat of the moment.

how does jungkook act in the beginning of a relationship?

okay, this went deeper than i expected. i will try to keep it as understandable as i can.

as i mentioned before, and i keep getting this (the four of cups comes up without fail), this man can feel empty, lacking and apathetic a lot.. big part of the reason as to why he can get so attached to his s/o, is because he naturally puts the entirety of himself into his romantic partners.

jungkook's lovers can quickly become his safe space; his main source of comfort. the first place he seeks if he needs some peace. once he feels like he finally (this can take a while!) found a person he can comfortably pour his heart and soul out to, he can have the tendency to overdo it a little.

i just see him latching onto the person he's with, in hopes of them being able to fill this emotional void he can experience when on his own. he naturally expects a lot from them for this reason. like “i need you to fill the things i lack.”

i keep seeing an image of a diamond in my hand. imagine you found this diamond made out glass. you feel like it's so precious, because it gives you everything you asked for in life. it makes things seem brighter, more beautiful, enriches you. you will hold onto it for dear life, not ever letting it go anywhere else, out of fear of it slipping out of your grip; but this could potentially lead to the diamond breaking in your hands, since you just can't expect glass to be as hard as steel.

this reflects his dynamic with his lovers quite well; he can often make his partners the centers of his life, “dump” a lot of his expectations on to them, be immensely and obsessively protective over them out of fear of them being damaged, or taken away from him. however, this has the potential to put a lot of weight on their shoulders, which some people might have problems dealing with.

he can be contradictory in a sense, because make no mistake; jungkook will want to do all the work for you in a physical realm. it's almost like he overcompensates in the areas he's comfortable with. (especially acts of service)

he's the type to be like “don't work, i will work, you shouldn't tire yourself out. don't carry that upstairs, i will do it for you. are you exhausted? is one pillow not enough? don't worry, i will buy you two.” i can sense this genuine desire to make his lovers feel good in their relationship, and take care of them.

but, he's this case of.. you can't love anyone else in a healthy manner, if you don't learn to love yourself first.

he wants to give his lovers everything they deserve, and to an extent he does; but he still has his emotionally needy tendencies, since a lot of his inner issues remain unresolved. this as a result, can lead to jk naturally putting a lot of the relationship on his partner's back, without even intending to.

what is jungkook's love language? how does he like to receive and give?

❥ give:

acts of service

whatever he can get done for you, he will. the type to try and cook your favourite meal because you said you craved it the other day, even if he's not the best chef in his eyes. he'd probably end up embarrassed, overanalyze your reaction and tell you he's sorry about the dish being so bad. the type to love helping you out with anything; e.g. give him the task of building a new shelf you bought, he will do it and put the entirety of his effort in. i can also see him loving to drive you around, or carry your heavy shopping bags.

physical touch

he'll love to just have you close to him. it's almost like everything's okay once you're near him and he can physically feel you with him. a lot of possessive hand holding, sneaky and subtle but electrifying touches. the type to beg for a kiss over and over because he can't get enough, even if you get annoyed at some point; that'd just rile him up even more. (he'd grin all smug and amused) also random insight i got, but he seems like the type to love carrying his partners around. whether that's in a playful manner, or during e.g. the foreplay of more intimate intercourses. (like carrying you upstairs)

quality time/physical intercourse

he has a very powerful drive, and is the type to bond and connect a lot over physical intercourse. confident, incredibly sensual, intense and passionate lover in bed. i do see him letting off steam this way as well.

❥ receive:

words of affirmation

i got the empress card, which is the mother figure.

jk likes receiving comfort, support and reassurance from his lovers. he wants them to give him this feeling of “this person accepts, and loves me for everything i am.”

think of a mothers love; it's pure, unconditional and forgiving.

he's someone who desires an intuitive, and emotionally intelligent person who can give him both; tough, and soft love.

someone who's tough and honest when he needs a reality check or fist on the table, as well as a sweet nurturer, who's able to attune themselves to him emotionally, and reassure him in a gently supportive manner when he's in need of it.

he just wants someone he can have that subconscious connection and natural understanding with; a person who can almost read his mind by just one look at his face.

what kind of dates does jungkook enjoy the most?

first of all, when it comes to dates; jk likes being the initiator. the one who plans it all and has the ideas. this seems to be another way in which he likes to flex and display his affection. planning romantic and beautiful dates. let me give you a few examples that popped into my head.

romantic dinner

high-end restaurant, roses, wine, live jazz music, candlelit, dim and warm lighting, kinda like the first scene in seven -> i can also see him liking to reserve the entire restaurant out in advance, so that you're the only people in there. or planning the dinner to be on a rooftop while the sun is setting. it just needs to feel intimate.. like there's no one, but the two of you.

night walks

i can see him loving to be in a calm and serene atmosphere with his partners. he's someone who would love sneaking out at night after a long stressful day, to unwind and comfortably walk along the hangkang together with his lover, and the beautiful night scenery surrounding them. just having deep conversations and enjoying each other's presence.

educating yourselves together

he'd love to learn something together. maybe take on a new hobby with his partner; like a cooking course, or learning a new language. engaging in some kind of sport, or gym dates.

one thing that keeps coming through, is him genuinely wanting to feel like they're a “normal” couple.

he's incredibly adamant on fiercely protecting his lover from all the negative attention or haters, and escaping crazy people who try to dig their nose into their business. but at the same time, he doesn't want the relationship or his partner to feel uncomfortable. he can often seek normalcy in his private life.

how does jungkook act when he's jealous?

cold. he distances himself. if not physically, emotionally. leaves you to figure out what's wrong on your own for a while. let's say jk caught you talking to some other guy across the room; he will hate the sight and it will trigger a switch in him.

he'll feel threatened by the guy. he just taps out of sweet and accommodating boyfriend mode, into his darker and resentful energy. jealousy is something which can trigger many of his inner fears and insecurities. he might silently take deep breaths to press down his frustration and try his best not to make it obvious in his facial expression, but his face can easily drop and grow increasingly serious.

i don't see him as the type to impulsively confront his partner or be very vocal about how he feels, but moreso internalize his negative emotions and try to process them by distracting himself with other things or withdrawing into his own space. a lot of that comes from him not wanting to explode in your face, honestly. you'll have to dig slowly and approach him in a very patient way for him to open up.

he will feel left alone, there's some sadness here. he'll feel wronged, and like his fears were validated. his judgement is likely to be very clouded in that moment; even if you want to explain it as a misunderstanding, it's likely he won't wanna hear any of it for a while. he might collect information on the guy you talked to though, like asking his friends who he is, etc.

[nosyp]

Twst chars from most to least likely to entertain ur weird bs

Note = by weird bs, I mean like ur random ass behaviours, from screaming random stuff to pranking ppl... This has been in my drafts for a whileee... enjoy

MOST

Ace Trappola

Ace is LITERALLY the embodiment of chaos. He loves to stir things up and will almost always jump into pranks or loud public behavior. His mischievous nature and carefree attitude make him a perfect partner in crime for wild antics. He’ll often initiate chaos just for fun, and his energy is contagious.

2. Kalim Al-Asim

This is a no brainer, he'll literally join in everything and ANYTHING you're doing, no matter how busy he is. He thinks everything your doing is fun and he won't wanna miss it for the world.

3. Cater Diamond

Cater LIVES for content and trends. Anything that promises or even slightly hints at entertainment (or is post-worthy) will have him fully engaged, he's listening as soon as you mention anything fun. He’ll even suggest to turn your antics into videos or memes.

4. Lilia Vanrouge

He literally tricks his friends for no absolute reason at all. ANYTHING that promises trouble for him, he's in. He adores chaos and he'll go wherever it goes and it's going in your direction.

5. Floyd Leech

Floyd loves unpredictability, so as long as your antics keep him entertained, he’s gonna be there. But once he gets bored, you’re on your own so you better keep it fun.

6. Jade Leech

He enjoys watching chaos unfold, and while he might not always start it, he’ll definitely join in. And he's not going to deny entry in your chaos.

7. Ruggie Bucchi

Another no brainer, bro literally tricks people for his own benefit. He is down for fun, especially if it’s harmless pranks or mischief. He loves silly ideas as long as they don’t get him into trouble.

8. Rook Hunt

Rook finds beauty in everything, even your weirdness. He’ll narrate your antics poetically while fully participating, making everything feel dramatic and epic, only further motivating you into doing smt crazier.

In the middle of most and least likely, varies on the situation kinda guy

9. Sebek Zigvolt

He’s loud, intense, and has a strong presence, especially when it comes to Malleus. And while he might not always go along with pranks, he can certainly be swept up in the moment, especially if it involves defending his pride.

10. Deuce Spade

Yes, he might be quite dumb sometimes but he is not like that all the time. But when he’s in a group, he’ll sometimes get swept up in the chaos, but it’s not something he seeks out on his own. He enjoys the excitement but can feel out of place in overly loud, chaotic situations.

11. Ortho Shroud

He'll engage with genuine enthusiasm, analyzing your dopamine levels to determine whether or not he'll join. If it’s wholesome, he’s all in. However, if it’s dangerous, expect him to step in with big-brother energy (even if he's younger).

12. Epel Felmier

Since epel is a bit more rebellious and will join in on chaotic behavior when it suits him. He’s not afraid to break the rules, especially if it’s for a good reason. BUT he might be hesitant to start chaos on his own but will happily get involved if it’s fun or a way to express himself.

13. Jamil Viper

Jamil is composed and prefers to keep things orderly, but he’s not completely against chaos. If it serves his goal or it’s in the best interest of his plans, he will engage but he’s not the first to initiate chaos, but he’ll follow along if it’s part of his strategy or if it helps him control the situation.

14. Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prefers things to be controlled and orderly, and he isn’t one to create chaos just for fun. However, if there’s a situation where the chaos might even benefit him or his business, he won’t hesitate to join in. His motivations are more strategic, so he’s likely to engage in pranks or chaos if it serves a purpose.

15. Leona Kingscholar

Leona is the type to avoid unnecessary noise and chaos, preferring peace and quiet. However, if he’s in a good mood or if chaos is tied to something that interests him, he might engage. He’s not the first to start pranks, but he might join in if he finds it amusing or if it helps him relax.

16. Malleus Draconia

Malleus doesn’t actively seek chaos, but his curiosity and fascination with human behavior make him more likely to get involved in loud or chaotic situations, especially if they intrigue him. He’s not loud or disruptive by nature, but he’ll join in if he’s in a group, or if the situation calls for it.

17. Jack Howl

Jack is a serious guy, but he’s also loyal to his friends. If the situation calls for it or if his friends are involved, he’ll reluctantly join in on pranks or chaotic activities. He’s not one to seek out chaos, but he’ll participate if it’s necessary or if it helps bond with others.

18. Silver

Silver will go along with your antics even though he might not fully understand the point. BUT if it’s too chaotic for him, he’ll try to steer you toward calmer activities, kinda saving u and him from trouble.

19. Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle is strict and values rules and order above all else. His temper can get the better of him, though, especially if someone challenges his authority or pushes his limits. He might reluctantly get involved in chaos, particularly if it’s something that breaks the rules, but he’s not someone who enjoys it on a daily basis.

LEAST (No way, nuh uh)

20. Trey Clover

Trey is calm, collected, and extremely responsible. He values order and structure and will steer clear of any chaotic or loud activities. You'll NEVER catch him dragged into chaos, willingly.

21. Vil Schoenheit

Vil is all about maintaining perfection, both in his appearance and in his environment. He won’t tolerate loud or chaotic behavior, as it conflicts with his polished image. He avoids situations that might risk his reputation or status and is very unlikely to partake in any public mayhem.

22. Idia Shroud

It's no secret that Idia WAY prefers to stay out of the spotlight. He would rather stay in his room gaming than get involved in chaotic public behavior. Loud pranks and disruptive activities are his worst nightmare, and he avoids them at all costs.

A/N = The order is so... tacky ew... pls tell me if you disagree or there are any mistakes🙏

[tinybojeregifts]

Best laid plans

notes: this prompt, a bojere kiss under the mistletoe, was originally sent to @frikatilhi who set it free and tipped me off. tilhi's idea of where to go with the prompt was so delicious i kind of stole that too, so all hail tilhi for the original idea! this got quite long so under the cut it goes.

As soon as Bojan saunters off into the backroom of their rehearsal studio with Jere, Jure jumps into action. Jere has been in Slovenia for nearly a week now, Bojan has made zero progress in confessing his love for the man, and Jure is getting tired of the situation. Something needs to change and he has the power to kick start that change.

"Psst! Guys, guys. Look what I got", he whispers dramatically and whips out the secret treasure.

Jan, Kris and Nace gather around, looking at him and his offering curiously.

They stare at it in silence for a good while.

"A.. twig of some sort?" Nace declares.

Jan sighs and shakes his head.

"Jure you really can't resent us for calling you a cat if you keep dragging random twigs and leaves in from your nature adventures and expect us to find them exciting", he tuts, Kris nodding along.

Jure feels like slapping them but he controls himself.

"No, you absolute waffles, it's a mistletoe", he snaps, waving the precious find in front of his bandmates.

"Ohhhh, right."

"Right, a mistletoe."

"Of course."

"But.. why?" Kris dares to ask, Jan and Nace gesturing wildly to indicate they had the same question.

Jure cannot believe how slow and, frankly, idiotic people he has chosen to spend all his time with.

"The Christmas thing? Kissing under a mistletoe?" he says, holding the twig in question above his head and makes a kissy face.

"Right, like in the movies", Nace knows.

Now they're getting it, Jure is sure.

"Exactly", Jure confirms.

"And..?" Jan asks.

So, they are not getting it.

"Isn't it obvious? We get Jere and Bojan under it and BAM they have to face their feelings for each other", Jure whisper shouts, only just managing to keep his excitement from bubbling over.

As if on cue, Bojan and Jere burst into a giggle fit in the other room.

Realisation lights three faces in front of Jure.

"Now you're talking! I like this idea", Nace whoops.

"Could work! And they need the help", Kris agrees.

"Bojan is unbearable", Jan shakes his head.

"And having Jere here, around the holidays.. it's been extra unbearable," Kris continues, clearly haunted by the past week. Bojan and Jere have been practically glued together since Jere landed, and they never stop laughing. Neither one of them is that funny, of that they can all be sure, but the boys in the band have long realised that the constant giggle fits are just an excuse for the two to touch each other - how they figured that platonic friendly laughter comes with caressing each others faces and bodies is beyond any other Joker Out member, but they've had to accept the fact that Bojan and Jere are two members of the same species that have found each other against all odds and this is simply part of their mating rituals.

Mating rituals that are starting to turn into a never ending nightmare for everyone else that needs to stop. Now, if it's up to Jure. And it is, he decides.

"Is the mistletoe a thing in Finland?" Nace asks.

Jure stops.

"I don't know? But surely they'll get it, right?"

They must get it. Everyone knows the mistletoe, right? Except Kris, Jan and Nace who did not recognise it, but that's because they are stupid idiots, unlike Jure. And hopefully Bojan and Jere. Which might be a lot to ask.

"Bojan has definitely seen enough romantic movies to get it", Kris says, with the voice of a man who has been in the trenches. Jan pats him on the back as the band holds a moment of silence for the sacrifices Kris has made as the roommate of a man desperately in love with his best friend.

"So we're doing this?" Jure asks after an appropriate time of respecting Kris' struggle.

"We're doing this."

🩵

Snow dances in the air as Bojan and Jere make their way towards the Joker Out studio only a couple of nights before Christmas.

"You guys have so many Christmas parties", Jere chuckles, looking at Bojan with his big bright eyes that make him want to drop down on one knee (or two) right there and then.

Bojan has to look away. The whole week with Jere has been simultaneously the best and the worst week of his life. Having Jere near him makes it easier to breathe. Jere makes colours brighter, sounds clearer and flavours tastier.

Jere also makes Bojan incredibly horny, and nights lying next to Jere (who is as shirtless asleep as he is awake) trying to hide his rock hard boner count towards the list of things that have made the week almost unbearable.

"Yeah I didn't know about this one either!" Bojan laughs, and it's true. They guys had very mysteriously invited him and Jere for "A Special Celebration" only the night before.

"Seems like the guys wanted to throw you a special Christmas party and decided to leave me out of the loop, too."

Jere giggles, which to Bojan sounds like a choir of angels and the gates of heaven opening.

"They know you. They know if Bojan know, Jere find out", Jere says, and quickly brushes his hand against Bojan's arm.

Bojan pretends to be offended by the words and unaffected by the touch that actually sends his mind into overdrive. He clutches his chest dramatically, which sells the offense and calms his racing heart.

"Heey, that's not- nah, who am I kidding, it's true", he laughs, as Jere practically keels over in laughter. Bojan knows he's nowhere near as funny as Jere likes to act, but he cannot help but fall just a little bit deeper for the man every time he laughs at whatever it is Bojan has said. Jere is sweet like that, always hyping up his friends.

The laughter fades but the bright smile stays, as once again Jere turns those sparkly eyes to Bojan.

"But Bojan, I have to say. I'm so happy. Best decision coming to Slovenia this Christmas. Joker boys and you are so nice to me."

Jere stops and grabs Bojan's hand. For a fleeting moment they both just look at their joint hands, until Jere makes a show of hugging Bojan's arm to his chest like a cuddly toy, giggling happily as he does. Bojan wonders if Jere can feel his racing pulse.

"Jere, we've loved having you here. I- I've really loved having you here", he whispers, out of breath for reasons he cannot understand, but might have to do with his heart trying to leave his body.

Jere drops Bojan's arm but does not let go of his hand. The giggle has once again died down and been replaced with the softest, most sincere smile Bojan has ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

"I love being here. With you", Jere says quietly and looks at Bojan, almost expectantly.

Bojan's mouth feels dry. Sweet innocent Jere doesn't realise what his eyes can do to a man.

Bojan has no idea what Jere expects him to say, but has to say something.

"You, uh. You have snow on your eyelashes", he manages to breathe out.

"I look pretty?" Jere asks, batting his eyes at Bojan with yet another soft giggle that makes Bojan's knees buckle. He needs to get a grip.

"Hah, uh. Yeah! So pretty, pretty like a princess," he laughs, desperately.

Jere smiles, once again so damn sincere.

"Thank you Bojan. We go inside and see if princess find prince at party?" Jere tugs at Bojan's hand.

Bojan chuckles.

"I'm afraid this party is all toads, Jere. Five toads and a princess."

🩵

"Bojan?" Jere whispers as they are throwing their coats on the pile of four other coats in the corner. The studio has been quite haphazardly decorated with Christmas ornaments, and there is faint jazzy Christmas music playing to set the mood.

"Yes? Why are we whispering?" Bojan replies but takes the whispering as an excellent excuse to lean closer, until he can feel Jere's breath on his neck. It gives him goosebumps.

"I have.. sensitive question. I don't want sound rude", Jere says, looking worried.

"O-okay?" Bojan whispers, confused, and grabs Jere's hand. To ease his worries, of course.

Jere lowers his voice even more.

"Why is there some twig taped to door to back room?"

Bojan is one thousand percent sure he did not hear that right.

"Huh?" is all he gets out.

"There, look. Up, on top of door", Jere whispers, nervously, as he points above the backroom door.

And sure enough, there is something green taped to the wall near the ceiling.

It takes Bojan, a connoisseur of romantic comedies, approximately 0.76 seconds to realise that, number one, it's a mistletoe, and number two, the boys are up to something. Probably something to do with him and Jere. He knows they know. He knows he's obvious. He cannot help it.

"Oh. Oh. That's - that's the guys being.. them again, don't worry about it", he stammers, his only relief being that Jere is clearly not as well versed in American romantic customs as he is.

Jere lets out a breath, looking relieved, squeezing Bojan's hand.

"Okei. I think maybe its Slovenia thing and I'm rude if I don't know", he laughs.

Bojan shakes his head.

"It's definitely not a Slovenian thing. This is a Jure, Jan, Kris and Nace thing", he reassures.

"Okei, good", Jere giggles, pulling Bojan with him to yet another fit of hysterics over nothing at all.

There's a clang in the backroom and three voices shushing.

"Bojan, Jere? Is that you guys?" Jan's voice calls.

"We can hear you!" Kris adds.

"Why don't you guys.. Why don't you come in?" Jure says in a voice that Bojan immediately recognises as trouble.

"Yeah, Bojan why don't you show Jere in, show him our back room," Nace adds, failing miserably at sounding casual, not least because Jere has been in the back room multiple times by now.

Bojan is not going to let them ambush Jere into an embarrassing moment, no. He will protect Jere from the antics of his horrible bandmates and their childish sense of humour.

And also maybe protect his own heart in the process, because he's not sure he could survive a kiss that leads nowhere. Getting a taste of his dream, only to go back to being brrraders? He is sure he could actually die and become the talk of the medical world. "Man dies of brozoning", now there's a headline.

But mostly, of course, it's about protecting Jere from his awful, terrible, horrible bandmates.

"Jere, go on in. I need the bathroom, I'll be right there," he pats Jere on the back and heads in the opposite direction.

"Okei!"

Jere steps into the room only to be met with four excited grins that fall as soon as he stops.

"Hi guys!" Jere greets, trying to ignore the suddenly confused faces.

"Where's Bojan?" Jure asks, alarmed.

"Toilet", Jere explains.

All four guys deflate, disappointed.

"Damn", Jan sighs.

Jere is starting to feel a bit offended.

"Why..?" he starts, knowing he sounds a bit hurt.

The guys seem to realise this too, as they hurry to school their faces back into friendly expressions.

"No reason! What would you like to drink?" Jure asks as he pulls Jere in by the shoulders.

Jere starts to relax.

"I think you maybe don't have glögi", he laughs.

The guys look at each other, clearly pleased with themselves.

"Funny you should mention!" Jure can't hide the grin that takes over his face.

"We knew it's your favourite -" Nace starts.

"Because Bojan keeps telling us", Kris interrupts, rolling his eyes.

"So we looked it up -" Jan continues.

"And thought we could probably make something like that!" Nace concludes.

"Sooooo, come taste the brand new Joker Out Glu- glonki?" Jure declares, holding bottles of red liquid in both hands.

"Glönki," Nace tries.

"Glöggi," Jan corrects.

"It's glögi. And thank you guys, you are.. really, my brothers", Jere says, hand over his heart, getting a choir of awws in return.

"Anything for you, Jere. Come taste!" Jure beckons and they all gather around the table covered in glasses and bottles.

"A generous pour for the man of the hour, there we go", Jan declares as he pours Jere a big glass of their red concoction.

Jere accepts it happily.

"Thank you! This look good, look like real glögi! I taste now, okei."

Jere takes a big gulp of the drink and regrets it immediately, as what must be pure alcohol threatens to burn his throat from the inside.

"Soo, what do you think?" Jure asks, as the guys look at him expectantly.

Jere tries his best not to cough and forces a smile on his face.

"It's - ugh, sori - it's very strong, whoo. What you put in here?" he laughs.

The guys look mischievous.

"Some juice, some spice -" Nace starts.

"Some vodka, you know, the basics of glöggi", Kris concludes.

"Glögi", Jere corrects.

"Glöngi", Jure tries.

"Glögi", Jere demonstrates.

"Glöögi", Jan offers, just as Bojan finally walks in.

"Hey Jerč, trying to teach the guys Finnish?" he says.

Jere spins around, delighted. It's not that he doesn't like the other boys, no. They are his brothers, of course. It's just that, well, he is in love with Bojan, and while he is still trying to figure out if confessing that would lead to happy ever after or losing touch completely, he'll take any moment he gets with Bojan in the meantime.

"Bojan! Joker boys make own glögi for me", he says, showing Bojan his glass.

"Oh did they. How nice of them", Bojan smiles and comes to stand next to Jere, immediately throwing his arm over Jere's shoulders.

Jere is once again hit with the realisation that Bojan is quite possibly the most beautiful human on the planet. It's a realisation that hits him seventeen times a day, on average. Bojan has such a beautiful smile - the way his eyes turn into small crescents makes Jere lightheaded. It's like his eyes are celestial bodies and Bojan himself the universe, and Jere just a small and tiny space traveler, trying to discover the wonders of this universe of his.

"Isn't it, Bojan", Jan's voice shakes Jere out of his thoughts and back into present.

"You're not the only one around here who cares about Jere", Kris says, snarkily. Jere knows they all care about him but there is no reason to be mean to Bojan about it. Bojan is, after all, probably only responding to the attention he gets from Jere. It's Jere who should be more equal. Not that he will.

"We wanted to make him feel at home", Jure explains and that does make Jere feel very grateful.

"So thoughtful! How's the glögi, Jerč?" Bojan asks, pronouncing the word with ease that makes Jere giggle delightedly.

"Bojan language genius, you say glögi perfect! It's.. good. Strong," he says, carefully, taking a tiny sip of his drink.

Bojan's eye roll is epic.

"Right. Of course it is. These toads have a generous pour," he jabs and Jere bursts into hysterics.

"What did you just call us?" Kris asks, appalled.

Bojan waves his hand dismissively.

"An inside joke, you wouldn't get it."

The guys all sigh in unison.

"Oh great, another Bojan and Jere exclusive," Kris says drily.

"Can't wait to hear this one repeated over and over again!" Jan mumbles.

"Well, maybe you deserve it," Bojan smiles and lets go of Jere, much to Jere's dismay.

"Rude," Nace notes, as Bojan saunters past them on to the tiny sofa at the back of the room.

He pats the space next to him and looks at Jere.

"Come Jerč, come sit over here. Let's get cozy."

Jere practically runs to the sofa, parks himself next to Bojan and glues their sides together. Bojan throws his arm around Jere and pulls him close.

For reasons Jere can't quite comprehend, the rest of the guys look extremely put out. They wanted him to feel at home and well, he might not have said it out loud but home is where the heart is, and his heart is with Bojan.

"Janči, pour us a round of that glööni," Kris says, and Jere suspects he said it wrong on purpose.

"You know, it's actually surprisingly tasty," Jure comments sipping the drink with a straw.

🩵

"Guys, emergency meeting!" Jure hisses at the other three guys, pulling them all into a corner of the back room.

"Really Jure, emergency?" Kris asks unimpressed.

Jure gestures at Bojan and Jere, still sitting on the sofa pressed close together, chattering away using voices so low only they can hear, and words only they can understand.

"They've parked their butts on the sofa and haven't moved in damn near an hour. If we want to get them under the mistletoe, we have to do something. Also Janči, do we have more gölni?" Jure whispers.

Jan nods and lifts up a new bottle.

"Yes, give me your glasses. You know, in hindsight placing the mistletoe over the door that leads to the main hangout space really wasn't that smart. What reason would they have to be going in and out?" Jan questions as he fills their glasses.

"I don't know, to get to the bathroom?" Jure shrugs. He doesn't appriciate his methods being questioned.

"Together?" Kris asks.

"I would not be surprised at this point to be honest, if they wanted to hold hands while one of them pees", Nace mumbles.

"You have a point", Kris admits.

"So what do we do?" Jan asks, as they sip away at the glögi.

"We could ask them to go get something? From outside?" Jure suggests, forever the one who has to keep things going.

"Like what?" Kris questions, because that's all he can do, apparently, and Jure is not happy about it.

"Ummm... pinecones?" Jure says.

"Jure. What. Pinecones?" Kris, the question asker asks.

"I don't know, I'm riffing here guys!" Jure whisper shouts frustrated, nearly spilling his precious glögi all over the floor.

Nace sighs and puts his glass down on the table behind him.

"Guys, there is no need to go all the way outside. Let's just get them to the actual studio space. We'll play Christmas songs or something. You know, live music for the party. We are a band, after all," he points out.

The other three stare at Nace. Jure has to hand to him, for once one of the others has a good idea.

"Oh, right. We have instruments", Jan says.

"Yeah, that's.. actually a really good idea, Nace", Kris pats Nace on the back.

Jure takes charge, as he must.

"Right! So now all we have to do is make sure they walk through the doorway together. And preferrably slowly enough to point out the mistletoe", he says, rubbing his hands together.

"That shouldn't be too difficult! Let's go."

🩵

Bojan wonders how long he can keep his hand in Jere's hair before it becomes weird. Jere doesn't seem to mind. Those bright eyes haven't eased up for a minute, and Bojan feels hot. He wonders if Jere can feel it, if his fingers are heating up Jere's scalp.

He still doesn't want to move his hand.

But he needs a distraction.

"So you've enjoyed your time here?" he asks.

"Yes, so much! Slovenia is very beautiful place", Jere smiles.

If Bojan wasn't already completely gone on the man, this moment would surely seal the deal. Something about the way Jere speaks about his home country makes Bojan melt.

"Isn't it? I'm so glad you got to see it", he says quietly.

"Very fitting", Jere muses, still smiling. Bojan is confused.

"What is?"

"Beautiful country, beautiful Bojan. Make sense", Jere says, and turns to look Bojan straight in the eyes.

Bojan's heart skips a beat, or two. Or three. He might be having a heart attack. He takes a sip of his wine. Or maybe a gulp, just to calm himself down.

Sometimes he does have to wonder, if maybe there is a chance Jere likes him back. It's moments like these, when Jere calls him beautiful, or things like my love, my man, fire and water, and other such things Bojan has not heard much in a platonic context before, that make him think that perhaps he has hope.

But then that could just be Jere being Jere. The man who charmed Europe. He is a charmer, after all. So Bojan tells him as much.

"Oh you, you're such a charmer", he says and chuckles, waiting to see how Jere reacts.

Jere giggles, as usual.

"So.. Princess Charming? Princess Charming and five toads?" he laughs, almost spilling his glögi all over the two of them.

"Now that's a movie!" Bojan joins the laughter, relieved for the chance to close his eyes and stop drowning in the blue ocean of Jere's eyes for a second.

"But they are not really toads", Jere sobers up, and puts his hand on Bojan's chest.

Bojan's brain short circuits. As he forces it to reboot and update its firewalls, he manages to respond to Jere in a completely and totally normal, not at all breathy voice.

"No?" he says.

Jere starts patting his chest, timed to his words.

"Not how story go! They are five pretty guys. Maybe one is even prince.." he finishes and drags his hand down Bojan's chest.

Bojan is about to spontaneously combust.

"Oh- " he opens his mouth, but does not get a word out before Jure claps his hand together resulting in a clap that should not be humanly possible.

"OKAY THEN, listen up you couch potatoes!! Next up at the Joker Out Christmas Party... Christmas jamming!" Jure announces excitedly.

"So why don't you make your way through to the studio space -" Nace gestures at the door, as all four guys smile widely at the two men on the sofa.

Bojan knows exactly what's going on. There is no way they are going to trick him and Jere into walking under the mistletoe, no sir! Bojan will protect Jere from these fiends if it's the last thing he does.

"Find a comfy place on the sofa.." Jan is joining Nace in gesturing at the door.

"And enjoy some tunes!" Kris concludes and looks at Bojan, expecting him to get up.

Bojan puts on his best unimpressed face.

"What, we don't get to play?" he asks.

The guys clearly hadn't thought of that.

"Well, Bojan- " Nace starts, but Bojan won't let him finish.

"I wanna see Jere play the drums. Will you play, Jerč?" he turns to Jere, who nods excitedly.

"Sound like fun! Yeah let's play!"

Bojan very smoothly and not at all clumsily starts to detach himself from Jere.

"Great! Jure actually got gifted some pretty cool sticks recently, I'll go find them", he says as he gets up, and quickly makes his way to the door before Jere is even standing up.

Kris tries to step in his way as Nace jumps in to grab his arm.

"No, Bojan, you stay there- no, don't go in there! Ahh, fuck."

Bojan stops right after passing through the doorway and looks at Nace with his best confused face. He is a great actor, after all.

"Huh? What's wrong with you? I'm just gonna go find the sticks, I saw them just the other day, I know where they are", he says and disappears into the studio.

"Right. Of course you do. Well, come on Jere. Let's get to jamming", Kris says as he pulls Jere with him.

🩵

Jure drags his bandmates by their hands back into the backroom.

"Guys!! Emergency meeting two!!!" he hisses and this time slams the door to the studio shut.

"We know, Jure," Kris somehow manages to make his eyeroll audible.

"Good plan, shit execution! All we got was Bojan in Jere's lap on the damn drum kit and 45 minutes of them whispering and giggling, but still no lips on lips action! I have to suggest we go back to pinecones," Jure says sternly, as the guys are clearly not grasping the seriousness of the situation.

"Pinecones was never a plan!! And Jan, drinks," Kris hisses, snapping his fingers at Jan. He misses Jan's murderous glare at the finger snapping.

Jan pours Kris a lot less than everyone else.

"But we have to do something. Look at them. Bojan is mere moments away from officially changing his place of residence to Jere's lap, but all they seem to be able to do is stare at each other, whisper and blush," Jure complains, annoyed at his band mates inability to be as clever and proactive as him.

"What if.. what if we just.. let them be? Get there on their own? I mean you said it yourself, they're practically glued to each other. Maybe tonight is the night they get their shit together," Nace suggests.

Jure doesn't like that and is disappointed in Nace deciding to become lazy. No, Bojan's feelings are too big and too important to the very existence of the band, for Jure to let Bojan be in charge of them.

"Maybe it is, but more importantly, maybe it isn't. And then what?! We let them imprint on each other like ducklings in love when neither of them has the guts to do anything about it, and then Jere fucks off back to the Arctic fucking circle and we're left here with a wounded duckling whose whole world just left on a plane?" Jure rants, disappointed that he has to explain such obvious things to these fools.

"That's actually a surprisingly accurate metaphor-" Jan starts.

"Though I do have to point out that I don't think Vantaa is quite within the Arctic circle," Kris quips.

Jure doesn't have time for either of them.

"Not the point! It's fucking far away! And we can't let him leave without Bojan getting that life saving kiss first," he explains.

"So what do we do?" Nace asks.

Jure has just the plan.

"Well first of all, Jan, pour some more drinks. Second of all.. I think it's time to move that mistletoe."

🩵

Bojan has to say something. He is practically in Jere's lap, their legs entwined, he cannot just keep staring at the mans mouth. Jere must have noticed, and it's probably getting weird now.

"Jere, you, uhh.. you've got some chocolate on your face", Bojan says, gesturing towards Jere's mouth.

Jere raises his fingers to his lips, which definitely does something to Bojan's heart. And dick.

"Where? Always so clumsy",Jere mumbles as he feels around his mouth.

Bojan would very much like to close the gap between them and lick the chocolate away. And then keep going from there. Maybe lick the inside of Jere's mouth.. his neck.. his chest.. down his stomach.. towards -

No! Not the time, not the place. He will pick up from here in the shower tonight, but for now, he needs to get a grip.

"Right, uh, there." Bojan reaches as close to Jere's face as he dares.

Jere's eyes snap up to look at him.

"Can you get it?" he asks, softly.

Bojan makes a mental note of getting his heart checked out because it's starting to feel out of control. He also sternly tells his dick to stand down.

"I don't really have anything to get it with.." he whispers.

Jere holds up one finger and Bojan fights the urge to lick that too.

"Can you take my finger there?" Jere smiles questioningly.

"Yeah, sure, it's uhh.." Bojan grabs Jere's finger and starts guiding it to the elusive smear of chocolate.

"Here", he breathes and places Jere's finger on the spot.

Jere wipes at it and looks at Bojan.

"I get it?"

Bojan shakes his head amused.

"Not quite, you kind of smudged it-" he starts but Jere interrupts.

"Help me?"

Bojan didn't know it was possible to actually do the pleading eyes emoji in real life. He realises that he would do anything Jere asked him to. Anything.

"Yeah, let me just-" Bojan starts, when a loud yelp and a soft thud startle him enough to jump.

Jere is equally startled and looking around.

Their eyes land on the scene at the same time.

Nace, on the floor on all fours, Kris half on top of him, half on the floor like a ragdoll, with Jure and Jan standing on each side of Nace, frozen with their hands still up in the air, as if they were supporting an invisible weight up.

"Watafak."

"Kris?! Guys what the hell?!!" Bojan jumps up.

Nace is the first one to snap out of it.

"Kris get off me and help me up."

Kris starts to move, whining as he does.

"Guys what is going on?" Bojan demands.

Jure hurries to help Kris up and turns to Bojan.

"Nothing Bojan, nothing is going on, you- you keep Jere company we just have to.. yeah, don't worry about it", he says as he starts ushering the guys into the backroom.

"Why was Kris standing on your back, Nace?" Bojan calls after them, but Jure waves at him dismissively.

"No reason, and he's fine, he didn't fall too badly."

"My ankle..." Kris whines as he limps to sit down.

"You're fine, Krisko. Anyway! Nothing to see here, we'll be right back", Jure says as he disappears in the back and pulls the door closed.

Kris is not happy.

"And whose fucking bright idea was it to try and stick the mistletoe to the ceiling?! And Jan, drinks!" he snaps, and Jan must take pity on his ordeal as he only sticks his tongue out at Kris behind his back.

"It could have worked, I know it. Mistletoe on the ceiling, get them to dance, and BAM..it was going to work", Jure defends his plan.

"Well it didn't", Nace says dryly and Jure thinks that maybe Nace should be coming up with the plans then, since he is such an expert on what will work.

"And I twisted my ankle, guys", Kris notes.

Jure is getting tired of this no-can-do attitude.

"Krisko, your ankle is the least of our worries", he snaps and downs half his drink.

"What if I can't walk?" Kris hisses, but Jure places his hand over Kris' mouth.

"Shhh, not important!" he hisses back.

"What do we do now?" Jan asks, also not a forward thinking problem solver Jure needs on his team.

"Where is the mistletoe now?" Jure demands to know.

"Right here. Didn't stick to the ceiling but I grabbed it off the floor", Kris throws the slightly damaged mistletoe to the table.

Jure grabs it and tries to straighten it.

"Good. We're going to have to freestyle this."

"As opposed to... the preplanned stylings thus far, huh?" Jan comments, but Jure doesn't have time for him and his commentary either.

"Shut up, I'm thinking. This gölgi is honestly surprisingly great, guys, I have to say."

🩵

Bojan is deep in thought planning the most platonic and brotherly way to react to Jere practically pulling him in his lap when they sat back down, when Jere starts to speak.

"What was best part of this year for you Bojan?"

Jere swipes strands of hair away from Bojan's face, and Bojan decides (after having a small stroke) that since Jere seems to have no problem redefining platonic, he also doesn't need to worry about it, so he grabs the drawstrings of Jere's hoodie and starts fiddling with them.

"Is it lame if I say this, right now? You coming to Slovenia? Like, of course we've had an incredible year as a band, amazing shows and just unbelievable experiences, but this.. this is something super special. You're special", he says, pulling at the strings.

Jere grabs his hand and squeezes it.

"Wow, that's.. thank you. You are special too, Bojan. So special", Jere whispers quietly, and again Bojan has to wonder if maybe... but maybe not. Brothers, right?

"What about you? Highlight of your year?" he whispers in an equally quiet tone, so as to not burst the bubble they're in.

Jere smiles that heart melting smile of his.

"I have to say same.. Work is great and I am so grateful and happy. But this is new experience, with special person."

Bojan feels dizzy, and he has made sure to stay away from the homemade glögi. He has only had two glasses of wine. It was two, right..?

"Yeah?" he breathes out.

"Yes," Jere whispers directly into his ear, and that must be just because Jere has actually been sipping away at that paint thinner the boys call glögi, not because of Bojan.

Bojan shivers none the less.

"Are you going to be making any new years resolutions?" he asks, instead of asking Jere for his hand in marriage.

Jere nods. He takes a moment looking away, and then at the ceiling.

"I think maybe.. next year I try be more brave", he says, decisive with a nod.

Bojan's eyebrows shoot up.

"I think you're already super brave", he says, surprised.

Jere shakes his head and still doesn't look at Bojan.

"I want.. not be scared to say what I want say", he says, determined.

"Yeah? What do you want to say?" Bojan is intrigued.

Jere suddenly looks a bit sheepish. In fact, Bojan could swear he sees a faint blush creeping up Jere's face.

"I want.. confess something to someone", Jere whispers very quietly.

Well now Bojan has to know. Because.. A man can dream, right? And if it's not him... he still wants to know.

"Who?" he asks, barely audible.

Jere looks at him, slowly.

"... You, Bojan", Jere breathes out.

Bojan's heart is actively trying to vacate the premises through his trachea. A shiver runs through his entire body and he's sure Jere notices. Right now, he doesn't care.

Because right now, he feels, more than ever, like yes, there is a chance after all. A chance that his wildest dreams could indeed become reality.

There is a spark of hope, suddenly. The air feels electric. Maybe after all this time Jere actually really isn't the most physically affectionate Finnish man who ever lived, who chooses to channel his affections towards one platonic brother over everyone else. Maybe after all this time it is possible, that the pull Bojan feels towards Jere works both ways.

Maybe after all this time, he will hear the words he has only heard in his dreams.

Or maybe his heart is about to shatter into a million little pieces he can never ever put back together.

Either way.. he has to know.

"Me? Confess what to me?" he squeals, very attractively.

"I - " Jere hesitates and looks away.

Bojan can't take it. It's now or never.

"Yes? What do you want to confess, Jerč?" he pleads.

Jere looks at him again, emoji eyes making a comeback.

"I think... I think I like you Bojan. I think maybe.. I know I... I love you", Jere whispers.

Inside, Bojan's soul exits his body, turns into a million fireworks, puts itself back together again and returns to his body now charged with some sort of energy he has never felt before.

Outside, he stares at Jere like he is all seven wonders of the world rolled into one and turned into a man.

"Jere-" he manages to choke out.

"Is that.. okei?"

The vulnerable insecurity in Jere's voice snaps Bojan out of his transcendental out of body experiences and he rushes to grab Jere's face between his hands.

He looks deep into those mesmerising eyes and speaks from the heart.

"Yeah, yes. Yes, yes, yes, it's more than okay."

A smile that could blind Bojan spreads across Jere's face.

"Yes?" Jere asks, shy.

Bojan wants to explode.

"Yes, because I-" he starts but has to stop to close his eyes and breathe.

"Bojan?" Jere pats his hand with his own.

Bojan opens his eyes.

"I love you too", he says, determined to make Jere feel just how much he means it.

Jere's breath hitches.

"You do?" he asks, searching Bojan's eyes.

"Yes. A thousand times yes", Bojan says with confidence that can only be achieved by having your soul turn into a million fireworks because the man of your dreams said he loves you.

A tear rolls down Jere's face and Bojan hurries to wipe it away.

"Oh. Look like I find prince at this party after all", Jere whispers with a soft giggle.

Bojan's newfound confidence has indeed turned him into a storybook prince and he plays the part.

"Can I.. can I kiss you?" he asks.

Jere nods eagerly.

"Yes, please."

Bojan closes the distance between them.

On the other side of the wall, Jure is finishing his session of coaching the guys into real and true mistletoe freestylers. He's not sure they get it, but this is the team he has and this is the team he will lead.

"So, we're gonna have to be smooooth with it guys, real smooth - any more gölni left? So like.. always have eyes on the other guys and be ready to attack, okay?" Jure explains and wonders if the other guys are possibly a little bit drunk. Not him, but them.

"Yeah, be ready to take the mistletoe, be ready to pass the mistletoe, just - be ready", Kris agrees, nodding. Nace and Jan nod along.

"Okay, now. Those two have been on their own in the studio for a good half an hour now, probably whispering half flirtatious things to each other and trying to merge their souls into one or whatever it is they do. It is high time we break that tension with some mistletoe magic", Jure rallies his troops, getting whoops and cheers in return. Maybe they do get it now.

"So, we trap them, from both sides. Where ever they are, we are too, ready to hold the mistletoe over their heads," Nace concludes, and Jure has to clap. Finally, they demonstrate fighting spirit.

"They can't get away. Let's do this. Let's get our singer some tongue down his throat!" Jan shouts, joining in.

"Yes, come onn!" Jure yells.

They all jump up and immediately grab on to the table for support.

"Whoop, ha, I think I might be a bit tipsy", Jan laughs.

"Heh, yeah getting up is - oops, a bit wobbly", Kris giggles.

"We can't let that stand in our way, guys. Game faces on!" Jure declares as they keep going.

Nace is the first at the door.

"Ah, guys...?" he calls.

The others hurry behind him to look through to the studio.

"What? Oh", Jure stops.

"Huh!" Jan quips.

"What - what am I looking at here? Am I seeing this correctly or did we make gölgi strong enough to make me hallucinate?" Kris squints at the sight before them.

"They're.. making out", Nace says.

"They actually are", Jan nods.

"Wow", Kris whispers.

"Who would have guessed", Jan continues.

"Whoooho, nice!!" Jure yelps because he can't help himself.

Bojan and Jere both jump and snap their heads towards the door.

"Shhh, you interrupted them!" Nace complains.

"Oh hello guys", Bojan says with a satisfied smile, and rather than getting up from where he is sitting on Jere's lap, thighs splayed on either side of him, Bojan wraps his arms around Jere's neck and hugs him closer. He stares at his bandmates.

His bandmates stare at him.

"Don't mind us, we can just -" Nace starts to turn.

"Yeah, we don't need to be here", Jan accompanies him.

"Congrats on the.. kissing", Kris shows them both thumbs up.

"Yeah, well done!" Jure congratulates, even if he is a bit disappointed that the fight is over.

Bojan giggles and pets Jere's hair.

"Thanks! Yeah, I guess we.. got our shit together, as you put it," he smiles.

The four other guys stop dead in their tracks.

"You.. knew?" Jure asks slowly.

Bojan shoots them one of his best unimpressed looks.

"Are you asking me if I saw the mistletoe taped to the doorway and immediately knew what you were up to? Or are you asking me if I could hear the four of you getting increasingly louder with your "emergency meetings" as you drank more and more of your incredibly strong fake glögi, which I can only assume you made to get us tipsy? You know, he might not understand Slovene, but I do. And you were loud", he explains.

Four pairs of eyes stare at him, blankly.

"I'm taking that as yes he knew, guys", Jure whispers.

"We just wanted to help, Boki", Kris whines.

"Both you and us", Jan helps.

"Help us and..yourselves..?" Bojan asks, confused.

"You are annoying, Boki. So annoying", Kris explains helpfully.

"Yeah, and gross", Jan adds, as Nace, Jure and Kris nod along.

Jere starts to giggle hysterically.

"Bojan, I think Joker boys are drunk", he manages between giggles.

Bojan laughs too, shaking his head.

"They are, but they do actually mean it too. Well, lucky for you guys, we did get our shit together, and confessed our feelings for each other, so really I should be congratulating you!" he says happily.

The blank stares return.

"Th- thank you..?" Jure tries.

Bojan nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, you got what you wanted! First row seats to us openly and happily in love. Right, Jerč?" he says and turns to Jere, who immediately knows to play along.

"We are so in love! We have to kiss all the time", Jere explains and looks at Bojan lovingly.

Bojan starts petting his hair.

"Aaaalll the time, like right now, mmh kiss me Jere, kiss me like you mean it", he sighs, and Jere surges to devour his mouth, as Bojan moans loudly.

"Okay, we get it!" Kris yells and covers his eyes.

"You can stop now", Jan pleads, but doesn't actually look away.

Bojan breaks the kiss and looks at his bandmates apologetically and very convincingly, as good actors do.

"Oh but we can't!" he pouts.

Jere shakes his head too.

"No, we maybe die!" he all but shouts.

"Or I might turn into a toad if Princess Charming here doesn't kiss me regularly and rigorously!" Bojan worries, hugging Jere's whole head to his chest.

Jere looks up pleadingly.

"Kiss me, prince! I don't want kiss a toad!" he stage whispers.

Bojan dives right in.

"Ha, ha, ha, we get it!" Jure says, unimpressed.

"There's no point guys, we're done here", Nace says and starts herding the guys in the backroom.

"Yeah, leave them to it", Jan agrees but takes one last look.

"Can we order pizza? I don't feel too good..." Kris asks.

"It's that damn glönni", Jure curses.

"GLÖGI!" comes the immediate stereo response from the couch.

"Shut up, lovebirds."

[bunnwich]

HELLO! Do you have a summary of how you portray Leona's personality in your stories? I'm a big fan of your Leona and Yuu stories and I've read them multiple times www /gen I always feel like you just nail how he would act and say things and you inspire me to work on my own fics and get better at writing scenarios with him. Than you in advance ily🙏 🦉anon

How I Portray Leona in General and in Romance

HI ANON! So I've gotten this question a few times and someone in my discord asked me basically the same thing so I'll share with you what I wrote a few months ago about Leona and the general way I write him. (it's quite funny bc a lot of these things come up in Chapter 7 when we see his dream. I AM CURSED WITH APOLLOS'S GIFT OF PROPHECY WITH THIS MAN ISTG)

I hope this is helpful?? I would like to point out that the way I write Leona is fully based on my biases and life experiences. And that a big part of fandom is projecting what you wanna see in characters while still making them feel like the same character we know in canon, yk? Good luck with your fic writing! And thank you!! mwah mwah.💚 --

So Leona takes himself as a direct person, BUT he hides A LOT. He purposely misdirects ppl to get a reaction out of them. (Ex: pretending to be incompetent to anger someone) or he's playing with them. HE LOVES GAMES. Everyone is a chess piece, he has to feel in control bc that’s all he has ever had over everyone else; his wits. He’s a dickhead. He will say offensive shit to scare people off.

It’s a test to see who sticks around. He has no reservations when it comes to this. You take him as he is. And despite how some people write him he’s kinda silly? Like dad jokes. Why does he joke so much about eating people, who knows? (He says shit like Namby-pamby ffs) Why are you a 40y/o in a 20 y/o body?

I HC he purposely talks casually and gruff to distance himself from his upbringing. (I like to mix proper language and slang with him bc it feels right? Also lots of animal puns, and nicknames. HE'S CORNY AF)

In general I don't think Leona is an entirely romantic person in canon, however in my timeline, I do HC that he, like Scar has this “want vs need problem” with connection to others. He thinks it's just praise he wants (or to be king) BUT he NEEDS TLC. What was Scar MOST jealous of at the end of the day?? Mufasa’s connections, a ✨queen✨, a family! BEING KING DID NOT MAKE SCAR HAPPY!! He needs to be needed and in Chapter 2 novella, he admits he HAS to numb himself to not care. I feel like this is something he constantly battles with. Yeah, he's lazy but it's partly bc he’s tired. He’s burnt out.

On the surface, he projects 100% nonchalance. He wants you to think everything he says is just "off the cuff", but it's not. He plans everything!!! He’s a mentor, big bro, caretaker. He is not the best at comforting words but he enjoys being a leader bc people appreciate him and look uo to him. Something he never got at home.

Leona and ✨Romance✨

He fools himself into thinking he has the upper hand at first and keeps his distance keeping an eye on the object of his affection. Why would you catch his eye? Well, his greatest strength is picking up on OTHER STRENGTHS. Chessmaster. He is a mentorrrr and caretaker lowkey, he wants others to NEED him and rely on him. HE WANTS YOU TO NEED HIM.

At first, he would place himself in your path, trying to be helpful in a very tsundere type way. But he would still be causal and keep ruffling your feathers to gauge how you feel for him. He guards his heart pretty heavily. And more and more he is slowly collecting info about you he would find more ways for these meetings to happen until he realizes: "Oh shit, I’ve caught feelings." This one is the winner. He’s the king of nonchalance but also...he’s a very overly sensitive person. No doubt he’s freaking out a little, he doesn't wanna screw this up. But, he’d never show it.

I do think he wants to be challenged and given some pushback (insert manga panel about "something being harder to get and therefore is better"), He wants to WORK for it, to prove himself to you that you SHOULD choose him. He wants to impress you. It makes him feel alive. A person who keeps him on his toes.

And once this ”game” of cat and mouse starts to happen. He might start to let his guard down if you are shown you can be trusted with his VERY VERY delicate feelings, that you DO accept his flaws, treat him differently than all others, and see past his gruff demeanor. It is a test of sorts. He is testing that you can “handle” him. MORE GAMES.

He’d let you set the pace though. He won't be the first to give in. To kiss you or confess first. But he would fall first HARD. He’s not been given much one-on-one attention in his life so he would crave that time with you. Physical touch is a big one, but he would not be pushy. He'd tease your boundaries and become addicted to your time together.

But yeah, this push and pull goes on for a while, all the while he’s gauging how you react to this. Memorizing it all.

He’s def one of those texters who erases their sentence like 5 times when they are nervous bc he is cookin' up the RIGHT response to endear you. (Not in a sappy way of course more in a: “I know you miss me, mouse.” snarky sorta way.) Though he can be self-deprecating on bad days. He’ll act confident, though soften up behind closed doors.

I think once he realizes that you have picked up on his simpery and there's no going back...all bets are off. He doubles down, no longer ashamed of hiding it. (Assuming at this point the person has reciprocated these feelings too!) He wants to be yours and he’s not subtle. Someone to be by his side.

Then you get the REAL simp Leona, who lowkey mumbles the sappiest shit to you in his native language when he holds you, (bc he’s still embarrassed to be vulnerable, though this will fade over time) He’ll be your biggest supporter, and wants you around him as much as you can be.

This just keeps going until you're married. Congrats you now have a lion to take care of forever.🦁 Hope this helps!✨

[skitchune]

#01 G8 Draw-in-your-style Challenge!

I believe that this is an old challenge, but I decided that there’s no better way to dust off the old gear than seeing the boys in my style. Really liked playing around the filters. I liked given them this old, Sunday Morning Comics style. The grain is just beautiful.

I guess…I should give a little explanation?

Basically, in how I write Hetalia, there was ONE major event that changed the course of their timeline during WW2. Though the world mythos in itself is very different, suffice to say that it was that ONE event that changed the course of their world moving forward. Currently, the Nation Folks assemble as their own private entity to develop livelihood and development projects for underserved communities across the globe, instead of other global matters. Still, many retain a degree of political connection, Nation Folks, in general, all agree that they will always put first the good of humanity over the gain of any singular country. That being said…

🍝 Feliciano Vargas - more actively sexual and flirtatious, pretty much a ladies man, has a problem keeping his dick out of places it shouldn’t be but he’s a lovable tramp regardless and knows that he can get away with a lot. He has a good heart and a good head, but maybe a little bit of too much casual machismo that makes his comeuppance so fun to watch.

📋Ludwig Beilschmidt - still pretty much stiff and serious, efficient but also too much of a stickler, is the youngest of the bunch and always has something to prove, Gilbert helps him here and there but he doesn’t want Gil to meddle, it may frustrate him that everyone treats him like a kid, but he also knows that it sometimes works in his favor being the ‘spoiled’ baby brother to many.

🐉 Seiryuu Honda - to keep things short, Seiryuu is and always has been this universe’s Nation Folk for Japan but Kiku does/did exist for some time for [story reasons] Sei is calm, level-headed but can come off as rather aloof and dazed, he can act a little too familiar with new people and is quite affectionate to friends. He’s a bit of a Casanova and likes the game of courtship like a round of Shogi. In many ways he might not be stereotypical, but in many ways he comes off as traditional and anachronistic.

🤠Alfred Jones - Heroism runs deep in this hot-blooded cowpoke, not the flashy guns or the prestige, but the hard work of running down the pavement for change. He’s charming, mature, headstrong, and value honest and just work. He’s the singular cause of the ONE event, becoming a catalyst to multiple OTHER notable events during WW2. Unfortunately, this has caused him excommunicated from the US government, which suits him fine as he can more actively participate in projects.

🎸Arthur Kirkland - No one fucks around with the ruling class more than Art, who has historically been a thorn in many administrations throughout the colorful history of his homeland. He is a rebel with a cause down to his core, sticking it up anyone’s arse if it means fighting for what’s right. Boston Tea Party? He was also pissing on the cartons before throwing them overboard? The IRA? Girl, he was a damn recruiter. Has he been beaten, threatened, and killed because of his insolence? Sure, but no one is gonna look good as him doing it.

⛱️Francis Bonnefoy - (P.S. I meant to draw him removing his shirt because someone accidentally spilled wine on him) Residing far away from the bustle of Paris, Franc lives the coastal orchard life along the south of France. He’s a country boy at heart who likes living the simple life. He is very introspective, usually keeps to himself, but isn’t really afraid to voice out his measured opinions. Some might say he is a tad but wistful, but many friends know he’s just daydreaming of being back in his orchard surrounded by good company and a glass of the finest wine.

💅Ivan Braginsky - No one can take this MATERIAL GWORL. Daddy Russia is a Mama Bear who claps back at heartless Capitalism and works tirelessly as the acting Chairman of the Union to increase wages and living conditions across the social classes. He is tongue-in-cheek, no nonsense, and fabulous, but above all, a big and caring figure who thinks much for others more than himself sometimes and is just grateful to come home and be wrapped around by a certain Lithuanian’s strong arms—Big Mama deserves some honey after a long day’s work.

🍜Yao Wang - Wang is a funny characters to me. He can come across as uncouth and overfamiliar, but he just doesn’t take life as seriously as the others. It’s been a long ride and there’s too much more ground to cover than he wishes to put the effort into. He likes to complain about the silliest things, but damn, if he isn’t telling the truth every time he opens his mouth.

Alternate gradient map styles under the cut

[reidingandallthat]

rambling just to you (s.r)

spencer thinks you mind his rambling, and you tell him just how wrong he is

spencer reid x reader words: 2.4k cw: fluff, uhh first time writing for spence so pls spare me, lots and lots (too much) infodumping, reader is described kind of as a social person and a people pleaser, self deprecating talk(just for a while, it gets all good)

You've taken it upon yourself your entire life to keep a conversation going. Maybe the other person doesn't wanna talk, but it's too awkward to not say anything so you keep the conversation going. Maybe you haven't talked in a while, or maybe they're giving you dry responses, you still go off on a story of yours, only to a limit of course, to not make it weird. 

You've always felt like you trained yourself to be interesting or funny so the other person isn't bored. You don't resent it. It's made you a fun person, good to be around, and you quite enjoy it. But sometimes, it's nice to only laugh, or listen. To not have to constantly search your brain for references, or for a further punchline, or a teasing remark. But you attract what you give, so you make yourself content in talking. To enjoy making other people laugh, it's nice, to see someone smile and laugh over what you say but that tiny inkling in your heart always stays.

But life never presents you things you prepare yourself for. 

And that's exactly what happens when you walk through the doors of the BAU office, prepared for anything they might have for you. But oh you were so unprepared.

He was already so noticeable with his doe eyes and curious gaze. He offers his hand to you, introducing himself as “Dr. Spencer Reid,” and you notice curious glances on you both. Emily Prentiss- who is now one of your best friends, shared a knowing look with Penelope, the technical analyst. You didn't know then, but the grin on her face was of someone who had already made a thousand plans in her head regarding her friends.

You only give him a curt smile and go to the conference room.  JJ gave everyone the profile as was the usual, but it's your first day so you only follow their lead at first. Hotch gets up from his seat with a “Wheels up in 30”, which left you a bit confused, but you deciphered from context it meant as a sign to get going. Soon you're all in the jet, everyone provides their input and you chime in when needed, unsure of when to speak up. But when you notice something important, you finally speak up,

“One of the victims said that he was given ‘medicine’ by the unsub when he was sick, later we found cocaine in his blood. He believes cocaine can cure colds, maybe he's thinking through the Victorian era.” You say, looking over the case file.

Everyone shares puzzled looks, surprised by your comment,

“How are those things related? Were the Victorians always doing cocaine or something?” Derek asks, and everyone's attention is on you.

“Well, no. It was prescribed as medicine.” Your answer doesn't help, it only causes their faces to look more confused.

Suddenly conscious of all the attention on you, a little bit of nervousness kicks in, but you open your mouth to speak when you're interrupted by the only person who doesn't look puzzled, more like…excited?

“Yeah! Cocaine wasn't known as a drug back then, they thought it had medicinal properties, and it does, but they didn't know its actual use. It was prescribed for hay fever, asthma and even melancholy,” He chuckles a little, taking a breath before continuing.

Everyone's looking at him now, confused, exasperated, and a little bit curious but not enough, you could tell. You tilt your head in amusement, very endeared by his excitement because you get it, you get his excitement to share it. Maybe another time you would've been offended if someone interrupted you, but how could you complain? He was so nice to look at!

“Drugs were also present in a children's medicine that was advertised as a remedy to quiet crying and fussing children, it was fairly popular because well- it worked,”

“Morphine.” You interrupt him. 

Now everyone's attention was on you. 

“The children's medicine had morphine in it.” You elaborate yourself, looking around at everyone but settling your gaze on Spencer, at last.

He gives you a smile, nods accompanying it as he looks around to his co-workers, agreeing to your comment. You smile, grateful to him for this moment. It's not much, but it helps with fitting into the group that's foreign to you.

Hotch breaks the silence as he always does, with facts about the case but at that moment, you two share a look. 

It hadn't meant much back then to you, but now it holds the most love because it reminds you of your everyday life. You had stopped trying to keep up with Spencer, with his random history, philosophy, mathematical, scientific and facts about obscure foreign films that now you just listen to him tell you about them. 

You've learnt more since you've met him than you have your entire life. You enjoyed learning, and it was just all the more enjoyable when he was the one talking. You always say how nice it would've been if you knew him during your masters, your degree would've been much more bearable.

But he was here now, and it's just like everyday, or as daily as it could be without the two of you rushing out the door because of a call.

You're making eggs and he's drinking his coffee, his mouth constantly moving, rambling about Greek myths that he had read last night. Naturally, you asked what he had read and of course, he was perfectly content to indulge you,

“You know Arachne was a weaver. She was better than most and she was prideful and arrogant in her talent. She started bragging about how she could weave better than the gods. So Athena decided to challenge her, but she lost. But things didn't go very well for Arachne either.” He stops for a sip of his coffee.

You don't need to ask, because he will continue soon enough, but you do it anyway, “Why not?”

“Well…” He says with a smile on his face, “Athena came down as an old woman to teach her to be respectful to the gods. But Arachne didn't listen. So in a fit of rage, Athena turned Arachne into a spider. But,”

Spencer takes a pause for dramatic effect and you chuckle, placing his breakfast plate in front of him, giving him a peck on his lips and sitting down on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, “Athena didn't take her powers, Arachne still was the best weaver.”

“So what? Now Arachne was just this spider weaver creature..??” You ask in confusion, rubbing your eyes which were still laden with sleep.

“Yes!!!” He says, excitedly, “Every spider you see weaves a web. Her curse was she will never be human, but she will still be a weaver. That's why spiders weave webs.”

Safe to say, your jaw was left hanging as he came to the end of the story, “That's the story? Oh my god.” 

He laughs at your incredulity and you swat him playfully, a teasing gesture, “You're getting good at this, the storytelling was-,”. You gesture a chef's kiss and he laughs again, a melodic sound to your ears.

“Why? My storytelling wasn't good before?” He asks, continuing your teasing banter. He had learned over the years to keep up with it, to hear you tease him even if it flustered him. It's always there, passing comments, enough to get him red and smile at you dopily, but he knows it's not as it used to be. You don't do it as often now, and sometimes he thinks it's because you're tired of his ramblings. He worries that he  doesn't give you enough space to be yourself, or maybe he takes up too much of the time, maybe he should give you the opportunity to talk first.

“No, handsome. I love hearing you talk.” Your words are an opposite to his thoughts but it doesn't do much to calm down his running thoughts. He's suddenly somber now, his mind plagued with insecure thoughts so he thinks to let you initiate the next sentence, the next story or the next fact. Anything.

But you're quiet for a while, waiting for him to tell you something. A few minutes pass by and you ask him again,

“I didn't read the one about Perseus, only skimmed it over, will you tell me?” You ask him, this thing routine to you, to ask questions he’s always happy to answer, drawing circles on his wrist and he thinks of it as a ruining action. It is such a specific memory, your fingers drawing sceneries on his wrist that he curses his eidetic memory. He couldn't keep this memory if you're not with him to do it again. But he couldn't help it, so he said quietly, “No, tell me about you.”

The question is confusing to you, 

“Spence, you know I don't like to talk much in the morning.” You say, your fingers now tracing the lines of his palm, your eyes focused on where your fingers move, pressing a kiss to his shoulder distractedly.

“I-” He sighs, setting down his coffee and running a hand over his face before leaning his head towards your shoulder.

“But I always ramble, and not only in the morning. You should be able tell me things too.”

“I do tell you, I tell you everything that I know about Spence. I know that I've told you that story about my grandmother at least four times now, and I always remember that after I've told you, but you never do. You just…listen, even though you probably remember every time I've told you.” You chuckle, a quiet fondness growing in your heart.

He smiles, remembering the story now. He remembers all the times you've said it to him, his favourite was the third time when you had realised halfway through and hid your face in his shoulder. 

“Yeah, but I talk too much. It's annoying. And it's boring. You can stop me if you want.” He says, his voice is quiet now, as if he knows he shouldn't say these things, he should know better than to speak like this around you, but he loves you. And he wants you to talk. 

Even though now, after a few moments out of his cycle of insecure thoughts, he realises he's wrong. You do talk to him. A lot. Everyday. Stories about your friends, how you saw a video about different types of plastic one day, how your most recent book had Greek gods, so he had taken it upon himself to read up on them. He can always tell when you have something new to tell him, there's a different shine to your eyes whenever you do. If he knows the topic, he shares your excitement, or catches up the next day. You talk to him everyday, and now he feels silly to have complained.

You turn to face him, making contact with his eyes, “No, it's not annoying. Nor is it boring. When did I ever say that?”

He tries to defend himself, “I know I ramble a lot, and you always listen. And I love you so much for it. But I don't want you to just not talk because of me. I don't wanna always take over the conversation.”

A smile graces your lips and he's more confused than ever, “Spence, listen,” You settle the coffee mug in your hand on the table and take his face into you hands,

“I like it when you ramble. I like listening to you talk, your ramblings are interesting to me. You don't think I wasn't interested in the Arachne the weaver story?” You say, and he smiles again. You're still not used to it, whenever he smiles. 

“Yeah, but you're not usually quiet around people-”

You cut him off, “I like listening to you Spencer. It's half the reason I fell in love with you. I like that I don't always have to be on my toes to keep up a conversation, that sometimes, I can just talk, or not talk, it doesn't matter.” You say earnestly, trying to explain to him just how wrong he is about his assumption, how awful it is that he thinks you're annoyed.

“And I love your rambles. You think I would have known about the fact that caterpillars basically dissolve into liquid in the cocoon?” You say and he visibly perks up, a familiar excitement coursing his body,

“And-,” There's an inflection, showcasing his obvious excitement, “The only thing left are the so-called ‘imaginal discs’, groups of cells that contain all the information and the mechanism to turn that liquid into the various body parts of a butterfly; the same applies for other insects. and also,” He goes to continue,

“They retain memories through this process. I know. Because you told me. And because I love you.” He has that doe- eyed look again, the one you dread because it fills you with a kind of fondness that you can't quite contain. It makes you a bit animalistic, in a way where you want to pepper his face with kisses, to see his cheeks turn red and hear that wretched laugh again. You had told him that too, he called it cuteness aggression. It was a fitting name, you thought.

“I love you too.” He says, his lips not too far away before they connect, both your lips taste of coffee, and his is much sweeter than yours, but he doesn't complain, and neither do you, because why would you? You can feel him smiling again, and he breaks away to speak again,

“When a caterpillar forms,” You sense another ramble incoming so you kiss him again, but he continues, “the chrysalis dissolves, but not the tiny bits of butterfly,” interrupted by a kiss again, “those don't dissolve,” 

You sigh and put your foreheads together, “they just grow into butterflies.” You finish for him.

He would take that sigh another way if it wasn't you, another tease on his behalf, talking over your kisses as if he wasn't starved for them. 

“If this is your preferred way of shutting me up,” He says, now he's the one kissing you, “I'd be very glad to keep talking.” And you smile, despite the cold coffee on the table and the not-so-quiet morning, your heart feels warm and peaceful.

[thevoidstaredback]

Just as he had last time, Barry called Wally and Bart to help him comb over the US. He took the Midwest and South; Wally took the Mid Atlantic and New England areas; Bart took Alaska, the Western, and Southwestern states.

"Didn't this happen in your timeline, Impulse?" Wally asked.

"Nope!" Bart answered, "At least I don't think so."

"What do you mean you don't think so?"

"You expect me to know everything that happened throughout the entire timeline?!"

"A little bit, yeah!"

"Boys!" Barry cut in, "Please focus; time is a little bit of the essence."

"No, no, no," Superboy, who was checking the Northern Hemisphere, chimed, "Let 'em argue. It's entertaining."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything from the previous loops?" Superman asked, speaking over the three kid heroes.

Barry found himself rolling his eyes. "Yes, Supes. I'd've told you by now if I remembered-" He stopped short, sliding down the road a few feet.

"Flash?"

"Hold that thought."

"Did you find something?"

"Keep looking; I'm gonna check something real quick." He muted his end of the line. "What in the world..?"

Apparently, there's a castle in Wisconsin.

***

Dick was not having a good time. He thought that he was done dealing with Bruce when he quit! But, no! The bastard just keeps calling!

At least he can still work with Barbara. That's a plus.

Nightwing set up shop in Bludhaven. This was well established throughout not only the city itself, but throughout Gotham and the entire hero community. Sure, he helps out other places, but he mostly stays in Bludhaven. Just because he's close, though, means that Bruce thinks he can jump between the two cities.

He can, but he doesn't want to.

But, orders from Batman must be followed or he'll throw a fit.

How the hell did he put up working with that man?

How the hell does Tim put up with it?

Even in the middle of a potentially Word Ending Crisis, Batman doesn't want any of the other heroes in Gotham, so searching the city falls to Nightwing and Batgirl. Well, it would if she didn't have her own tasks.

He'd seen Kid Flash in passing about an hour ago, just long enough for a speedster-level high-five as they passed by, as he was leaving Bludhaven.

He'd searched his home from top to bottom three times over and there wasn't a single thing out of place there. The US Government had all but abandoned the city when they'd given up on Gotham, so the lack of any government occupation didn't surprise him in the slightest. The people of Bludhaven hated the government enough that a few well placed words on his part now had the entire city on the lookout for the black suited bastards, allowing him to go look in Gotham.

As much as Gothamites hated authority figures, they had nothing on Bludhaven. Sure, they'd been given up on first, but the government still had eyes on the city because of Batman. As long as Batman works for the Justice League, then it isn't a stretch to think that the government has eyes and ears on or in the city.

Finding a base in Gotham will be much harder than finding one in Bludhaven. Not because he doesn't know his way around, but because of the sheer amount of buildings there are. Abandoned, occupied, business, residential, it doesn't matter; every one of them is a potential government occupation camp until proven otherwise. Every person found within the city is a possible government dog until proven otherwise.

Dick sighs. He certainly has his work cut out for him.

Part 7 Part 9

[seitmai]

Wow I just have many thoughts...

All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him.  The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

Seems like the prayers worked 🤭

You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

I feel like he would be overwhelmed with so many people there to help him, so he just keeps the bare minimum or rather the people he really want to have around him

Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

They probably share those feelings about home 🥺

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

Ahhh those shared glances 🥰

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.” “And you?” It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

Oh he is probably so disappointed by that 🙈

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

Everyone deserves love though 🥺🫶🏻

“What about you, Dominus?” “Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

Let's find it again 😌

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…” “I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.” “I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure. He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

I'm just in love with this little conversation 😍

He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

To have someone listen to you and wanting to hear your thoughts is just such a great way to show love 🥹

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape.

That's just so cute 🥰

Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

🥹🥹🥹

He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

Not the glance over the shoulder 🥺

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

He said "yeah thanks, but no thanks" just more politely 😅🤭

Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He really made sure she knows his feeling about this meeting!!

On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

A fresco for his past as a gladiator and one for the future his wants, his muse😉

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.” “Well, I still need to draw your bath and…” “Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied. You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?” “Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

Urgh im swooning, he just wants her to relax and take care of her 🥰🥹

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger. “Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

Valid reaction

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

The pleading 😮‍💨🥰

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.” “I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

😭😭😭

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

Urgh I just love that you can truly feel how he means it 🥹🥰

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” “You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.” “Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

🥰🥰🥰

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.” You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

I'm crying this is just so good 😭🥰

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

They shared their names to now entrust each other's hearts 💕

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.” He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

He is just so excited for her, especially because he has thought about it for a while🥹

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too.

 both if them shaking just shows how emotional and meaningful it is for the both of them 🥹🥰

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

🥰🥰🥰

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

I love that he not only noticed it but also adressed her new aura 🥰

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.” His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

Ahhhh it's happening!!

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

Oh, he is so ready to worship her even if it's just laying at her feet

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

I've had a head massage before, so I get it 😌

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

This is just one of those key elements in this story that I love so much!! Him giving her his name, showing how much he values her and giving her time and space to truly make up her own mind if she wants this, it's just perfection 🥰👏🏻

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

A truly good man ❤️‍🩹🥹

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

A sight to be seen, I'm sure 🤭

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough.

🥰🥰🥰

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

Aww rats just so cute, I love tender little moments like that (especially after some other things happening before 🤭)

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

I'm a true sucker for post-sex laughter and giggles shared together 🥰

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours.

I just loved this so so much 🥹🥰👏🏻

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[jmdbjk]

Jungkook telling it like it is...

He did tell Spotify that he'd use the blanket they gave him. Just not the way they probably thought he would: Jungkook's glossy black marble floor shows his bare feet prints on it and he used his Spotify blanket to clean the floor. He says he'll have to always wear socks or slippers. I can see him leaving a pile of toe socks at the door just for him to put on when he's in that room...

He says he briefly and unseriously considered quitting the business to be a full time cook. (JK, you can't do that, you have to make enough money to pay for the utilities and property taxes on your new fortress...) But that's his introvert kicking in, the routine, the comfort zone, the way his job holds his interest enough to make him want to keep doing it. But he is aware and he knows this about himself and knows he has to return to his "spot" as he called it.

He seems to accept the fact his place of residence is going to be known by the fans just like many other aspects of his life such as details of his military service. He seems to take it in stride but he also sets boundaries by asking fans to not come to his house and do not send packages, not only to his house but to his army base. He explains why, that he cannot accept them and that packages containing food are restricted. He clearly instructs to send letters to the company.

How do people know where he lives? Here's the answer, or at least part of it:

We all know if you spend time on Youtube the algorithm will feed you videos and channels similar to what you've watched. If you are restrained enough to limit your viewing to only BangtanTV I applaud you. But if you watch anything else, youtube will serve you similar. We all know that through the anecdotes of Armys talking about being flooded with edited, slo-mo shipping videos.

Personally, I like watching youtube channels that show walking tours of Seoul. The city captured my attention and I've learned so much about it. But because of this interest I have in Seoul and Korea, more "walking tour" and Korean travel type channels are suggested to me. Some are better than others. Some are actually run by K-Army. I am very interested in K-Armys' perspective about life in Seoul so I watch. We get to see the birthday cafe events and such that I'm probably never going to experience.

Inevitably one of these channels is going to walk by the members' homes... because they are Army and can. Streets are public. And this is how other people find out where the members live. The videos show that none of the homes are accessible. They are all behind walls and gates. None of the videos show hoards of fans congregated in front of the homes. The only place you ever see that is in front of the Hybe building.

Yes, it is controversial knowing these things but it is also one of those things that is almost unavoidable. What do I do with the information I gain by watching? Nothing. I satisfy my curiosity and move on.

Jungkook knows we are curious. He knows with his position in life there are things he cannot control and he's aware of it. It's pointless for him to pretend he isn't aware of this. That's why he sets boundaries. And he's very kind about it when he does set boundaries.

Are there bad actors out there who will take advantage of the knowledge? Of course. But that's on them. Are there people who will post every detail they learn? Of course. That's how the information spreads to other social media platforms.

Anyway... the Weverse translations are sort of skimming over what he says. There's a little bit of nuance being left out sometimes.

The Weverse English subs say "We'd sing it every day while taking showers." But Jungkook more accurately said: "We always sing together while taking a shower." (begins at 1:00:00)

The Weverse English subs say "Recently, with Jimin, now during our clean up time I finished up in the kitchen and came back up we talked a lot about music and we'd always be humming (he hums) and I'd go far away and sing songs (he gestures away from him). I'll try to practice more when I have time." But more accurately he said: "So these days I'm with Jimin and now when its personal maintenance time I go upstairs after finishing kitchen work. We talk a lot about singing and we're humming along to each other all the time (he hums) like that and we go far away and sing and stuff (he gestures away from him). I'll practice more in my spare time." (begins at 36:48)

The Weverse English subs say "I've been doing well with Jimin in my military life. I've been well." More accurately he said: "I'm/we are working hard and doing well in military life together with Jiminie-hyung. I'm doing well." (at 8:18)

He showed us his entertainment room, he clearly states he can't show us the upstairs but he does not give a reason why but as he talks he explains he has not "organized" his house. Maybe he won't show it because he doesn't want to or maybe he won't show it because in his opinion, its a mess right now. Regardless, its his choice what he wants to show us and we are privileged when he does so. I'd bet that at some point, we'll see his kitchen because he's Jungkook.

He talked about his job as a cook in the Army. He said he prepares many Korean dishes and they are either boiled or braised. He mentions that they cannot grill food. He says its not easy making large amounts of food. He says he does his best to make them tasty. I've noticed on the timeline the accounts that post military menus that on most days, meals include stews and soups so he is definitely learning how to cook a wide variety of dishes.

He sang about 30 songs including several off Golden. He sounded really good singing Standing Next to You, in fact, his off the cuff live singing of all the songs from his album was pretty exquisite even if he didn't sing most of the songs to the end.

He spoke with a slight reverence regarding only singing BTS songs with the rest of the members. It gave me the impression he knows it will be a special moment for them as well as us.

He picked at his lip, bit his cuticles, touched his lips, scratched his head under his beanie and yawned many times before finally telling us good night. Until we see you again soon, Kookie! Be safe and keep practicing with Jimin!

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Little Darling

Chapter 9 - Made a promise to be kept

It's 1997, and Elvis is still alive and well. He quit music in 1972 after a successful world tour, and now he runs Presley Studios - teaching people karate across America. His daughter and grandchildren are regular visitors at Graceland, and when he’s in Memphis he likes to do a little teaching. His life is quieter now, though. Most of the Mafia have gone - going to live their own lives - and after his divorce from his second wife, Elvis is sworn off women for good. Will a Welsh girl with a wicked sense of humour be the one to make him break his promise to himself not to fall in love again?

Need to catch up? Go here.

Pairing: Old Man!Elvis x OC - Tegan, a Welsh girl he meets at karate.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Illness, self-esteem issues, discussion of spanking, handjob/masturbation, voyeurism, suggestion of ass play, possessive kink.

Tegan spends the day at work feeling gradually more and more ill, so she decides to pick up a few things on her way home in case she can’t get out to get them the next day. It’s probably just a cold she picked up from the kids at the weekend, but she doesn’t want to have to drag herself out of bed and look for cough medicine if it’s worse than that. As she gets out of the car she suddenly remembers that Elvis basically lives in her apartment right now, and she could send him out to get things. Part of her wonders what on earth he’d come back with, but she also realises she’s been on her own for so long she’s forgotten what it’s like to rely on someone else.

Elvis fusses her and tries to insist on her resting, but she’s too worried about what kind of dinner he’ll cook without her help, so she tells him she doesn’t feel that bad. And she doesn’t, not really. Not until she tries to sleep. They lie down together as usual and she lets her mind drift off, but her thoughts stop making sense. It’s as if she’s put the words in a blender and then poured them out, and all the while she’s sweating and starting to wonder if her legs belong to her or have been swapped out for someone else’s. Eventually she tosses and turns herself fully awake, body hot and arms outside of the duvet freezing cold, sweat dampening the hair at the back of her head. 

“Queenie?” Elvis whispers. He looks at the digital clock by the bed. 2.30am. He’s been awake this whole time, watching her thrash about in her sleep and listening to the odd random word she’d mumbled. 

She rolls over and looks up into his concerned face. “Elvis, I’m sick.”

He strokes her forehead gently. “I can see that, baby.”

She closes her eyes again and groans. He presses a little kiss to her forehead now, carefully moving her sweaty hair out of her face. 

“Try ‘an go back ta sleep, honey.”

She groans again. “I’ll try.”

She closes her eyes but Elvis feels like a furnace next to her, he’s making it even hotter in the bed that already seems like it might be on fire. Then she hears him start to sing. 

Forever, my darling / Our love will be true / Always and forever / I'll love only you / Just promise me, darling / Your love in return / May this fire in my soul, dear / Forever burn

Her mouth curls into a smile and she opens her eyes again. 

“That’s cute.”

“Mmmm. I’m trying ta sing ya ta sleep.”

She giggles, putting her hand on his cheek. “Oh ‘raur. Don’t take this the wrong way but… you’re going to keep me awake if you keep doing that.”

Elvis immediately looks hurt and she wishes she could take it back. “Hm. Forget it then.” He flops onto his back, sighing loudly. He doesn’t mind staying up late, in fact he kind of enjoys it, but he wants to be asleep right now. When you’re asleep you can’t feel rejected.

“‘Raur.” Tegan rolls onto her side, leaning over him to look into his face and seeing his eyes firmly shut. “I’m sorry. I love your singing.” She nuzzles his cheek. “I just don’t find it very sleep-inducing.”

He grumbles again. 

“You could sing to me when I feel better. I’d like that.” She’s still feeling a bit delirious from the fever and so she puts her head on his chest and says, “I’d really like that, Elvis.”

“Why’s ‘at then?” He huffs. 

She giggles into his pyjama top. “‘Cause I’d find it a turn on.”

His lips curl into a smile at the revelation and he starts singing again, right in her ear.

My heart's at your command, dear / To keep, love, and to hold / Making you happy's my desire / Keeping you is my goal

She giggles even more. “Stop it! I’m sick!”

“Alright then. Try ‘an sleep. I won’t sing this time.”

She props herself back up on her elbow again. “You’re making the bed kind of hot…” She pulls an awkward face, knowing he won’t like this either. 

He sighs deeply. “First ya won’t let me sing ya ta sleep, now ya want me on the couch.”

“I’m sorry. But you won’t sleep well with me here either.”

He curls a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. “This’d be a damned sight easier if we were at Graceland.”

“But I like my apartment. And you like my apartment. Don’t you?”

“Hmmm. Yeah. But not when I have ta sleep on the couch. I’m an old man, my back can’t take it.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she can’t see how she’s going to sleep at all with him in the bed. 

He shakes his head and sits up. “But I’ll go. I’ll see ya in the mornin’ baby.”

***

When Tegan doesn’t appear at the usual time, Elvis picks up the phone and calls her work. He causes quite a kerfuffle, being Elvis Presley and everything, but it does mean that they believe him when he says he’s not sure if she’ll be in for the rest of the week. He pads around the kitchen making coffee and rummaging around in the cupboards for anything else she might want. When he’s finished he puts it all on a tray and then sets it down on the side, slowly pushing her bedroom door open and peering inside. 

“Honey?” He says softly, into the semi-darkness. 

Tegan grumbles. She’d woken up a while ago, but she didn’t really want to move. She still doesn’t want to move now, so she burrows further into the bedding. Elvis walks around the bed and gets in next to her, gently putting an arm over her. She grumbles again. 

“I made ya coffee,” he murmurs into her hair. 

“Thanks. I feel like my throat’s full of broken glass.”

Elvis pulls her against him, kissing the top of her head. “Ya want it now?”

“Please.”

He gives her another kiss and then gets up again, fetching the tray and bringing it in. She sits up slowly, pulling pillows behind her to prop her up and looking with some interest at the contents of the tray. 

“I thought you were just bringing coffee?”

Elvis puts it down on her lap. “Well I thought these might help.”

Tegan looks at the rest of the contents of the tray in bewilderment. There’s painkillers, which make sense, next to two cups of steaming coffee. So far, so good. But then there’s a box of crackers, a bottle of gatorade (which she’s quite sure she didn’t buy, so she’s confused as to what it’s doing in her apartment) three or four candy bars (which, again, she didn’t buy) and a packet of lemsip. Just, on its own. Without hot water or a cup. She rubs her forehead in confusion and then just giggles. 

“What?”

She hands him his coffee and takes hers, setting the tray down on the bed between them. Coughing a little, she takes a few sips of her drink to try and make her throat feel a bit better before replying. 

“I bought a load of cough drops and things at the shops yesterday,” she explains. “They’re in the cupboard over the sink.” 

“Oh,” he sighs. He didn’t sleep well on the couch at all, and he’s starting to feel a little like everything he does at the moment is wrong. “Ya want those?”

She takes another sip of coffee. “In a bit.”

He huffs again. She raises an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Everythin’ I do fer ya, ya don’t like.”

Tegan sighs, and then she puts her head on his shoulder. “That’s not true. This coffee is actually alright.”

She means to make him laugh but he just groans, moving her off him and getting up again. 

“I’m no good at this.” 

She watches in disbelief as he walks back out of the room again. “Elvis!” She calls after him, then bursts into a fresh round of coughing. “‘Raur?” 

When she sees he’s not coming back, she decides to get up, slowly pulling on panties and an old Elvis sweater she found the other day in the back of her closet. She pushes on slippers and then pads out of the room, carrying her coffee. He’s always telling her off for wandering about the place naked, so she hopes this will do. She coughs a bit more and sniffs, finding him sat on the couch watching MTV. Wandering over to the cupboard she grabs a handful of cough drops, Vicks and tissues, and then walks over to the couch. Looking away from the TV for a moment, he’s greeted by the sight of his girlfriend walking around in a sweater with his name on it and a pair of boxer-style panties. It’s hard to stay mad. 

“Where’d this come from?” He asks, tugging at her sleeve as she sits down next to him. 

“Found it in my closet. I think I must’ve bought it when I was a teenager. I’m amazed it still fits, but it was pretty baggy on me back then.”

“I like it,” he announces, because he really does. “No panties with my name on?”

She smirks. “I bet I could find some.”

He pats his thigh. “C’mon. Lap.”

Elvis has got in the habit of telling her to get onto his lap if she doesn’t do it of her own accord, and although it makes her feel a little bit like a pet dog, she does kind of like it. And she likes cuddling up with him like this anyway. So she sits sideways on his lap so she can still watch the TV, his arm firmly around her. She sneezes. 

“I’m gonna give you this, if you keep cuddling up to me all the time.”

Elvis huffs again. “Ya want me ta go? I’ll just go.” He lets go of her so she can get up if she wants. 

“I didn’t say that, ‘raur.” She cuddles into him more, her fingers playing with the buttons on his pyjama top. “I just don’t want you to get sick too. I like you being here. I’d be lonely without you.” 

“Hmmm. Wouldn’t want ya ta be lonely.”

His arm returns to its previous position, but he still feels uncomfortable. He’s a protector, but he’s not much of a caregiver, and he feels like he ought to be. After having a child, he thinks he should be better at knowing what to do when someone is sick, but he and Cilla had always sort of farmed that out to other people. 

“I was only teasing, earlier, you know?” She says after they’ve been sitting there quietly for a while, watching music videos. 

“Should’ve known,” Elvis mutters. “Should be good at looking after sick people by now.”

Tegan shifts to look into his eyes, which stare back, full of sadness. “You couldn’t know what was in my cupboards, I didn’t tell you. But you could’ve just asked what I wanted. That might’ve been easier.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

“It’s cute though. How much you try.”

He huffs. “Don’t wanna be cute.”

“That’s tough really, isn’t it? Because you are so cute,” she teases, rubbing her nose against his. 

“Ya do really emasculate me sometimes, honey. Callin’ me pretty an’ cute. Next thing I know you’ll be plaiting my hair an’ puttin’ on make-up.”

Tegan giggles. “You put make-up on yourself in the 50s, didn’t you? Come to think of it, in the 60s and 70s too, blodyn.”

“What are ya callin’ me now?”

She bites her lip. “Blodyn. It’s a term of endearment, but literally it means flower.”

“Flower?!” He rages for a second, and then laughs. “Yer really callin’ me flower. Aha. I see.”

“Yeah I am. My little blodyn, fy blodyn bach, taking care of me while I’m sick.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “If ya weren’t sick, ya’d be gettin’ a spankin’ for this…”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He gives her a quick hard slap to the side of her thigh, making her yelp, and then kisses her gently on the lips. “I’ll put it on the list of things ta do when you’re well again. Sing ta ya and then spank the livin’ daylights outta ya.”

***

Tegan gets worse over the next few days, and spends them mainly in bed, with Elvis ferrying hot drinks and soup back and forth. Around day four he starts to get sick too, and although he's grumpy about it he only really gets a sniffle and a bit of a cough for a day or two. Tegan is still exhausted a week later, but she drags herself out of bed to sit on the couch. 

“Feelin’ any better, baby?” Elvis asks, pulling her onto his lap as usual and arranging a blanket around her. 

“Hmmm. Just tired.” Tegan’s head flops against his chest. 

“Can I get ya anything? Ya hungry?”

“Yeah, I am actually. Nothing in the apartment worth eating though.”

“Why don't I go out and get us a little breakfast, baby?”

She sits up and strokes his cheek lovingly. “That would be great if you feel OK?” She puts her hand on his forehead to check his temperature, worrying that he's more ill than he's letting on. 

“I feel fine, baby. Jus’ sniffin’ a bit s’all.”

“Don't know how you've got away with that but I shouldn't complain. Don't want to lose my nursemaid.”

Elvis shakes his head and clicks his tongue. “What have I told ya about that? ‘M not a nursemaid.”

Tegan giggles. “Sorry. You're doing such a good job of taking care of me, though.”

He puffs up with pride. “I am?”

“Yes!” She kisses him on the lips. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”

He grins, pleased to feel useful for a change. “Alright then. You stay there and keep warm and I’ll go and get us some breakfast.”

Tegan chuckles to herself about staying warm in the middle of September in Memphis, but she doesn't say anything. It's sweet of him to worry. As she waits for him to come back, she thinks about how sweet he's been this whole week. It was obvious not being able to take care of her instinctively bothered him, but he'd taken her advice and actually asked what she wanted and by now he was pretty good at feeding her and bringing her medicine. He'd even got in the shower with her a couple of times and helped her wash when she'd been too tired to want to do it on her own. 

***

After breakfast, Elvis watches Tegan take the plates from the couch into the kitchen. She’s still only wearing panties and that old sweater, and he feels his body react to the sight of her ass jiggling a little as it makes its way around the apartment. It’s happened the past couple of mornings, but he’s done his best to ignore Little Elvis and concentrate on looking after Tegan. This morning, though, he’s really making himself known and Elvis isn’t sure he’s going to be able to ignore him. 

Tegan’s too tired to notice the look on his face, flopping back down next to him and putting her legs up on his lap.

“Honey, ya can’t keep wanderin’ about the place like this,” he tells her. 

“Hmmm? Why?” 

He takes her hand and puts it on his now fully-hard dick. She moves her head and her eyes go wide. 

“Oh.” She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t want to tell him to sort himself out, but she’s not sure she has the energy to do anything for him either. Plus she’s not exactly feeling that sexy right now.  

“I-it’s okay,” he stutters. “I…uh… I can sort myself out.”

Tegan shakes her head and squeezes him. “No, I wanna help.”

“Honey, you’re still sick.”

She sighs, her head back on his shoulder. “Well, at least let me watch then.”

She hears him cough awkwardly, as if he’s trying to swallow down something particularly difficult. 

“W-watch?”

“Mmmm. Y’know. You jerk yourself and I’ll… watch.”

“I think I might feel a bit self-conscious, baby.”

“Why? I’ve seen your dick before. And, spoiler alert, I know what happens at the end.”

She hears a grumbling deep in his throat. “I’ve never… done that before. In front of someone.”

“Oh. Well I promise I’d enjoy it.”

He moves his head and shoulder so that she has to look at him. “Would ya?”

She nods. “Here. Why don’t I help you?” 

Reaching down to undo the garish belt he’s wearing, she unzips his pants. He shuffles around to make it easier for her to release Little Elvis from his boxers, then moans softly as she pumps him up and down a couple of times. Letting go, she takes his hand from where it’s resting on his thigh and guides it towards his dick. He takes over stroking himself, enjoying the feeling of the kisses she starts to press to his neck and ear. His other hand reaches around to her ass, grabbing a handful and sighing softly to himself. She bites her lip, thinking about how else she can help him.

“You want me to do this?” She asks, slipping her hand in his boxers to massage his balls. 

He groans. “Yes please.”

She squeezes them gently a few times, and then starts to get other ideas. One of her fingers rubs the skin just below them, and he almost jumps. 

“Honey!”

She giggles. “No?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“I swear you’re supposed ta be sick.”

She goes back to massaging, her lips pressing against his. “I am. I just thought you might like a little assistance.”

He kisses her and then pulls back again. “I don’t need yer finger up my asshole.”

Tegan can’t help herself, bursting out laughing, pulling her hand away from him to slap her thigh in amusement. 

“It wasn’t your arsehole, cariad. It was your taint.”

Elvis tilts his head to one side and huffs out a sigh. “Yer on very thin ice, y’know that? Even sick girls can get a spanking.”

She giggles, cuddling into him and kissing his collarbone. “Sorry, ‘raur. Please carry on. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

She doesn’t really, they hang around his neck as he kisses her, run over his chest, even wrap around his own hand to help him as he gets closer to release. But she does resist the temptation to put them in his boxers again. At least for now. 

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” he breathes in her ear, his lips and teeth finding the lobe. 

“Let me see,” she replies, looking down as he kisses her neck and makes a mess of his hand and pants. 

“Oh fuck. You do like me wandering around in these panties.”

“Mmmm.”

They sit there for a while longer, until he decides he has to get cleaned up. 

“You enjoy that?” She calls after him, as he walks towards the bathroom. 

He turns and smiles. “More ‘an I thought I would.” He fixes her with an intense stare. “But not as much as I’d enjoy fucking that pussy a mine, baby. Hurry up and get well.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy

[bat-therapy]

a bird's wings

warnings: gun violence (it's jason. what did you expect)

Dick doesn't fall.

It's become somewhat of an ongoing bit within the family. He's trained for such a long time ("too long," Tim complains, immediately after falling off a set of bars) that it's become almost second nature. He moves with the ease of decades of practice. His body had been trained almost from birth to be more flexible, to move his weight at the strangest angles, to keep stretching beyond his limits - all with a smile on his face.

It doesn't matter what League-inspired traps Damian leaves on the stairs, silently watching and analyzing the way in which Dick barely spares razor a passing glance as he simply bends out of the way. It doesn't matter if Cass tries for a well-timed shove down the stairs when his body is positioned just the wrong way, not when Dick simply vaults over the bannister, balancing on the rail with one hand for just long enough that Cass knows it's intentional, the cocky bastard. It doesn't matter how many of them team up against him - and they have tried.

Even when he does fall - as he tells his family constantly, he does fall - it's an elegant thing. If his hand slips, it's quickly replaced by another, redirecting him through the air, moving with a wind that only exists for him. When his feet don't meet the ground quite like he expected, his momentum carries him into a roll that looks just as intentional as his original movement. His mistakes are erased in the space between heartbeats, expression unwavering, a true performer.

In fact, Dick is so agile that Duke, when they first met, had wholeheartedly believed that he had to be a meta-human. Sure, there are plenty of flexible and agile people out there, but it's unnerving how he moves. His joints bend too far; his ligaments stretch beyond Duke's comfort. In a moment of curiosity, Duke asked Jason and Tim. Jason's expression didn't change (dying internally), and Tim made an odd choking noise (swallowing his own laughter). Duke interpreted these as (Jason) he was correct in his belief, which was no laughing matter, and (Tim) Duke should not know about Dick's meta-human status. It took years (and a blood test in the Batcave) for Duke to believe that Dick was actually a very unusual human.

Bruce, in his quietest moments, thinks it's magic. Years ago, lives ago, Jason had described being Robin as magic. And, of course, the role does hold its own power, but Dick's magic has always been his own. He was magic before he was Robin, and he was Bruce's son - a title that carried its own kind of magic.

That magic extended to his nights out on patrol, particularly when he was with Red Hood and Robin. Of course, he often found himself Batman's patrol route - Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin tagging along just for shits. Hell, Nightwing wasn't even supposed to be out - not when he'd had so many consecutive night patrols - but with so many of them, what could go wrong?

That night, the four of them cornered a criminal on a rooftop. Even after clambering up a fire escape, Nightwing's breathing had barely changed, Batman's was easily concealed, Robin had tested a new grappling hook, and no one is quite sure how breathing works for Red Hood after some oddities in the Lazarus Pit.

Instead of surrendering, the desperate, stupid man had sprinted directly at them, firing a gun wildly with one hand and screaming at the top of his lungs. Nightwing sidestepped easily, having seen similar idiocy in Bludhaven. What he wasn't expecting was to step into Robin. He adjusted, angling his body to the side to plant his other foot--

--which landed on Batman's cape, right as the older man was turning to watch the criminal run. The material pulled out from under him just in time for the criminal to impact Nightwing directly. On its own, it would barely be enough to move him, and even still, Nightwing watches as the man bounces off him directly into Red Hood's grasp.

But in this moment, in the perfect cascade of errors, Nightwing stumbles backwards off the roof.

Nightwing doesn't panic immediately. He twists his body, turning his stumble into a somersault without a second thought. He looks down, trying to find something, but there are no windows. No ledges. He is too far away from the fire escape. It is a solid, brick wall, and there is nothing for him to grab onto.

And Dick falls.

It's never the fall that hurts, he knows. Falling is so close to flying, and he spreads his arms like a bird about to take flight. For a heartbeat, he's a child being tossed in the air, he's a teenager slipping off a trapeze bar, and he knows there is something below him. Strong arms and laughter, a net that will bend with his inertia.

The only thing beneath him is concrete.

When his body hits the ground, it makes far too loud of a sound for a man who had always seemed lighter than air.

Out of everyone, that night, Oracle hears the impact the most clearly. Through his earpiece, she hears the clean snap of small bones, she hears the dull thud of a now-limp body, she hears a sharp gasp of air being forced out of lungs - all compressed into one, horrific heartbeat. She listens to rattling breaths get quieter and quieter until she can't hear them at all.

Bruce feels the impact in his throat, caught somewhere between his head and his heart. That's his boy, on the ground, but his other children are still up, still staring down the now-damned soul that had grounded their Nightwing. It takes him a moment to react, barking to Oracle to send medics to their location as he stalks towards the criminal.

Jason takes a more direct approach: a bullet through the man's skull. He doesn't have the same hold-ups as Bruce about killing, not when this man is responsible for hurting his brother. It is violence, simple and honest. It is protection, raw and vulgar.

Damian is the first to make it to Dick's side, practically leaping off the rooftop. He has learned enough, between volunteering at a hospital and what one learns when trained by Ra's al Ghul. He checks for a pulse, checks for breathing. He stabilizes Dick's neck, holding in place. His hands are small, but they do not shake, even when his muscles begin aching. He does not let them shake. Damian looks almost feral, teeth gritted and bared, silhouetted above Dick's body in off-putting streetlamp fluorescents. "No one touches him," he hisses. He only relinquishes his hold when the medics arrive. His hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into his palms

It is a quiet night in the Wayne manor that night. All of the siblings sit vigil around Dick. They all refuse to leave his side, barely moving, even when Alfred delivers pillows and blankets. Dick's face is slack and expressionless, and the sight feels like a blade to the chest. No one knows if he knows they are there.

Oracle clings to the sound of his laugh, pulling up old files. The last thing she hears from Dick will not be the sound of blood in his lungs. Jason fidgets with the shell of the bullet he put through the criminal's skull. Damian holds a medical textbook open in front of him, but he does not turn a page. His gaze is stuck on Dick's eyelids, waiting for them to move.

Here, surrounded by his family, Dick has never seemed more painfully, awfully human.