#my will to live slowly living my body every time an update fucking broke something

[go-learn-esperanto]

Me, after restarting the computer 20 times and having to repair Windows' boot 3 times in the last 2 days while Linux Mint is opening just fine in the same computer:

[closhelby]

HER. - Thomas Shelby

Smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: it’s peaky blinders, with smut

Word Count: 2472

AN: this is my first time writing smut, please give me any tips pls, it’s appreciate. It’s probably shite.

::::::

She always was on his mind. The woman, that always read between the lines, always two steps ahead of him, and had an incredible eye for business. She had left him years prior, leaving for a top business school in London. they never had a title, a label on their relationship, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that they always, somehow, gravitated back to one another. Often people, especially Polly, would say that there was no way two people would be so alike, strong headed but only rarely clashed. 

However y/n’s degree had finished and she was coming back to Small Heath for a period of time before she was going to figure out what exactly what she wanted to do. Y/n was actually great friends with the Shelby family, since growing up with them, living just down the road, they practically lived together. Y/n was actually younger than Tommy, she was ages with Ada and John. They were in the same class throughout school, Ada and y/n regularly wrote to each other, updating each other on Ada’s eventful life as a Shelby still in Small Heath and y/n’s very exciting studying life in London. 

They had actually planned to meet up, for a nice and quiet drink at the Garrison on her return. The thoughts swirled in y/n’s mind as she approached the Garrison, it had just gone 6pm, and she knew as it was a Friday, she did have a possibly of bumping into her first, arguably her only love.  Pushing the thoughts to the back of her head, she pushed open the door to see a fairly crowded Garrison. 

“Ah, y/n, how was London?” Harry shouted, from behind the bar. Y/n smiled at him, walking over to Ada sitting in the back corner. “It was good Harry, nice to be back in this clear Birmingham air”. He chuckled slightly, “Whiskey coming up love”. 

Y/n nodded, taking a seat next to Ada, giving her a cuddle, “Unsure if ive missed this place or not” y/n laughed slightly, eyes scanning the pub, looking for the one man she questioned if she did want to bump into. The pair was throwing back drinks like it was going out of fashion, knowing they would both regret this in the morning. Apparently, Ada wasn't allowing y/n to go back home, and in fact y/n didn't have a home yet and wasn't willing to go back to her parents, so Ada was insisting that she stayed at hers until y/n found a suitable place. Y/n didnt put up a fight, despite them both being hot heads, and taking absolutely no shit from anyone, men or woman, y/n didn't argue. She was actually really thankful for her. 

They eventually stumbled into the house in the early hours of the morning, their laughs echoing throughout the silent house. 

::::

The sun caught y/n directly in the eyes, quickly awoke y/n from her sleep. Her head felt as though someone had been hitting her head against the floor multiple times. Y/n continued to lay there, turning away from the sun, trying to keep the contents of her stomach from getting sprayed all over her and the sleeping Ada. She made an attempt at moving, sat with her head in her hands as she was trying to give herself words of encouragement to get up and make herself something to eat. 

“Fuck sake, why do we do this to ourselves?” Ada moaned from behind her. Y/n scoffed, “ Your bloody idea”.

Quickly standing up, in hope she could get it over with quickly. The room continuing to spin, as she attempted to walk to the door. Ada following closely behind. 

They both sat slumped over the dining room table, as they attempted to sober up and embrace the oncoming hangover. John now present, laughing at the two dying woman in front of him. 

“Good night?”

“Always.” Ada grumbled.

Pol placed a plate in front of them, toast with jam, “Does Tommy know your back? 

Eyes falling onto y/n from every person in their, “No.” answering quietly. 

Attempting to change the subject, “Told myself I would start looking for a new job today, since I shall be staying here for a decent period of time.”

John raised his eyebrow, “Tommy’s looking for a new secretary.” A slight smile on his face, “You've got a good background, business and that”.

“hm, I don't think so Johny boy”.    

“Don’t say no too soon, your a good asset to the business.” Pol added. No one was ever in y/n’s corner more than Pol, they would bang heads sometimes, as neither of them would back down. But she accepted y/n was the only one that had the best interest for Tommy.

The front door closed, and there he stood, the room turning to face Tommy, silence filling the room, then he broke it, “Heard you were back.”

“Yeah,” she replied quietly.

“Well, you know where I am if you need that job, I’m sure you’ve already been told,” he spoke, cigarette hanging from his mouth, as he walked away from them and into his office.

Y/n let out a breath, as though she hadn’t been breathing the whole time he was there. Ada smiled at her, placing her hand onto y/n’s, “I’m just going to get ready for the day love,” and off she went upstairs. The boys getting on with their day, and Pol following suit.

Y/n sat collecting her thoughts while trying to tell herself to face her ex lover, who she was still so deeply in love with. She tapped on the door slightly, opening it before opening it, “hi”, seeing his eyes flutter onto her shot tingles throughout her body, his eyes quickly looking away

“You can start tomorrow if you wish, I need a few papers signed and sent tomorrow. I can get your contract drawn up tonight.” He spoke, his eyes still not lifting from the paper in front of him.

“Yes, that’s fine 8am?”

“8.45, shop doesn’t open until 9. And there are others to set it up, that’s not your job.”

Nodding, “I heard you have a new woman.”

At this point he did look up at her, “I heard you had plenty men in London,”

She laughed slightly, nodding before heading to the door, “none were ever a patch on you,” closing the door, leaving a smirk on Thomas Shelbys face.

The following day came around, as y/n got ready for the day. Putting on a formal black tightly fitted dress, flats and pin curled hair. A slight tint of red lippy, remembering it used to be Tom’s favourite. Assuming Tommy wouldn’t be at the shop at this time, she took a whiskey with her placing it on the desk infront of Tommy’s office. The place was silent, despite there being other employees now starting to arrive, something calming about the place, almost the calm before the storm, she thought.

The hour was now around ten thirty, and there was still no sign of Tommy. She had already finished the papers he had left for her on her desk. It wasn’t the usual small Heath lady, she was educated, and to a very high level. y/n was sat twiddling her thumbs, awaiting Tommy’s arrival to get other things done.

“Y/n. My office please,” his voice low, as he stood behind her. She stood up quickly, following him into the private room.

“There’s your contract, if you wish to have a read over it. I see you’ve finished the work I gave given you for the day.”

Y/n took the contract into her hands, scanning for any mistakes or anything to question. But he actually was paying her nearly double the rate of other staff, and just over that the London rate was, “you’ve done your research eh. More than London rates, impressive. The peaky’s are stepping up in the world” Y/n smiled at him, as she placed the documents on the desk, picking up his pen, and signing it. Y/n Y/l/n. Followed with today’s date. That was now it, she was a Shelby Co Ltd employee.

...

The days turned into weeks, spending time with tommy while no one else was looking was becoming a regular thing. She now had her own place, just doors down from the shop. He would regularly call her into the office, and discuss things that he would usually never utter a word about. It had always been that way with them, since they were little, he would confine in her, telling her all the issue and problems he was facing, both in his mind and with others. But it was also coming to her attention that he was still seeing Grace.

Later on in the day, the clock chimes 11pm, as y/n sat listening to the music that takes her back to a child, while sipping a whiskey. The knock of her front door bringing her out of her daydream, she picked up her handgun that she kept on her at all times. Growing up with The Shelby’s, she had to protect herself in someway. She kept it behind her, out of view for anyone who was in front of her, slowly creeping up to answer the door. She swung it open, gun clocked and pointed directly in the face of Thomas Shelby. Not wasted, but defiantly had a few.

“Ah, can never change a Shelby girl eh” He spoke, laughing slightly as she lowered the gun and he stepped inside. 

“Although, I’ve never been a Shelby girl, have I Tom?”

“Depends who you ask.”

She sighed, stepping in to the fire lit living room, “Drink?”

He nodded in response, and y/n began to pour him a whiskey, topping up hers and handing a full glass over to him. “Why are you here?”

He stepped over to her, the closest they had been together since before she left for London. He placed a hand on her back, pulling her head into touch his, their foreheads touching. The sensation ran through her body like the first time they had ever touched. He placed his hand on around the back of her neck, pulling her into him, his lips crashing onto hers. Their tongues intertwining with each others as the kiss started to deepen.  Y/n reached for his jacket, pulling it off his back, before making her way on to unbuttoning his shirt. Tommy pulled the bottom of her nightdress up, y/n only allowing the kiss to be broken to allow it to come over her head. 

Their lips syncing with each other once again as tommy took his now unbuttoned shirt off, moving onto unbuckling his trousers revealing his already hard length. He began to push her back onto the couch, untangling her lace thongs from around her legs. His fingers trailing over her already wet pussy, “Do it” y/n whispered as she pulled his face back up to kiss hers. 

He didn't even wait as he shoved his length into her. Their bodies rocked in sync together, “Tommy...” Y/n moaned, her fingers trailing down his shirtless torso. The stars were starting to align, the room was warm, full of love. It felt as though it was five minutes but in reality it was around fifteen all in.

Their breath shortened as y/n’s back started to arch as she came close to climax, “cum for me”. He spoke, looking at her directly in the eyes as he rocked her world. The love, chemistry, love and lust, all so very present just as it was back how they were before. Both of them moaning in pleasure, as they both came at the same time. The deep breaths and steamy windows showing the passion that had just unfolded. 

::::::::::::::::::::

It was a Friday evening, a week following the night of sin that taken place between Tommy and Y/n. They had still had the talks in private in the office, and on another occasion she was fucked bent over his desk after closing time. Y/n wasn't one to hide her feelings, it would always be present on her face so when it came to facing Grace in the Garrison, it wasn't hard to tell how y/n’s feelings were over her.  

Pol chuckled softly, clocking the glare Grace was on the opposite end of, “If looks could kill” Ada joining in on the hilarity. 

“She would've been killed 8 times over” Y/n replied, turning back to face the women. Whiskey in hand. 

“Feelings still there for him then?” Ada asked. 

“No, I wouldnt say so” y/n lied. 

“Cant lie to a gypsy woman love” Pol laughed, y/n begining to laugh with her when the doors open to reveal Tommy and his two bothers. Tommy’s icy blue eyes scanning the room, a slight smile shooting over to Y/n before approching the bar where Grace was, where he stood there for a good twenty minutes chatting away to her. 

“I cant take this anymore.” y/n looked over to Ada, who was rising her eyebrow while taking a sip of her drink. She was fairly close to them, and y/n being y/n liked to have a slight stir up now and again. She stood up, smile showing on her face as Pol and Ada laughed, watching her approach them both. 

“So, hows your little fling going?” she spok loud enough that Pol, Ada, Arthur and John could hear her. 

“Y/n” Tommy warned. 

“Who are you?” Grace questioned. 

“Y/N,” she responded, leaning herself against the bar, “The woman he has fucked behind your back multiple times this week.”

Pol snorted, almost chocking on her drink, “ I fucking knew it. Gypsy senses never lie.” 

“To be honest with you Grace, you had absolutely no chance when Y/N came back” Ada added. 

At this point, Tommy had moved y/n away from the bar, into the small room, “what are you doing?”

“You cant take the piss out of me, fucking me but then fucking her thinking youll get away with it.” she was pissed, and he could see it in her face. They had never spoke on their feelings toward each other. Everyone knew that it was always each other but there was nothing that compared to them, they always seemed to go back.

“I have always loved you but you left to go to London, I had people follow you. I knew what you were up to so I assumed you would stay down there, I assumed you had moved on.” He spoke, almost showing vulnerability.

“Oh I know. I can remember faces Tom. I think you forget I can see right through you,” she seethed, through her teeth, “what are you going to do about this?”

Tommy cupped her face, pulling her into kiss her.

“I love you.” He mumbled, feeling her smile into their kiss.

“I love you Tom,”

[shurisneakers]

shut in [11]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, anxiety, ptsd, abuse

Word count: 2.7k

A/N: just to clarify, there are 14 chapters and an epilogue!! also you guys are so nice, thank you for letting me know what you think about this <333</p>

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

The wait was taking a toll. It was clawing at you from the inside, and paired with the occasional flare your anxiety gave, everyday was like spending time in an hourglass that was steadily filling up. 

Sam helped; making sure the both of you ate after spending hours planning out and revising every detail, introducing you to the world when you spent too long indoors. 

The constant rap of your finger against the table and pen tucked behind your ear was the position you found yourself in more often than not. Different scenarios listed themselves on a sheet of paper so you could go through the process of elimination, sorting each loophole out with proper backup. 

Going to New York, 3rd floor of 32nd Street, only cash-

“I’m goin’ on a run.” Sam poked his head in from the doorway to the kitchen. “I’ll be back before Ransone calls.”

“What?” you mumble, not paying attention. You scratched out another implausible scenario, leaving you with many more to go. Everything had to be perfect.

“Going out. Be back soon,” he repeated. 

It still took a minute to register but you found yourself shaking your head once it did. “No, don’t.”

“Why?” he straightened up, no longer leaning on the wall. “Something wrong?”

“It’s not safe.” 

“I checked the cameras. No one’s out there,” he sounded confident but you couldn’t shake the feeling of skepticism around the situation that was beginning to return to you. “I’ll be careful.”

“You could be careful by not going.” You shouldn’t have to explain this to him. “It’s not safe.”

“Nothing’s changed yet-”

“They have.” You whip around to look at him. “Things are different now. We don’t know what’s out there.”

You both know that he had already been seen once. Who knew how many people were waiting forty feet away from the house? Risking his life for a jog was ridiculous.

“I can handle a 20 minute run,” he challenged. “I’m not even going that far.”

“You’re being reckless.” You could see the rebellious streak he had warned you of before making an entrance. Though you found his spontaneity endearing, the rashness that accompanied it you weren’t fond of.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, Sam,” you exclaimed. “We can’t fuck up the plan with you dying.”

He looks at you with his head tilted and annoyance on his face. A wave of tense silence washes over the both of you and only then do you realise it’s the closest thing you've had to an actual argument before.

“Is that really what this is about? The plan?” he questioned, arms crossed over his chest.

You hesitated.

“What else would it be about?” You know he saw it, the brief moment you took before you answered.

“I’m going for a run,” he said decisively. It stung more than it should have. “But I’m not going far. I’ll circle the house.”

That eased it, somewhat. You would prefer if he didn’t at all, but you were at peace with the compromise. A middle ground. 

You nodded, looking away from him. He left soon after, but seeing him run past the window every now and then made you feel better. 

Your mind replayed what he implied. You knew what he was saying, you weren’t completely dense. But you would never let emotions get in the way of work.

It had never worked out well for you before, not while you were still stuck with the organization. Like always, you could feel the familiar ache build in your chest, faces you prayed to forget flashing in your mind. 

You exhaled, forcing yourself to not relive it again. You were thinking an awful lot about it for someone who supposedly didn’t care about it.

Stupid Sam with his stupid cute face and stupid good heart. Fuck him.

____

“Y/N.”

“Ransone.” 

You nodded at Sam who was standing beside you with a glass of water in his hand, leaning his body weight on the table.

“Wilson there with you?”

“No, he isn’t.” Lying to him had become a habit by now, even though you were well acquainted with the consequences of doing so. “What’s the update?”

“We think we found them,” Ransone reported.

“Found who?”

“The people who shot at you.” 

Your body tensed.

“Who is it?” you asked slowly, peering at Sam through the corner of your eye.

“Serpentine,” he said coolly. Sam scoffed, taking a small walk in circles to calm himself down. “Trying to establish themselves at the top again. Went for one of you but we don’t know which, found both of ya instead. Killed Pierce then waited for you to show up.” 

Your eyebrows quirked up. You could see the muscles in Sam’s jaw tighten.

“How’d you find out?” You place your hand on his, urging him to calm down. He visibly softened, closing his eyes and letting out a silent exhale before nodding for you to continue.

“People talk. You know that Y/N,” Ransone sounded bitter.

“Not personally, no,” you mumbled. 

“Well, they do.” The way his tone shifted back to normal like the conversation you just shared didn’t happen almost gave you whiplash. “That’s all on our end. What’s happening there?”

“Nothing. No updates.”

“Y’know, I’m surprised you haven’t killed him yet,” Ransone commented. “He tends to get… mouthy.”

“I don’t see him much,” you lied blatantly, ignoring the insult to Sam even though you wanted to retort. 

“That’s a good thing. Can’t have you getting attached now, can we?” 

You barely looked at Sam, only zeroed in on the fact that his thumb was absentmindedly tracing circles onto your skin while he paid attention to what Ransone was saying.

“I’m not.”

“I’m sure you’re getting sick of him,” Ransone chided, pushing this conversation far longer than you wanted him to. “After this I’ll make sure you never have to see him again, don’t worry.”

“Why?” Your eyebrows knitted together. You wondered if you responded too quickly.

“I’ll have him stationed somewhere else. Away from you at all times. Won’t have to interact with him again.” He was doing it again. Ruining any fucking form of a relationship you could have. “You can thank me later.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you bit back. He knew what he was doing. He was drawing it out of you.

“Well I thought you’d be more grateful consideri- oh,” he stopped abruptly. “Unless you’re already attached to him.”

You pulled your hand away from Sam who only looked concerned about where this conversation was heading. The sudden chill that took its place didn’t make you feel any better.

“Oh, Buttercup,” he laughed pitifully. “You know it would never work. Don’t you remember all the others?”

You didn’t say anything. Only folded your arms together and forced yourself not to go down the path he was trying to drag you to. If you hung up now he’d only take it as a confirmation. 

“You two shouldn’t have been friends in the first place. Your lives would have never intersected if this didn’t go wrong.” You hated how he was pointing out things you had overanalyzed time and time again. 

You hesitated for a second, forgetting the fact that you knew he was preying on you on purpose. 

Because these were thought you’d already had. Thoughts of whether you were growing on him only because you were stuck together. Of course if he was forced to co-inhabit a safehouse for this long with anyone he’d like them. 

And as much as you despised to even think it, Ransone was right. How would it even work once you got out? 

It couldn’t. 

And you wouldn’t let yourself even consider the possibility that it might because it was just wishful thinking at best. The line between friendship and something more were merging together so fast, you weren’t even sure they existed anymore. 

“He doesn’t care about you, Y/N. I’m sure he’s charmed his way into making you think you’re important to him, but you’re not,” he sounded sympathetic, almost like he was patronizing you. “You’re just his way out of there, honey.”

Sam opened his mouth, ready to launch into a tirade. You held up a finger to silence him, praying that he wouldn’t do something stupid. You couldn’t lose the only communication you had with Ransone over this.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way-” What a truckload of horseshit. 

“I’ll send you my location,” you broke in, words faltering. “Just have someone come get me.”

“If that’s what you want.” You could tell that he was barely hiding the joy he had gotten out of completely fucking with you.

“Don’t look for me directly. I’ll come to you. Just have someone ready to bring me back.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Sam. You had too much going through your head at the moment, things that had specifically to do with him.

“Are you sure? Someone can be at your doorstep within an hour, you know that.”

“I need time to sort some things out. I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

“As you wish.” You wanted to smack him.

“Bye,” you say shortly, trying to wrap it up.

“Y/N,” he cut in before you could end the conversation. You wait for him to continue, not saying a word. “I’m sorry you had to hear it from me. I just didn’t want you to get hurt.”

You roll your eyes and hang up, not letting him get another word in. The minute you got a second to breathe, everything he said began crawling its way back into your head. 

“What the hell was that?” Sam fumed.  

“I don’t know.” It was the truth.

“That wasn’t a part of the plan.” You want to tell him to calm down because you had never seen him this infuriated before. 

“I don’t know,” you repeated, feeling more drained by the second. You fucked up by talking to him for so long, you knew it. 

“That sick, abusive piece of shit,” he continued furiously, but you only looked down, tuning out his droning. 

It was fucking humiliating to think that you could have a normal life. It just wasn’t possible. You were in too deep. Staying here with Sam only confused you, made you long for things that weren’t attainable. 

“He’s right,” you utter quietly, effectively shutting him up.

He stared at you incredulously. “What?” 

“He’s right.” You pushed yourself away from where you’re leaning on the table.

“About what?” 

“You know what, Sam.” 

“No, I don’t,” he retorted, “He said a lot of shit so I’m going to need you to specify.” 

“I’m going to take a nap.” Your head was spinning; you didn't know how to tell him. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Don’t run away from this conversation,” he sounded annoyed, rightfully so. “Tell me what he’s right about so we can talk this out.”

“About this,” you relented, spinning around to look at him. “Us.”

“He was just trying to get into your head, Y/N, like he always does,” Sam exclaimed, letting his arms fall beside him.

“This could never work, Sam. We’re friends because we see each other every single day, constantly.” You gestured back and forth between the both of you. “What happens once we get out? When you’re not stuck with me twenty-four-seven?”

He knew what happens to people when they get too close within the organization; he had first hand experience with Riley. They never survived long enough to tell the story themselves. They were ripped away from you, time and time again. It was so tiring to start all over from the beginning, every single time and for nothing. 

You didn’t want it to happen again, not to him. You just wished he’d believe the other anxieties you deemed less important than this, and dropped the topic. Another death is not something you’d be able to handle. 

“We deserve a bit more credit than that, I think,” he said defensively, taking a step toward you. “If our relationship was built solely on proximity then it wouldn’t affect you this much. We’re beyond that.”

“Well, what if we’re not? What if we realise we only tolerated each other because we didn’t have a choice?” you fired back, crossing your arms. 

“Speak for yourself,” he huffed. “I would never let that dictate my choice.”

He sounded so confident, so assured that it wasn’t circumstantial. How could he be so sure?

“I don’t get you,” you whispered. “I can’t figure you out.”

“What don’t you get?” He looked like he was on the verge of pleading. He stopped right in front of you, a temporary barricade between you and the hallway. 

“Why you treat me the way you do.” 

He looks taken aback for a second. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you in any-”

“No,” you interrupt him, realising that it didn't sound the way you wanted it to. “Why you’re so… good. To me.”

He doesn’t say anything in return and you can’t even look at him, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

You had tried for so long to figure out what his motives were. Every time he did things that went beyond common courtesy, your gut would scream at you to find a hidden motive. No one was ever this nice to you unless they were put up to it. You’d had enough experience to realise this.

When you couldn’t find anything it only confused you more. You had shoved it away a while ago after he never displayed any other reason. You let yourself believe it for once.

But it was back; the incessant need to know everything. It was gnawing at you along with everything else because Ransone knew exactly what buttons to push. There had to be something. 

“Y/N,” he called out softly. You felt his hands on your shoulders, urging you to look at him. 

“It’s stupid,” you murmur, trying to ignore the fluttering in your heart. 

“It’s not. And I need you to look at me when I say this,” he says slowly, drawing your attention to his face. “I care about you. More than you think I do. You’re not some means to an end. He’s wrong and I need you to believe me on that.”

He waits for it to set in. You get why he wanted you to look at him now. There wasn’t an inkling of deceit in what he was saying. You had seen him lie, seen him try to bluff his way out of a petty situation. It wasn’t this. 

He cared about you because he wanted to. Not because he was forced to; whether it was because you lived together, or because of something else. 

There was so much more you wanted to ask him but nothing got past your throat. It was too heavy. You needed help.

There was barely any distance between the both of you. You could feel his breath, skin tingling from where he was holding you. 

You unconsciously move in, drifting towards the warmth he radiated. Your hands find a place on his sturdy chest, and you let his heartbeat tether you. 

His eyes close when you lean your forehead against his, forcing himself to control his breathing that was threatening to get away from him.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, forehead pressed against his, trying to make your peace with what he said. 

You want to kiss him, much stronger than the last time you had the same thought. Just to see what it’d be like. 

You instead pull away gently. Your hands still rest on his chest. You need time to figure out where your head's at.

“I trust you.” Is all you can say, not tearing your eyes away from him. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger there for a second and you revel in the flips your stomach does. “I trust you.”

But for now, maybe you can be content with where you are.

Next part

[baku-bowl]

broke 1,000 followers (the fuck? I don't even make content people), so decided to write up a list of some (but not all, I'll make other lists later) of my favorite Bakugou-centric fic recs. my tastes run towards hurt/comfort, as you'll probably figure from the list. if there are some Baku-centric fics that you've enjoyed that aren't on here, please add them - this is definitely not a complete list of the ones I've read and love, but I'm always up for some recs. <3

fair warning, most of these are wips.

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

Social Media 101 by WindsChild8178

Part 1: Survival Guide to Fucking Up

[Solely Bakugou’s point of view]

Katsuki Bakugou doesn’t have a gentle bone in his body. He’s aggressive in everything he does and does everything with 100% of his heart in it. After the Sport’s Festival, Katsuki starts to get harassed by strangers for his unheroic demeanor. It starts with letters but it doesn’t end there. The moment Katsuki realizes the harassment has entered dangerous territory and he needs to tell someone, it’s already too late.

Part 2: Post Traumatic Life Disorder

[Point of View opens up to Bakugou, teachers and classmates]

When the Dorms are finally built, everyone is settling in well, but things become tense as people begin to realize something isn’t right with the recently rescued Bakugou.

[Cannon compliant right up to after the License Exam]

hands down my favorite fic in the fandom right now. it’s the one that converted me into a Bakugou lover. if you have any fondness for Bakugou as a character then it’s likely you’ve read this one already, but if not, I can’t recommend it enough. incredibly depressing, but with the hope that comfort is coming soon in the next few chapters.

The Kids Will Be Alright, Eventually by NotWithThatAttitude

Bakugou is spiraling in the aftermath of Kamino and his friends are starting to notice. He's stubborn, aggressively independent, and less than willing to dig into his past, but after a breakdown that ends with a painful secret revealed, he starts to get help.

Whether he likes it or not.

Meanwhile, a new kind of villain threatens an uneasy peace following the loss of Allmight. Whispers build as a new narrative slowly takes shape:

Hero society needs to change.

Feat. Therapy, Dadzawa, best boy Kirishima, dysfunctional families, healing, growing up, and the mortifying ordeal of being known

guys.. the medical accuracy of this fic is just... *chef’s kiss*

I rarely see mental health genuinely handled well in fics, but this one goes above and beyond. kudos to the author for doing such excellent research into psychology, and making the application of it in here not-boring. also, while this one does have abusive!Mitsuki, it’s done in a way that feels realistic, and how I usually will see it occur in real life, rather than just for the hurt/comfort feels.

fair warning, the fic can be incredibly triggering (themes of severe depression, PTSD, panic attacks, rape survival, abuse survival, suicidal ideation/attempted suicide, among other things), so be safe and heed the tw’s if you decide to read. legitimately one of my Top Favorite fics in this fandom.

Lock and Key by autochorystalize

Bakugou made a choked, gravelly noise before croaking out a low, “You can’t be serious.” His fingers ached to blow up everything in the room.

“I’m sorry, young man, but you can’t change reality! This sometimes happens.” Recovery Girl clicked through his file, adding a new symbol in a previously empty slot.

- - -

A pair of eyes discreetly locked on to an explosive blond plowing his way forward, parting people in his path. He recognized the kid, of course. Anyone in the underbelly of society would recognize him, after the publicity of both UA’s Sports Festival and the events leading up to All Might’s fall. The uniform he was wearing cast away any doubts about the young man’s identity.

It was a bit of a surprise that the little firecracker presented as an omega.

- - - - - - - - -

Or: there are certain types of evil that seemed too distant, archaic violations and perversions that would never actually threaten bright-eyed heroes-in-training in the clean, modern world...but sometimes those evils aren't as distant as one might think.

remember when I said that I love a/b/o fics that are full of plot and world-building and gender-induced tension? that’s this one. the OC’s are fabulous and you love to hate ‘em. also, it’s the fic that made me fall head-over-heels for the TodoBaku dynamic, so it’s got a special place in my cold, dead heart. 

be warned, there are rather explicit non-con scenes between an adult (OC) and a minor (Bakugou) in this one, but the author warns for them in advance, and you could likely skip those parts without missing too much if you need to.

Never and Always, Eventually by Wawa_Boonliang

"Katsuki can remember the exact moment that he and Deku…that he and Midoriya Izuku became friends. He can also remember the moment he and Izuku became fierce rivals, a time when they were almost enemies.

However, what he remembers most clearly about their relationship is the moment that they moved passed rivals and became something more close than mere friends. Something more like brotherhood, something forged in fire and secured in the middle of a battlefield or in the midst of natural disaster where the number of the dead was climbing ever higher. And then it was torn from him."

Katsuki is given a second chance. A chance to save everyone. A chance to change everything.

But should he?

y’all. I’m a slutty, slutty whore for time travel fics. a time travel fic with autistic!coded Bakugou? it was love at first read.

Lessons Learned by Sif (Rosae)

Rather than the police station, Katsuki's friends bring him to a hospital after rescuing him from the villains. His wounds were minor, but it didn't make having them treated any less important. As it would so happen, Best Jeanist was also brought to this hospital after the attack.

Sometimes, small choices have a big impact on how a story plays out.

classic Bakugou hurt/comfort. this fic opened me up to the potential that could be a genuinely good Best Jeanist & Katsuki mentor-mentee relationship, and I kind of dig it and search ravenously for it in other fics now. I’m also a huge fan of the behind-the-scences Pro Hero Chat group.

Slope by sunfleurmoon

“I’m not a hero. Or a good person,” Katsuki says, giving Aizawa a pointed look, “So leave me alone. I don’t care about the League or UA, or you—” The two years he’s been away have been fine, more than fine, fucking fantastic actually if you ignore the bi-monthly near-death experiences. He doesn’t need this place. He doesn’t miss this place.

And yet, longing, a childish desire to tear up, or maybe blow something to bits, they all twist in his chest like a band of traitors regardless. “—I just want to go home.”

Or: the one where Katsuki and Izuku fail the first term exam, Aizawa discovers their pasts, and Katsuki is booted from UA. Featuring questionable descriptions of villain organizations, a slightly illegal moving shop, and your favorite emotionally constipated badass in distress with a newly discovered penchant for collecting strays.

paaaaaaiiiiiiiin. the hurt is ALIVE in this one. lots of tortured, angsty exploding child goodness. the OC’s are excellently crafted, and the Bakugou & Eri relationship? beautiful. definitely deserves a read.

Ground Zero by WindsChild8178

In the wake of Kamino, Katsuki is tested more than anyone could imagine. Bound by a villain’s quirk to keep his silence or die, he lives each day knowing it might very well be his last. He continues to work towards becoming a hero, keeping his secret from his classmates and teachers, focusing on making it through each day and trying not to allow the panic or depression to get the best of him. When the villain finally corners him with demands in exchange for his life, there is really only one answer Katsuki Bakugou can give.

honestly don't know which I want updated more - social media 101 or ground zero. this author's fics are amazing, and I really wasn't expecting the twist in this one. can't wait for windschild to come back to this fic some day.

The Defect by LadyGreenFrisbee

"Why do you want to win the Sports Festival so badly?" 

Because I want to see if the defect could usurp the masterpiece.

(In which Endeavor holds a terrible secret and Bakugo has to suffer since childhood for it.)

a great concept, and I adore the shouto and Katsuki sibling interaction here. hoping the author will come back to this one some day.

A Name That You'll Remember by Heronfem

Kirishima Eijirou is a Hero. Bakugou Katsuki... is not. Trapped in his toxic workplace and increasingly desperate to get out, Red Riot's days are only brightened by a new villain known as Caution, who's not exactly villainous and keeps accidentally doing good deeds. But when a real villain appears, a threat from the past that demands that Red Riot make the ultimate sacrifice to keep the public safe, Bakugou is forced into saving the day... and eventually, Red Riot himself.

sob story good guy villains are my weakness, this fic is a gem, and I'd kill for the sequel.

Our Hero by AnonymousTwit

He felt everything jerk to the side and throw his balance off before he saw anything, dust clouding his vision and irritating his lungs as the earth itself opened up to swallow them whole. For a single moment, in a millisecond's time, his wild eyes locked with Raccoon Eyes', hers alight with fear and adrenaline-fueled desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that it was the first time she'd looked at him with something other than long-deserved hatred in days.

And then he was free falling.

Or

After a particularly nasty encounter between childhood friends, the class learns about Bakugou and Midoriya's dark history and practically ostracizes Bakugou while trying to defend Midoriya. An earthquake during an outing has all sides regretting their decisions.

just fucking tear apart my self-sacrificing faves in every way imaginable while their loved ones watch on in terror. 💖🥰💖 this one is heavy on the Bakusquad and Class-1A feels, and VERY heavy on the Mina & Bakugou relationship (platonic).

Running back the tape, watching it replay by Faralyne

For someone ripped from their time, ripped from the few but strong relationships built by time and personal development, by self-reflection and swallowed pride, ripped from the one thing that made him feel worthwhile and needed and put-together, and forced to forge everything over again—Katsuki thinks he is handling it pretty fucking well.

Or

A villain’s quirk sends a 29-year-old Bakugou back in time to his middle school days.

am I a sucker for time travel? yes. am I a sucker for vigilante!bakugou? also yes. am I a sucker for this fic? literally refreshing the page in wait for an update as we speak.

Liability by sandelf

After All-Might dies rescuing Bakugou from the League, Bakugou is determined to prove it wasn't for nothing.

But the world is against him, his grief is overwhelming, and his stability is splitting at the edges.

very self-indulgent bakugou angst. tw for harassment, severe depression, and suicidality.

Special Mentions:

How To Win The Sport Festival: A Step By Step Guide by mhwright

Short re-imagining of the Sports Festival Arc if Shinso had planned a little better and worked a little harder to win the Sports Festival and if the match-ups had been slightly different. Self-indulgent fic of watching him succeed.

this is completely Shinsou-centric, not Bakugou-centric, but I love and adore it and am dying for a sequel. Shinsou is Best Boy here and you'll be rooting for him the whole time.

[hotpinkhoshi]

kiss it better | five

pairing: mark tuan x reader

genre: angst, eventual smut, brother’s best friend au (sort of)

warnings: tw for death, death of a parent, reference to drug addiction

word count: 4.5k

summary: you were off limits for more reasons than mark could count. but everything changed for him the day you walked into his tattoo shop with those big innocent eyes and a laugh like his favorite song. he couldn’t. he wouldn’t. and yet…

a/n: hi babies thank you for your patience, i know it’s been many many months since i’ve updated! the last time i posted for kib was all the way back in may, which is crazy, i know. but life has been weird and it’s been difficult for me to find the motivation to write. it’s slowly coming back for me and i’m so glad you guys have stuck around with me even if i haven’t been consistent. i’m more grateful than you know!

✩ index here ✩

“She did what?” Dahyun asked, her bite of gimbap nearly falling right out of her mouth. 

Youngjae threw his head back and broke into laughter entirely at Mark’s expense. 

Mark ran his tongue over his teeth and refused to look up at his friends, focusing awfully hard on the sketch he’d been working on in between appointments. He quickly realized that they had absolutely no sympathy for him. 

“Yeah.” 

It had been two weeks already since that night, and Mark was just now feeling comfortable enough to spill what had happened after he took you home. He liked to take his own time to process his thoughts before he revealed them to others, and quite frankly, he hadn’t even wanted to tell anyone. But he was starting to think maybe he needed an outside perspective. 

“She has guts,” Youngjae said, after finally pulling himself upright in his chair. “Was it good?” 

“Dude,” Mark warned, far from amused. 

Dahyun cut in. “It’s a good enough question. From what I’ve seen, you guys have some intense sexual tension. If the kiss was hot, maybe it’s worth exploring.” 

“We don’t have sexual tension,” Mark defended. 

Youngjae snorted. 

“Sure. But, let’s say if you did, and the kiss was good…” Dahyun trailed off, wiggling her eyebrows. 

Groaning, Mark tapped the end of his pencil against the desk. He glanced up at the wall, his eyes naturally drawn to the photo of your shoulder, of the tattoo he’d designed and permanently inked onto your skin. It wasn’t the only photo he had pinned up of his previous work, but it was the one he looked at the most. 

“She’s a kid,” he said, little to no conviction in his voice. 

But you weren’t a kid. Mark knew in every way, you were an adult. Even mentally, emotionally, you seemed more mature than he felt most days. Packing up your belongings because you refused to live a life you weren’t satisfied with? He couldn’t imagine anything more grown up than that.

“Mark,” Youngjae’s tone was firm, serious this time. “It’s not the worst thing in the world if you have chemistry with someone. I know it may not be the most convenient girl for you, but… you’ve been by yourself for a long time. You can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.” 

He hadn’t thought he was lonely until you came into his life. He had been fine, so fine, living on his own. Waking up alone, eating dinner alone, focusing on his work and living one day to the next. 

But now, he looked forward to the sound of your keys in the door when you got home from your evening shift. He bought your favorite brand of orange juice instead of his. He didn’t mind watching outlandish and obviously fake reality shows if it meant that he got to hear your commentary along with it. More than anything, he’d gotten used to the way you made him feel. In the simplest of terms, he was happy. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Mark said. “I already fucked it up.”

Dahyun narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?” 

He rubbed some of the tension out of his forehead, relaying the conversation he’d had with Taehyung that night to his friends. The exchange wasn’t longer than a few minutes, but it was long enough for Mark to potentially ruin everything you’d built for yourself in the last couple of months. 

“I didn’t tell him everything - I couldn’t do that. But I told him I’d seen her in the city, that I thought maybe she worked in one of the restaurants near the shop…” A knot of guilt coiled in his stomach. “Fuck.” 

He’d just wanted to do the right thing. You were young, you couldn’t see that your parents cared about you. Taehyung cared about you. They deserved to know where you were, especially after everything they had done for him. He could at least point them in the right direction. 

“Well, shit,” Youngjae offered, a sympathetic frown on his face. 

“I fucked her over, and I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since. We’ve just avoided each other for the last two weeks and I-” Mark heaved a breath, leaning back in his chair. “I hate it.” 

He missed you. Even if he couldn’t say it out loud.

“I have an idea,” Dahyun said, her whole body perking up. “Don’t look at me like that, sometimes I have good ideas. Why don’t you invite her along for Yugyeom’s camping trip?”

“You mean the couple thing?” 

Dahyun sighed. “It’s not a couple thing. It’s just… everyone there is part of a couple. Anyway, it might be a good way to make things less awkward.” 

Mark blinked a few times, waiting for Dahyun to say ‘just kidding’ because it was an absolutely ridiculous idea. “What? How would that make things any less awkward?” 

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s a great opportunity to break the tension. If you know what I mean.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Mark scowled. 

You spent your entire shift thinking about Mark. Thinking about how you had completely messed up your relationship, and trying to figure out how to fix it all. It had been a stupid, drunken mistake, and you would take it back in a heartbeat if you could. 

The past two weeks had been torture, tiptoeing around and trying your hardest to avoid him. You’d picked up extra shifts almost every day, figuring that if you were working, at least you didn’t have to pretend like everything was normal. 

All you wanted was to come home, curl up on the couch with Milo and watch your favorite ridiculous TV shows while Mark snickered next to you, entertained by the disgustingly wealthy families on the screen no matter how much he pretended to hate it. You wanted to be able to lean into him, feel the body heat radiating off of him when his shoulder brushed yours. 

You missed Mark. Even if you couldn’t say it out loud. 

After much debating, you decided that the best way to apologize started with food. And you owed him, anyway, after he opened his home to you and let you stay there free of charge. A dinner was the least you could do. 

You could tell once you walked into Paradise Tattoo just before closing time that Mark hadn’t been expecting you in the slightest. He was at the desk, going over papers with Dahyun, when the bell dinged to signal your entrance. 

In his ripped jeans and muscle tee, all of his tattoos were on display for you, even the large quote he had inked onto his ribcage. You gulped and shoved your feelings down. That would only make things worse. 

“Hi,” you said, greeting both Mark and Dahyun. 

“Hey.” Mark scratched his head and straightened his posture. “What are you doing here?” 

“Well,” you started, wringing your hands in front of you. “I wanted to see if you wanted to get dinner? On me. I owe you, anyway.” 

Dahyun piped up, a mischievous smirk on her lips, “That’s a great idea. Mark was just talking about how hungry he was.

Mark cleared his throat and shot his co-worker what looked suspiciously like a glare. “No, I’m fine. You really don’t have to-” 

“Come on,” you said, hiding a smile. “How about burgers? There’s a good place around the corner. It won’t kill you to let me pay, will it?” 

You could see Mark weigh his options as he chewed his lip. Either end up hungry, settling for some quick frozen food later on, or bite the bullet and let you pay for his dinner. You knew it would hurt his pride to do so, but you wouldn’t back down. It was more than just the free room and board that you wanted to make up for. 

“Alright,” he finally agreed. “Let me grab my stuff.” 

It only took less than ten minutes for you to walk down to the burger place, but it felt like an hour as awkward silence hung around the two of you. It wasn’t until you were both seated at a corner booth inside the restaurant that you finally spoke up. 

“Listen, Mark,” you said, looking up from the packet of ketchup you’d been nervously squishing between your fingers. “About that night…” 

“No, you don’t-” Mark was quick to interrupt, but you held your hand up. 

“Just let me, okay?” You sighed. 

You’d rehearsed these words countless times in the bathroom mirror, and right now it felt like they were slipping right out of your fingers. Where were you supposed to start? With the kiss, straight away? Or getting so drunk that you’d needed to be taken care of in the first place?

“I’m just… really sorry. I was stupid to drink that much and it’s not your job to watch after me. I should be able to take care of myself.”

Mark stopped you again. “I didn’t mind taking care of you.” 

“But it’s not your job, Mark. I’m an adult, and you’re letting me stay with you and asking for nothing in return. The least I could do is make it easy on you.”

“Y/N, if you could have seen me at your age, you wouldn’t feel so bad. We all get drunk and stupid sometimes,” Mark said with a shrug. It almost relieved some of your guilt until you remembered the kiss in the bathroom. 

“Well...” You shook your head and looked back down at your hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him for this one. “I really shouldn’t have ki-” 

“Hi! My name’s Lana, I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you two something to drink while you look over the menus?”

A cheerful brunette appeared in front of you, a pen behind her ear and a wide grin plastered on her face. You glanced at Mark, then up at your waitress, not sure if you were grateful for the interruption or not. 

“Um, can I just have a water?” you asked, voice small and uncomfortable in your throat. 

“Same for me,” Mark agreed. 

“Perfect! Let me know if you have any questions about the menu!” 

You let out a long breath before you were able to look at Mark again. He was biting his cheek, his lips all twisted and holding back a laugh. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Her timing,” Mark got out, just as he let go of his laughter, throwing his head back. 

To your own surprise, you found yourself shaking with laughter as well. Either from Mark’s contagious laugh giggle or the simple ridiculousness of the situation. Here you were, in a burger restaurant, apologizing to your older brother’s best friend for kissing him while you were heavily intoxicated.

You covered your face with your hands to suppress your own laughter, letting your back slump against the cushions of the booth. It all came to you then, just how silly you’d been the last two weeks. 

“I am sorry, though,” you said, after you both settled down. 

Mark’s eyes glinted as he watched you from across the table, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “It’s alright. I mean it. Last time I was that drunk, I’m pretty sure I ran around the block in my underwear singing the Canadian national anthem.”

You giggled again at the mental image. “What? How did you even-”

“No idea. It’s like I was possessed by a drunk Canadian mischief demon.” 

It was strange to imagine Mark and Taehyung in their teen years, since you’d been so young at the time, you could barely remember anything from that time of your life. You remembered Taehyung wearing the same pair of purple skinny jeans for three months because a girl at school had told him she liked them. 

You remembered Taehyung letting you sit in the basement in your favorite cushioned chair while he and Mark played video games on the big screen. It had been your favorite place to read then, tuning out the rambunctious cries of defeat while you got lost in other worlds. 

“So we’re okay, then?” you asked, after Lana had come back to take your order and left once more. 

Mark nodded, a genuine smile on his lips. “We’re okay.” 

“Maybe it’s weird, but…” you began, staring down at the wrapped silverware on the table instead of looking Mark in the eye. “Even though I grew up seeing you as Taehyung’s friend, that feels like a lifetime ago. And now I just kind of see you as… my friend. Like somebody I can trust.” 

When you finally looked up at Mark, his expression was unreadable. His bottom lip was between his teeth, but his eyes looked somewhat uncomfortable. You worried for a second that you’d crossed a line. 

“I owe a lot to your family,” Mark said after another long moment passed. 

Even though you didn’t remember much about Mark from your childhood years, you knew his upbringing had been rough. His parents had been addicts, the kind that never should’ve been together, let alone bring a child into the world. 

You’d never met his mom, but your own mother had made enough snide comments about her after Mark had gone home for you to understand just what kind of person she was. 

“One of those low life, worthless drug addicts. Sleeping around with anyone that can help her out, if you know what I mean. Never should’ve been a mother.”

She had a funny way of showing her compassion sometimes. 

Taehyung brought him over once after school and your mother had gotten one look at his threadbare clothes and hollow cheeks and taken him in as her new project. At first, he ate dinner with your family almost every night, and then she started making Taehyung pass over his any extra clothes he’d gotten that didn’t fit properly or that he simply didn’t like.

Mark did owe a lot to your family. 

You didn’t know what to say. You’d been so young there was no way you could take credit for anything your parents had done for Mark, but still, you itched to comfort him. Even now, with the unsaid words lingering in the air, you sensed that he had never been able to fully open up to anybody. Though you didn’t deserve it, you wanted to be the first. 

“Your mom,” you found yourself saying. “Is she…?” 

Mark shook his head. “She’s gone. Passed away a couple years ago.” 

Your face fell. If anything, you had expected her to have taken off for good or maybe gotten into some trouble she couldn’t get herself out of, but you hadn’t expected her to be gone. 

“Oh, god, Mark. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

To your surprise, he only lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I hadn’t seen her in a long time before that. Maybe two, three years. Then my aunt showed up on my doorstep with a box of her things and told me she OD’d in a gas station parking lot a week before.” 

His voice wavered only slightly, but enough to tell you he cared more than he let on. You could only imagine how painful it would be to hear of your own mother’s passing a week after the fact. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. 

Mark shook his head. “Don’t be. It’s weird,” he said, tongue running over his lower lip as he paused. “I’d stopped seeing her as my mother so long ago that… I felt like I’d already mourned her death. Fuck, that sounds bad, doesn’t it?”

“No,” you answered as you reached across the table, fingers laying across the back of Mark’s hand. “It doesn’t. At all.”

A moment passed between the two of you. You caught Mark’s eyes glancing down at your hand resting on his skin, but he made no move to avoid your touch. 

“I never even went through her things. The box is just sitting at the back of my bedroom closet collecting dust.” 

“Do you want to go through her things?” you asked. 

Mark paused, chewing at the inside of his lip before he answered. “I don’t know.”

You nodded, somehow understanding exactly what he meant. Though you hadn’t gone through the same thing, you were familiar with avoiding a potentially painful and uncomfortable situation by simply pretending it didn’t exist. Hence why you had four unopened voicemails from your brother and parents. 

You found yourself stroking the back of Mark’s hand with your thumb. It didn’t feel wrong to touch him like this, even though maybe it should have. All you wanted was to bring him a shred of the comfort he had deserved to have for much longer than you’d known him. 

“Alrighty, and here we’ve got the bacon cheeseburger and sweet potato fries for the lady,” Lana exclaimed, immediately bursting your bubble as she returned to your table with your food balanced on a tray. You were quick to snatch your hand from Mark’s. “And a BBQ cheddar burger with curly fries for the handsome man.”

You didn’t miss the way Lana winked as she placed Mark’s food in front of him. This girl was not getting a generous tip from you, that was for sure. 

“I told you, after that depressing dinner conversation, we need to do something fun,” you told Mark as you carried your skincare basket out from the bathroom into the living room.

“And this is fun for who?” 

You threw him a playful glance and plopped down onto the floor in front of the couch on your knees, setting your basket on the cushion and sifting through it. 

“Both of us. Just trust me.” 

Catching the skeptic look on Mark’s face, you could only grin to yourself as you pulled out a tube of your favorite clay mask. He didn’t know just how relaxing a good face mask could be, but you were willing to show him. 

“I’ll even go first,” you told him. 

Mark lifted his feet to prop them up on the coffee table as Milo curled up like a tiny ball of cotton on his lap. You’d both changed out of your work clothes into comfy clothes, and you couldn’t help noticing how warm Mark looked in his white joggers and oversized black hoodie. You wouldn’t mind snuggling up into that space between his side and the couch cushion… 

You sighed and shook your head, attempting to clear the less-than-platonic thoughts from your mind. If you were going to make this friendship work, you would need to stop thinking about him like that. Immediately.

“Can I ask you something?” Mark said after a beat of silence as you popped open the cap to your mask. 

“Hm?” you asked, propping your personal sized makeup mirror on the couch so that you could see yourself while you applied your mask. 

“Yugyeom’s family has a yearly pass to this campground, and every year he does this weekend camping trip…” he trailed off for a moment and you forced yourself not to react, instead focusing on applying your charcoal mask to your cheeks. “This year, it somehow ended up as a couple thing, so Dahyun suggested I invited a friend along. So…” 

Lifting your eyes from your own reflection, you watched as Mark struggled to finish his thought. 

“So…” you said, helping him along. “Are you asking me to come with you?” 

Immediately, a neon flashing red alarm screeched in your mind. ‘This is a terrible idea! You must say no!’ it screamed.

“Only if you want to. I mean, it’s a cool place. Their lot is right by this swimming hole and there’s a fire pit, so we normally bring a ton of booze and cook our own food over the fire…” 

Mark ran his fingers through his deep red locks of hair, his nerves displayed clearly on his face. You weren’t sure why he was so nervous to ask you, but it came off as incredibly endearing. Despite the warnings blaring in your mind, you found yourself nodding. 

“Okay.” 

Mark looked at you then, his eyes finally locking on yours, and the corner of his lips lifted in a hopeful smile. “Really?”

You couldn’t help grinning as well. “Yeah. I mean, on one condition…”

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” you replied, holding up the mask tube and popping the cap back open. “You let me put this mask on you.”

“Aish,” Mark said and shook his head. “No way. Not worth it.”

“Oh, come on, you big baby!��� 

You stood from the floor and climbed onto the couch, crawling to his side and squeezing some of the mask onto your index and middle fingers. “It’s not that bad!”

“Get away from me!” Mark exclaimed with a laugh, dodging your fingers. Milo hopped up onto the arm of the couch, stomping his cute little paws a few times. 

“Just let me pamper you, Mark!” 

He let out another laugh, louder this time, trying to reach for the mask to steal from your grasp, but he wasn’t fast enough. You giggled, ducking to miss his hands as he grabbed for your wrists. 

Somehow, you found yourself straddling him, thighs resting on either side of Mark’s waist. 

“Real men wear face masks!” you exclaimed with a shout of victory as you finally managed to smear a good amount of the clay mask across Mark’s left cheek. 

“Oh, you little-” he replied, hands reaching for your sides underneath the long sleeved shirt you were wearing. He tickled your sides, a joyful laugh falling from his lips when you started squealing. 

Milo yapped a few times from the arm of the chair, presumably because he thought that you were hurting Mark or vice versa, but his protective barks only made you laugh harder. 

“Mark! Stop it!” 

You gasped for breath, wriggling on top of him and dropping the mask tube, fighting between giggling and trying to swat his hands away. 

“It’s what you deserve, you sneak,” he said, his hands still squeezing and tickling your sides, unknowingly drifting further up your shirt to your ribs. 

Twisting and turning, you finally managed to grab his wrists and yanked them from under your shirt. You held them firmly in between your bodies, even though he could have easily overpowered you. 

Your chest heaved up and down with the last of your giggles. Mark stared up at you, still smiling and out of breath. The air suddenly became thick as you held eye contact, your hands falling from his wrists to his chest. 

“Y/N,” Mark whispered. 

‘Danger! Danger!’ your mind yelled. 

Mark’s hands, now free from your hold, landed on your hips. You felt his thumbs slip under the hem of your shirt, stroking the bare skin of your stomach. Your heart pounded beneath your rib cage at his gentle touch. 

“Mark,” you said, intending on telling him to stop, but it quickly died in your throat. 

His chin tipped up, making you realize just how close you were to him now. You weren’t sure who had leaned in first, but only a few mere inches separated your lips from his now. If you only bent forward a bit, you could… 

It reminded you, all of the sudden, of the kiss in the bathroom. It had been quick, but long enough for you to slide your tongue past his lips. You remembered the shock to your system the moment you had felt the cold metal of a tongue piercing. 

“Y/N,” Mark said again. “Tell me to stop.”

His voice was quiet but you felt like you could read between the lines. He didn’t want to stop, and the only way he was going to stop was if you made it clear that you didn’t want this. 

But you did. You’d wanted it from the moment he ran his fingers over the tattoo he’d inked onto your skin one of those first nights, a soft ghost of a touch that made goosebumps form on every inch of your skin. 

You weren’t stupid, you knew that this was all wrong for a variety of reasons, the least of which being that he was your roommate. But that meant nothing to you compared to the way his hands felt on your skin.

Before you could open your mouth, tell him that you didn’t want him to stop, an 8-bit version of the Mario Kart theme blasted from somewhere behind you. You jumped, your heart skipping several beats from the surprise. 

Mark took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking a few times before he gently guided your hips to climb off of him. “Sorry, I should…”

The ringtone felt familiar but you couldn’t figure out why. Even as you watched Mark grab for his phone off the coffee table and immediately silence it, you wracked your brain to try and remember where you had heard that ringtone before. 

It was as if Taehyung had known, the moment that Mark quieted the little voice in his head telling him not to be so close to you and that this was wrong in so many ways, and finally accepted his feelings for you.  

Maybe he had a sixth sense. 

The moment that had passed between you then had been effectively ruined as soon as he was reminded of two things: you were his childhood best friend’s little sister, and he had already ruined your life even if you didn’t know it yet. 

But he’d been so close to giving in. You’d been on top of him, smiling in that innocently beautiful way that you did, your thighs caging in his hips. He hadn’t missed the fact that he could feel you with every inch of him, considering how he’d begged his body not to react, not to harden beneath you. Between the thin layers of his sweats and your sleep shorts, there was no way you wouldn’t notice. 

Later, after you’d grabbed a washcloth so you could both wipe the face mask off your faces and awkwardly watch TV for an hour before enough time could pass for you to realistically head off to bed, Mark listened to the voicemail Taehyung had left. 

“Hey man. I just wanted to let you know that uh, I’m going to try and head to the city and look for Y/N in a few weeks. If you see her again or have any idea where she might be, let me know. I really appreciate it, my mom’s been going crazy… anyway, maybe we can grab a drink or something once I’m in town. I’ll hit you up. Thanks again, Mark.”

Mark was glad he was in the privacy of his own bedroom when he listened to the message so you didn’t see the way he threw his phone down on the bed, muttering curse words to himself and trying to forget how heavenly you had felt on top of him. 

It was impossible. All he could think about was your skin under his fingertips, how your lips had been so soft and smooth and close to his, and how the weight of you on top of him had been enough to make him hard. 

His only option was to shut himself in the bathroom and crank the shower all the way to the coldest temperature that he could stand and pray that it would be enough to keep him from sneaking into your bedroom that night. 

[camslightstories]

Tolerate It - Part 12

Lena Luthor x reader, Kara Danvers x reader, Alex Danvers x reader. Baby Danvers. Female Reader. 

Notes: Hey guys! How are you all doing? Well its been a long time since I updated tolerate it and its because I haven't had much inspiration, I been in a literal block, a part from that everything i been writing lately I hate it but I didn't want to let you guys hanging. So thanks to @captain-josslett​ for checking and helping me in this part.

I love to hear your theories, opinions, suggestions and more so if you have any comments leave on my inbox or message me. I wanna hear what you guys think is going to happen or what you want to happen. But right now I'm not receiving any requests since my inbox is full of them and I don't wanna leave you guys hanging. I hope you guys enjoy, and have a great day!

Taglist: @multi-images​  @captain-josslett​  @aznblossom​  @venteen​   @coxmicbabygirl​  @lezzzbehonesthere​ 

Russian Translations:

Принцесса - Princess

The throbbing pain surges through your body as the cotton full of alcohol touches your wound softly, sending chills through your body. You laid on the white hospital bed in silence as your ex-girlfriend check the ripped wound on your torso.

With the myriad of thoughts and feelings running through your head only to fail, making you groan. Lena glances at you carefully and curiously as you kept quiet, her focus not leaving the ripped wound she was trying to mend. Noticing the different types of scars on your body some of them longer and worse looking.

“Can you tell me how does it feel?” She asks, gulping down when you made no move to speak. With her voice full of worry, she nods and takes her gloves off, only to stop when you spoke loud enough for her to hear.

“It’s fine” You state, keeping your eyes on the ceiling. In a monotone voice, as your heart almost bounced off your chest when she asked. 

Clenching your fists, you move to sit only to groan in full pain as the wound touches the shirt cotton. The green-eyed woman immediately runs to your side, with fear. You took a deep breath before helping yourself up ignoring her questioning expression. 

The Luthor woman out of desperation yells as tears fill her eyes. Throwing her hands into the air. “Can you at least look me in the eye?! Talk to me!”

“What do you want me to say, Ms. Luthor?” You answered rubbing your temples at the sound of her voice, a neutral tone and expression on your face as you looked at her. Her green eyes full of retained tears and her lip trembles as she looks at you. 

She cried, cleaning furiously her tears as you looked at her. The last word came out quieter than the rest, showing a hurting part of herself. “I don't know! Just… please.”

“Ms. Luthor, I don't know what to say to you, nor I know what you wanna hear and I'm sure you don't either.” You answer in a soft yet determined tone as you tried to walk away only for Lena to get in the way crossing her arms as she tried to keep control of her emotions.

“You are just going to walk away?” She remarked loudly, exasperated for an answer. You stopped as you heard the words coming out of her mouth, the obvious distress in them.

 “It seems to be the only thing you can do,” She added looking at you in the eye. You shifted uncomfortably before moving past her as fast as you could, ignoring her scoff.

She scoffed as you walked away from her, clenching your fits trying to find control as you felt the urge to yell at the black-haired woman. Now the free-flowing feelings in you have become stronger and harder to restrain.

You press your lips together and clench your jaw when the black-haired woman shouts loudly and desperately at you. “What about the ring?! What did I feel? What about everything?! Because you are here pretending nothing happen”

The smell of the alcohol invaded your nose, as the itching pain on your lower stomach kept throbbing, feelings run around your heart and head openly without any control. The white lights annoy your eyes as you try to focus on something else only to fail. The sneaky feeling tugging at your heart when you heard the break in her voice. 

The feeling of conflict as the two sides of yourselves began to fight on how to act, how to feel, how to be normal. One part of you asked you, begged specifically to go and wrap the green-eyed woman in a comforting embrace, protecting her from getting hurt. And the other remained you from all the pain, the anger, the sadness you had resorted to when you left and reminded you how easy life was when there was everything clear with a common goal. 

Lena shouted again this time, in an angrier and determinate tone. Stepping closer to you, in her CEO stance but the only difference was the fact that it looked forceful like she was trying so hard to hold it together, you heard her in her voice, in the way her feet hesitated to step closer. And as much as you hated it, it broke you inside. “Y/N! Just tell me something!”

You didn't know, how, when nor why, you turned around facing her with your heart clenching at the sight of her tears springing free. Her eyes looked tired and sorrowful, her cheeks were covered in tears and the ruined makeup, her hands were in a fist that you could tell where a base for self-control. You hated the pain she was revving, you hated the sadness in her eyes, and the tears that sprung freely but never even if you tried you could hate her. 

“Just fuck off, dammit!” Your mind seemed to be in automatic mode when the words came out of your mouth. The green-eyed took a step back in shock when you snapped, the now wide-eyed woman made you regret every decision in your life as her eyes restrained hardly the tears she desired to disappear. 

Against every fiber in your body, you shocked your head before starting again, glancing at your ex-girlfriend. Cutting the tension you took a deep breath before speaking, gaming Lena’s attention. “Look-”

You weren't even in the middle of what you were going to say when two well-known, familiar voices interrupted you. You tensed as you heard the voice of your sisters, the urge to just walk out and the urge to shout everything out were confronting each other as your mind running with all the different scenarios. “Y/N!” 

You kept quiet as your sisters got closer, without hesitation you started to walk away to the run you had been staying only for a familiar blur to stand in front of the door with her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face. Hope, happiness, and regret radiated out of her, while Alex stood behind you with a determined look on her face as you turned around to walk the other way. 

A part of you wanted to yell at them until there wasn't anything left and the other wanted to walk away leaving everything behind to keep leaving the simple life you had been living for the past 3 years. Lena kept quiet as her mind kept doing rounds of possible explanations, while both of your sisters decided to stand in front of you with nothing but questions. But you remained silent as they did. 

Questions such as “Why do you have so many scars?” “What is the tattoo on your chest?” “What do you mean of the Bratva?” “Why were you with Roulette the other night?” were thrown at you by your older sisters as you tried to ignore each one, only for them to keep pressing. 

Lena had stayed in the same place, as they interrogated you. The black-haired woman somehow noticed the way your patience was getting closer to the end when you clenched your fit with so much force that the veins on your arms started to show slowly. 

“Don't you think we deserve an explanation?” Kara asked, taking a step closer, which made you clench your jaw, the feelings running around your body screamed at you as the pain and anger started to build by second. 

The feeling of anger and betrayal under all of those layers you tried to put up, under what you thought it would make you okay, it would make the pain go away, the memories, the feelings, everything... 

Your oldest sister yelled, getting frustrated by the minute. “Feel free to fill up the blanks, but it seems that you are not going to do that are you?”  The redhead asks sarcastically, covering somehow the relief of how you were but adding the worry of what had happened in the last few years. 

When you didn't respond, ignoring the redhead. Your sister hits the table with her fists showing her frustration. Kara looked back where Alex stood with both of her hands on the table as she looked at you angrily. You stared at her, challenging the redhead, making Lena furrow her eyes when she noticed Alex walking back where Kara stood in front of you letting out a scoff. 

“Don't you think we as your family don't deserve to know?” Kara asked with sorrow in her eyes and voice. Tears swelling up in her eyes as she searched in your eyes for any sign of her baby sister finding none but a challenging glare to the redhead and her now.

You felt everything come out, and you were seeing red. As you were about to snap, a strong familiar voice shouted in determination stopping you. 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Your clenched jaw and fists kept the pressure making your vivid expression and reaction be acknowledged by all of them. 

Oliver had been standing with Anatoly catching sight of the interaction between you and your sisters. The blonde man remembers vividly how going back the emptiness, the feeling of just wanting the pain to get away, the angriness at the world, every single detail. Seeing the mark on your chest, oblivious to outsiders but obvious to him, a torturous feeling in your chest as you tried to keep yourself in the corner, in the darkness, where you knew not to expect anything. 

He saw the expression in your face, the way your eyebrows knitted together, the way your hands were converted into fists drawing blood at the pressure, the way you clenched your jaw, trying to keep control, the way your eyes were painted deep down with suffering but were void and incomprehensible on the outside, the way you tried to distance yourself into the darkness feeling the only calmness there, the way every time your fists hit something were not in act of defense or attack but in letting your hidden feelings out.  

The way you tried to keep control, of yourself, of your feelings, of the world around you, of the memories, of everything but you, felt powerless in the darkness. Feeling the need to yell and run away from everything, to isolate yourself from the world, believing and trusting in yourself and only trying to keep everything inside. 

“Принцесса, I see you finally decided to escort somebody” Your focus immediately went to the Russian man when he spoke, walking closer to you with a black garment suit bag in his right hand. Holding it up, as you make your way to grab it. His teasing voice made you roll your eyes while snatching the bag out of his hands. 

Smiling at Lena and your sisters, the man walked closer to them as he spoke. Making you sighed in annoyance, while Oliver suppressed a smile. Lena looked at the man in the suit and took his hand with a firm handshake, Kara and Alex following to do the same as he presented himself. “Anatoly Knyazev, at your service. Принцесса friend”

“Work partner, if you don't have vodka or I don't have the green light with your new friend and I'm not courting anyone” You corrected giving him an annoying look, he shook his head when you hissed irritated. 

The Russian man grinned at you before shaking his head as he spoke. “Roulette is not our business associate anymore, too ambitious and mercenary for her own good”

“Nice, then friend. I'm gonna go change, and I can solve a certain complication” You grinned sheepishly, which made Oliver sighed while your sisters and your ex-girlfriend looked at you curiously. 

The Queen man waited for you to be out of hearing sight to speak “This isn't helping”

Anatoly kept quiet as he sat on the sofa, while Oliver spoke. Lena and your sisters stood in front of him, each one of them with expressions of annoyance and worry. 

The blonde man took a step back, crossing his arms as he tried to reason with them before either of the three could respond. "I get it you guys want answers, but right now she needs to let herself be vulnerable again, she needs to feel safe, to feel she isn't in the darkness anymore and neither you nor I know what she went through and it's not going to help if you guys keep pressuring her”

The explanation had left the three feeling uneasy

“You do not get to tell me how to treat my sisters, Queen.” Alex spits at the vigilante. Lena and Kara try to calm the redhead down but your voice stops them. 

“Let’s go” You enter the room and sensing the tension between the two, but you ignore it and walk to where the Russian man sits. Catching the attention of the group of four turning around to see you grabbing the gun from the shelf putting it behind the jacket you carried. 

Alex didn't think twice before running up to you grabbing you by the upper arm, holding you back when you tried to get out of her grasp. Oliver sighed as you spoke, your eyes connected yours and hers in a glance, the staredown between the two created a visible tension. “Alexandra, let me go”

Tilting your head when Kara stepped in to put her hand on your oldest sister's shoulder, looking between the two before walking away with the Russian man by your side. 

----

Entering the car shop you notice the obvious and threatening silence. Letting out a sarcastic sigh when you heard the sudden movement behind the next wall, the sound of the gun clicking, and the pushing from the same source. You looked at the Russian man before shaking your head to the side, taking out your gun. 

Walking down the stairs you felt the end of the arm on the back of your head, and a hand topping your mouth. You kept in place for a second, raising your arms, before flipping the person down the stairs, keeping the gun in your hand before discharging it and throwing it away.

You walked down the stairs before shooting at the man on his thigh when the other two came out. You rolled your eyes when the two guys pulled their guns at you but were thrown to the side when an arrow hit them. Noticing the green arrow you sighed in annoyance before continuing.

“Leave it alone” Anatoly who sat on the chair waiting for you to be done, looked over to the group of four noticing your sisters and ex-girlfriend's expression of shock, while Oliver made his way to you. Noticing the man behind you, you spoke threateningly at him, before turning around. 

----

The tall brunette guy who was now with a black eye and a busted lip, as you kept your hold on his throat. You murmured when the guy kept silent. “Okay then it's the hard way”

Pushing him down before shooting him, you looked over to the black-haired man staring at you with wide eyes. You walked where he was before lowering to the floor having the same eye contact, you looked at him and recognized the immediate fear before speaking. “Taking a wild guess, I'm gonna say you don’t wanna end up like those two, do you?”

The man without thinking shook his head, which made you let out a sarcastic laugh tilting your head at him before helping him up. “Okay, then where is Roulette?”

“I don't know, I don't know” He kept sputtering and shaking his head.  

“She left this morning and left us here with the order to keep watch on someone” When you took a step closer to the guy, making him speak which made you look at him curiously before pushing him to the wall.

“On who?” You asked. 

“Her, Lena Luthor” He responded, whispering only for you to hear, looking over where your ex-girlfriend stood.

A switch had changed and in seconds you felt everything come out, the rage, the pain, and in seconds you were seeing red. The calm, determined dementor had changed to an angry, protective one. A sudden outburst was what you had. 

Moving your arm, pinning the man onto the wall with anger, you spoke eagerly and unease, threatening. Rage in your eyes, as you claimed to press harder into his chest, making the man cough in pain. “You tell Roulette that if she even thinks of breathing the same air in a 200 miles area as Ms. Luthor then I would make her life a living hell and everyone who is with her too”

Kara, who was listening in, smiled softly before looking down. The outburst had shown your care for her best friend, and that was a baby step that meant more than anything. The fact that you snapped at the moment your ex-girlfriend began mentioning showed that maybe it wasn't lost at all.

Your oldest sister looked at Kara curiously, before giving her a shoulder bump, giving her a questioning glance while your sister responded with a silent glance to you and a smile. 

You pulled away from the man, giving him a second to breathe before striking your fist right at his jaw. Immediately knocking him down, the sound of the body plumb into the floor made you realize what just had happened, the myriad of feelings flowing through your mind were taken out the moment an arrow grazed your cheek and the soreness of your knuckles were now bothering you.

Looking behind you, identifying the red arrow, you let out a laugh before taking it out of the wall, throwing it to the side before turning around, softly moving your hand trying to relieve the ache. Oliver seemed to have caught up with the situation as he grabbed the arrow letting out a sigh.

“Still doing the same?” You shouted turning around where Thea stood on the top of the car with her bow in hand and black leather jacket on. A smirk on her face as the brunette jumped landing on the floor perfectly before making her way to you.

“I see you hadn't left the throne, princess” She claimed, teasing the last word. The two of you sharing a silent glance, when she came down. The small spark in her eyes didn't go unnoticed by you and neither by Oliver. 

“And you are not so intimidating, princess” You flirted with the brunette, cleaning the small substance of blood coming out of the graze on your cheek with a teasing smile.

Lena knew the tone you were using, the smile you gave her, the little spark in your voice and eyes as you did. You were flirting with her, the jealousy feeling creeping inside her chest as she noticed. Drawing daggers in the brunettes back, she stood straight pulling out her CEO stand and expression, even if she felt her heart begin twisted remembering the once she was the one receiving the smile, the glance, the tone, everything. And she hoped that one day you would do it again. 

[scarofthewind]

Slashers x Reader || Cockwarming

A/N: I LIVE!!! Sorry that I haven’t been updating, life has been hectic. My work is still open even though we are a non-essential place in this plague that’s going on. What a better way to make it go by faster than to read/write about my favorite boys! Hope you people enjoy!  Warnings: COMPLETE FILTH, R18+, female pronouns

                                     _____________________

Leatherface (Bubba Sawyer): At first when you suggested the idea to the man, he looked at you as if you were crazy. A quick shake of his head caused you to frown. “Why not? You can’t say you don’t like it if you have never tried it.” You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the doorframe as you stared down at the man. Bubba shook his head again and ran a hand through his curly hair, his attention going back to the TV. With a list of profanities leaving your lips, you stalked over to the man and straddled his lap, letting him wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on your shoulder so he could still watch television. “Bubba please?” You whined seductively, making him sigh in defeat. 

“Fine.” He mumbled, letting you get up and quickly take your pants and underwear. He worked on freeing his cock from his jeans; he barely managed to pull it out before you sunk down on him, making him let out a ragged moan. Within the first five seconds of this, he hated it. How could someone enjoy this? He wanted nothing more than to thrust up in to you as soon as he’d entered. “Hate it.” He grit his teeth and winced as he felt you tighten around him. His hips involuntarily jerked up, making you moan. 

“I thought it might be a fun experience...” You let out another moan, feeling so full of him, yet not pleased. You cupped his face, moving some hair from it before kissing him. Bubba let out a low groan, his hips once again moving on their own. You got the message and for the life of you, couldn’t understand how anyone could just sit here like this. “It’s okay, Bubba, just take me.” It only took the blink of an eye for him to have your back pressed against the couch and his thrusts were making you call out his name. 

Jason Voorhees: You had absolutely no idea where he got the idea of cockwarming in his head, but you were all for it. The heavy rainfall outside made it to where neither of you wanted to get any work done; you just wanted to be lazy. It was nearly two o’clock but you both were still in bed; your back pressed against Jason’s chest and your leg lifted high enough for him to bury his cock into you. 

Jason let out a soft moan, letting your leg move back down. His arms wrapped tightly around you as they pulled you tighter against him. Soft kisses made their way up and down your neck and you shuddered, soft pants leaving your lips at the newfound pleasure. There was something so erotic about this to both of you, but also something soft and sweet. To Jason, it felt more like a full connection, that he was inside you, feeling every bit of pleasure you were getting out of this and he didn’t want it to end. 

Jason has very good self control so you expected him to be patient and good at this, and oh how right you were. Not once did his hips move on their own or did his breathing changed. For a moment you thought he was asleep and turned your head to look back at him; his eyes meeting yours. He kissed you softly, feeling you tighten around him as his hands moved around your body tenderly. It felt like forever that he was still inside you, your body didn’t know how much more you could take. He wasn’t a teasing man, so when he saw how desperate you were after the longest half hour you’d lived, he finally gave in, slowly moving his hips into you, enjoying the pleasured moans and gasps you were emitting. 

Michael Myers: “You have no idea what you just asked me for.” Michael warned as he pulled you by the arm up to the bedroom. It only took you but five minutes to realize your mistake. Michael had incredible amounts of self control. So, while you were sitting in his lap, his cock buried deeply inside you, he was simply reading a book, perfectly fine with this idea that you gave him. 

“Michael please-” You whined, trying to move your hips, only to have him force them to stop. 

“No.” He said, his voice sending shivers down your spine and making you tighten around him. You watched as Michael looked up from his book and over at you with the evilest grin you’d ever seen. Michael was a king when it came to teasing. Shutting his book, he tossed it to the side and slowly began to touch you. His lips would kiss your skin, and his hands would move around on their own, but never give you what you wanted. “Do you like this, (Y/N)? Being a good little cock warmer for me.” He hummed and you let out a whimper as he nipped at your neck. “The way you tighten around me, I think you do.” 

“Stop please, I need you, Michael.” You panted. Michael could feel how wet you were and how much of a mess you were making as it started to drip on the sheets. 

“You do?” He feigned care, kissing your lips gently and moving his hand down your stomach to your clit.

“Yes.” You breathed out, anticipating the moment where the pads of his fingers would rub slow circles on your clit. But, it never came.

Michael pulled his hands away from you and reached over to get his book, ignoring your disappointed stare. “You’ll sit there and take what you asked for until I’m ready to fuck you.” You made a mental note to never bring up a sexual idea to this man again.

Brahms Heelshire: “I can’t do this anymore, Brahms.” You whined, pulling on his shirt as you sat in his lap, his cock hitting all new, deeper, places inside you.

“You can and you will.” He sighed, feeling a new warmth spread through him as you tightened around his shaft. “Just a little bit longer, I promise.” He cooed, kissing your lips softly and resuming his painting. You bit your lip and nuzzled deeper into his neck, your arms wrapped around his neck and your front tightly pressed against his. Brahms could hold out a lot longer than you could, but he always was breaking at the sight of your tear streaked face. However, he was determined to make this long as he truly enjoyed the feeling of his cock being embraced by your warm insides. 

“You’re doing so well for me, (Y/N).” You whimpered, at his sentence, wanting nothing more than him to pound you into next year. “Such a good girl for me. I’ll have to reward you once I’m done.” Brahms was gifted at praise, that was for sure. 

“Brahms please, I need you.” You trembled, feeling his hand caress your back. None of this was painful, but the pleasure building up but not being able to be released was killing you. Your eyes stayed on the small clock next to the piano and you continued to watch as minutes and then hours went by. 

It took two hours exactly before he finally stopped painting. Brahms set his paintbrush down and wrapped his arms around you, bringing your face to his and peppering kisses all over it. “You did a good job, my love. I’m so proud of you.” He wiped your tears from your face and he brought his lips to yours, finally caving in to your needs. 

Charles Lee Ray (Chucky): This man took the term cockwarming to a new and brutal level. Charles was sitting in his spot on the sofa, a TV tray in front of him and dinner on top of it. The TV was playing an old movie but his eyes were only focused on you between his legs, mouth stuffed full with his cock. 

“You still breathing doll?” He smirked and you rolled your eyes. Thank god he broke your gag reflex a long time ago. You moaned around him in response which only made his hips jerk up slightly. “Don’t do that.” He glared at you, moving the hair from your face. 

“God you look so fucking pretty like this.” A blush formed on your face and you could feel your fingers move towards your panties. “Hey, what did I say about that?” He snapped, making you whine. “Don’t worry doll face, I will give it to you good later. Just keep my cock warm until I finish dinner, okay?” You nodded and ignored the pain in your jaw. Little did you know, his dinner would never get finished. Charles may talk big, but he has absolutely no patience. It didn’t take long before he had you riding his cock like no tomorrow. 

Norman Bates: “Why would anyone want to do that?” He asked when you brought up the idea. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun to try. If you don’t like it then we don’t have to do it again.” You wiggled your eyebrows at the man who only sighed in response. 

“If I agree to this, you make dinner tonight?” 

“Deal.” You smiled, kissing him. You both settled on using the bedroom to test this idea. Both of you were laying on the bed, legs intertwined and bodies pressed together. Heated kisses between the two of you were shared but nothing else. 

“I can’t do this, it’s torture.” He groaned. 

“Norman it’s literally only been eight minutes.” You panted as he kissed your neck. 

“Eight minutes too long. I need to move, (Y/N). I hate this.” He practically whined, his hips moving slightly. 

“You don’t like it at all?” You asked, “I think it feels good.”

“Of course it feels good. I just need to move. I can’t sit there inside you like this, it feels like you’re milking me-”

“Christ, Norman I get it.” You laughed, moving some of his hair away from his eyes. “Cockwarming isn’t for everyone.” Norman groaned at your comment and nuzzled his face into your chest, kissing your breasts softly.

“I do like it better when you hit deep inside me anyway. You can move.” You barley finished your sentence before he was thrusting into you. 

Leatherface (Thomas Hewitt): You blinked up at the man who towered over you. Setting down the knife you were using to cut some vegetables, you stared at him for another moment. 

“Well?” He asked, his eyes not meeting yours. 

“Oh, Tommy,” You made your way over to him, bringing him down to your level. “Bashfulness doesn’t suit you.” You took his hands and pulled him upstairs. The steaming bath felt good against Thomas’ stiff muscles. His cock burried deep inside you also felt very good. Almost too good for his liking. “I’m not hurting you am I?” You asked, worried that you might have be too tight around him. It did take some prep before he was able to even fit himself inside you.

“No. It feels good.” He said, moving a hand through his hair. The content-ness the both of you felt was nice and you managed to have a few different conversations before he noticed that you were starting to really feel it. 

“Do we need to stop?” He asked, pulling you closer and ignoring the water that fell from the tub that was now lukewarm. 

“I don't want to ruin the moment for you.” You shuddered, feeling yourself tighten around him. 

“You could never do that to me.” He said, kissing your lips and slowly moving you up and down on his cock. “Plus I've been wanting to fuck you silly since I first entered you.” You let out a soft moan as the tip of his cock hit a good place inside you. This man was going to be the death of you. 

[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two) 

Kurt Hummel loves sex.  He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him.  And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny.  He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched.  And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.  

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to.  Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make.  Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked.  Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.  

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out.  Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him.  And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly.  Seriously.  He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties.  It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.  

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace.  He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan.  It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.  

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.  

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably.  Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss.  “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away.  Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day.  He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started.  Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.  

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it.  What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times.  But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.  

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him.  He even gives in to a little light making-out.  But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.  

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom.  The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need.  Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side.  And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place.  However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.  

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down.  He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines.  Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back.  Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself.  Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together.  He’ll calm down.  Surely.   Right?  

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment.  There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before.  There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers.  And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s.  He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.  

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High.  He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye.  It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian.  Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue.  And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry.  Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread.  This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch.  It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.  

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says.  He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.  

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag.  Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”  

Ian shrugs it off.  “I figured you’d see it eventually.  I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope.  I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it.  He gives it a fond smile.  “I guess my old choir director is retiring.  There’s a party for him back in Lima.”  

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand.  “Quaint.  I’m guessing you aren’t going?  I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio.  Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories.  All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.”  Ian wiggles his eyebrows.  “Hard to imagine you in high school.”  

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says.  A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt.  He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.  

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.  

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought.  He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade.  There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway.  It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.  

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it.  “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day.  He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras.  In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars.  But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day.  Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian.  Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.  

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert.  Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there.  It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier.  But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.  

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights.  Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on.  It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night.  They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.  

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.  

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder.  Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug.  “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things.  Something’s up with your dad.  You want a favor.  Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says.  “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground.  “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch.  “You have twenty minutes.  Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage.  Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off.  Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.  

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue.  It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says.  Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’  Kurt purses his lips.  “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”  

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”  

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced.  “Maybe it was just an ad then.  I get shit like that all the time.  I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”  

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day.  “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”  

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says.  Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced.  “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know.  We’ve been together for a year.  We know how we are.  Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”  

Elliott folds his arms across his chest.  “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings.  The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice.  He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question.  “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”  

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out.  “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”  

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words.  “I also, you know, love him.”  

Elliott shakes his head.  Kurt knows judgment when he sees it.  “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.  

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.  

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high.  “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage.  They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again.  Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard.  “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself.  “Well, I do find you tolerable.”  

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says.  He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them.  But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is.  “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds.  “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point.  Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life.  He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been.  He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit.  “His family was crazy.  I didn’t need to be a part of that.”  

Elliott nods, continuing on.  “Okay, and Joey was the one before that.  I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”  

Kurt bites his lip.  He did feel bad about that.  Joey had been so quick to offer his time.  But Joey also had been there.  All the time.  It had been too much.  “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says.  A grin slips onto his lips.  “And then there was Steven.”  

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says.  He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater.  Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not.  “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship?  Why are you getting on my case about this?  It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”  

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh.  “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways.  Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through.   It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever.  And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you.  Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after.  Only, real life doesn’t happen like that.  Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after.  He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.  

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.  

Elliott goes soft in deposition.  “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says.  He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart.   He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much.  “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee.  “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days.  I’m gonna be out of town.  Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists.  And then an idea hits him.  “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima.  Old high school choir thing.  Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that.  It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”  

Elliott gives a hearty laugh.  “You haven’t talked about Lima in years.  Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott.  “It’ll be fine.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away.  Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while.  There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in.  He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.  

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head.  He does like his independence.  He always has.  Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own.  And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet.  It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years.  He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases.  And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.  

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said.  The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts.  Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart.  He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.  

But are there really people out there like that?  

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit.  When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice.  Living costs would come down.  He’d have a partner to spend his time with.  And the sex.  God, Ian knows how to have sex.  

But permanently?  The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought.  There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right.  It’s not perfect.  Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself.  But still…  

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down.  Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched.  Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.  

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building.  A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached.  For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city.  He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages.  Hasn’t thought about those people in ages.  God, what even happened to…  

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head.  But he can’t help but see the face.  He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.  

Nostalgia hits him just then.  

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss.  He is going to take that trip to Lima.  He does need a break from Ian.  He does need to get his life sorted out.  But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.  

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport.  It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home.  He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place.  Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.  

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed.  It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up.  It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.  It’s just a thing.  

It’s evening by the time he gets in.  The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment.  He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do.  Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night.  And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him.  He had understood, and it’s not like he won’t be seeing her the next day anyway.  Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.  

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.  

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years.  Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.  

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it.  Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago.  He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state.  He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls.  And god, the music even feels strikingly similar.  There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.  

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night.  There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners.  No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in.  The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.  

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.  

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.  

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer.  Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible.  There is only one gay bar in Lima.  And he’s probably here for the reunion.  

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.  

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run.  Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion.  He doesn’t though.  

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said.  It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed.  Age, it seems, has done him well.  There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves.  His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest.  Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew.  Sitting at the bar is a man.  

And yet… his movements are exactly the same.  The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter.  That’s still the Blaine he used to know.  

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him.  He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to.  It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other.  That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there.  Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers.  Maybe this had been a bad idea.  But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.  

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug.  It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with?  Someone who is a relative stranger now.  It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart.  “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been.  Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour.  He definitely needs something to calm him down.  How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused.  There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity.  Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him.  Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him.  But they are both adults now.  And it had been a long, long time ago.  

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says.  He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived.  “Oh, yeah, I figured that.  I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.  

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding.  Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks.  Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot.  “I saw it from the motel window.  Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over.  “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink.  “Dad retired a few years ago.  He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks.  “He and his sons took over the tire shop.  But we’re not exactly close.  And he has, like, ten dogs.  I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.  

“What about you?” Kurt asks.  “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily.  “Cooper has three little girls.  Here, let me show you.”  Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper.  Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be.  It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool.  He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually.  New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh.  “I mean, I still perform every now and then.  But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it.  I love it though.”  There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice.  Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.  

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him.  “A private school, of course.  How very you.  Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.  

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now.  He plays with the nearby peanut bowl.  “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says.  There’s excitement in his voice.  Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy.    “I thought it had been condemned.  I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years.  “Elliott and I renovated it.  You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink.  “Elliott?  Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects.   “God, no.  Business partners only.”  It’s such a funny thought to him.  Elliott.  They’re like brothers.  No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott.  There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain.  He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place?  Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them.  Blaine bops his head to the music.  Kurt munches on some peanuts.  They both avoid direct eye contact.  The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return.  Maybe he should go.  

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink.  There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on.  Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy.  Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do.  He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.  

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.  

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks.  He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.  

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying.  After they broke up.  After he broke Blaine’s heart.  Blaine kind of skips past the beat.  Why dredge up all that old stuff.  That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach.  “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot.  Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better.  Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.  

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh.  “I don’t know, it was so long ago.  You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over.  “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued.  “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle.  “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima.  And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear.  It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink.  He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought.  “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little.  More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter.  The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things.  They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch.  Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding.  Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year.  It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.  

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase.  The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse.  Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.  

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband.  It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap.  It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married.  He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it.  Blaine had wanted to be married.  He got his wish.  And Kurt is happy for him.  He wants to be happy for him.  Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks.  The room begins to feel warm and familiar.  Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home.  They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow.  Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez.  Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains.  They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third.  “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me.  But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine.  But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink.  “Well, personally I was offended.  ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two.  I was like ‘fuck that’.  It’s just as well.  Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it.  He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.  

Blaine notices and smirks.  “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass.  He is buzzed but not at all drunk.  In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy.  When had he last been this happy?  “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend.  And he stayed on the show.  The. Entire. Run.  If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”  

“Well, for what it’s worth.  I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says.  He leans in close.  Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries.   “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts.  Suddenly, Blaine is close.  Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes.  There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.  

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it.  He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out.  “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”  

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused.  “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on.  “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it.  I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did.  I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.  And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying.  “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then.  You don’t have anything to be sorry about.  We had a good thing.  We had a great thing, even.  But it’s fine.  It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”  

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him.  Maybe this is why he needed to come back.  Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons.  He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while.  He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it.  It feels comforting in his own.  

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face.  “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh.  It’s an invitation.  His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong.  His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up.  This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this.  He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.  

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year.  They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.  

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing.  His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long.  The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one.  Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room.  It only turns him on more.  

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this.  It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it.  His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.  

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall.  Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs.  He just wants to feel Blaine.  They kiss deeply, wantonly.  His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is.  Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.  

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out.  Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other.  Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands.  Fuck.  He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.  

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss.  Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own.  If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.  

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure.  He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can.  It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?  

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down.  Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants.  Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out.  Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock.  If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock.  Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.  

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand.  “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss.  Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand.  Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes.  It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure.  Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.  

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.  

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers.  His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.  

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees.  This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.  

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty.  Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.  

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper.  Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.  

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.”  He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them.  Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed.  Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.  

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off.  Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out.  Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out.  Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more.  Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle.  “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh.  “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.  

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge.   He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before.  As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.  

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly.  Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality.  Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans.  There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling.  Blaine gets to his feet.  There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened.  A lot just happened.  A lot.  And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach.  He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years.  He just cheated on his boyfriend.  But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.  

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

[horansqueen]

New Angel - Chapter 20

story masterlist [x]

chapter 1  ☆ chapter 2  ☆ chapter 3  ☆ chapter 4  ☆ chapter 5  ☆ chapter 6  ☆ chapter 7  ☆ chapter 8 ☆ chapter 9 ☆ chapter 10 ☆ chapter 11 ☆ chapter 12 ☆ chapter 13 ☆ chapter 14 ☆ chapter 15 ☆ chapter 16 ☆ chapter 17 ☆ chapter 18 ☆ chapter 19

NOTES

☆ written from Niall’s pov ☆ i don’t proofread, I never do, I hate it. ☆ AU comedy/fluff/smut/romance ☆ 2.5k ☆ i accept requests and ideas for this story, so message me in my inbox! ☆ if you want to be notified when this story is updated (or be taken off the update list) CLICK HERE

NIALL

I didn't expect Millie to bring me to the roof but she finally sat me down before walking to the small shed a bit further. She searched for a key and finally unlocked the door and it made me frown. Every single day, I found out something new about my best friend and it was amazing. I had known her for years but I actually didn't really know who she was.

"Hey, let me help you." I proposed, trying to get back up on my feet as she walked closer, bringing a mattress with her.

"Sit the fuck down, Horan." she quickly, replied, making me raise my nose up.

"Don't call me that." I mumbled, letting out a short groan and making her lips curl on the left.

She let the mattress fall on the ground and placed a blanket on it before walking back to me and bending down to my level, raising her eyebrows. The closeness of our faces made me smile and she rolled her eyes at me, smiling too.

"Do you think you can walk until the mattress or are you too drunk?"

"Drunk? Me?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Millie laughed when I tripped again but helped me find my balance back before bringing me to the mattress. Quickly, I lied down on my back and blinked a few times. My smile disappeared when I saw all the stars in the sky and I felt the mattress move a bit as Millie lied down next to me. We remained silent for a while, my eyes moving from one sparkling star to an other as I tried to watch all of them even if I knew it was impossible. I felt a bit dizzy but the fresh air made me feel less nauseous and after a while, I even felt better. I don't know how long we stayed in silence but I realized we couldn't hear the sound and the music coming from our apartment and I enjoyed the silence more than I thought I would.

"I come here quite often." Millie suddenly broke it softly, making me realize I enjoyed her voice even more than the silence. "Just to look at the stars and think."

"Did you ever bring Louis?"

"No, only you."

I turned my head her way but she was staring up at the sky and I didn't dare adding anything about that. I didn't want to make her sad by talking about Louis but sometimes, it was stronger than me.

"So, what happened?" she finally asked after licking her lips.

She finally turned her head my way to glance at me before looking back up at the stars as I tried to remember exactly what had happened only half an hour ago.

"Grace said she loved me, I told her it was over, then Summer called and heard Grace's voice. I don't know what it triggered in her but she decided to come. Then Grace thought I replaced her and got drunk, and she kissed me just as Summer walked in. She saw us and was pissed. I told her I didn't want a relationship now, and I got drunk."

"Amazing summary." Millie replied after about a minute, turning to look at me again with a smirk on her lips.

"I just don't know what I want." I admitted, shaking my head slightly, focusing on a specific star and staring at it, "I told Grace it was over but is it really? I told Summer I was not ready for a relationship but is that even true? Or am I just not ready for a relationship with her? Should I date Summer or Grace? Should I even date anyone?"

The more I talked, the angrier and more confused I was getting. I closed my eyes and let out a groan before bringing both my hands on my face, pressing my palms on my eyes.

"Maybe if you can't pick, it just means you don't really love or want to be with either of them."

I felt my heart jump in my chest and held my breath. I wanted to be mad at my best friend for throwing that at me, but the her words actually made sense and it annoyed me. Before I actually got to really know Millie, I would hate how forward she was and simply get pissed at her. This time, it was different. Yes, what she had said was bothering me, but I was realizing that it bothered me because she was right.

"That... actually makes sense." I admitted gently, letting my arms fall on each side of my body. "Maybe It's not that I'm not ready to date, maybe I just don't want to date them. Then again, I don't intend to ever fall in love again. Fuck love."

"Yea, I have to agree with you on that." Millie whispered before letting out a sigh.

"Oh, by the way, I promised I'd let you know if I ever refused head from a girl, so you need to know that tonight, I did."

Quickly, Millie turned her whole body my way and when I moved my head to look at her, a curious smile was gracing her lips and it made me chuckle.

"From Summer or from Grace?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

I smiled at her with amusement and ended up turning my body her way too to face her. "Grace. I don't know what she was thinking about, and I was not sure if I'd regret it or not but I really don't."

"Mm, if Summer doesn't give blowjobs and you refused one from Grace, do you see the day where your dick will be in a girl's mouth again?"

"Summer and I aren't exclusive, remember?" I pointed out.

"Pretty sure those rules were made before she told you she had feelings for you. Maybe it changed..."

That thought made my heart jump in my chest but I just shrugged a shoulder.

"I'm gonna have to discuss it with her." I let out before sighing. "I didn't know having a friend with benefits was so complicated." Millie started laughing and I let my eyes roam on her face. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing it's just... a friend with benefit isn't complicated. Girls just tend to develop feelings for you and if you don't feel the same, then it can definitely get complicated."

"You're right, it's love that's complicated, which is cool with me because I'm not falling in love ever again. "I repeated for the third time on that night.

"I don't think we can really control that, but I don't want anything to do with love ever again either."

I was barely tipsy by then, enjoying the cool breeze on my skin and the time spent with my best friend. I didn't want to think about the party in our apartment and how we'd have to clean everything in the morning. I just hoped everyone would be gone when we'd go back inside, especially Grace, Summer, and Louis. It was insane how much trouble and mess they added to our lives and how peaceful and fun it was when it was only Millie and I.

"Why didn't I ever take the time to get to know you better before?" I asked in a whisper, sliding my hand on the blanket and leaning my cheek on it.

"You were probably too busy trying to find a good comeback to my teasing." she grinned and it made my lips curl into a fond smile. "We were like, frienemies or something."

"Naa, we just teased each other, we were never cruel or anything. We were friends, just a different kind of friends."

"I prefer what we have now."

"Me too." I breathed out before licking my lips. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Crash and burn." she quickly replied, her lips curling more as she chuckled, making me roll my eyes.

I knew we were there to watch the stars but instead, I kept staring in Millie's eyes for a few minutes in silence. There were so many things in my mind and it was tough to put everything back in place, probably because of the alcohol running in my veins and the tiredness making my eyelids so much heavier than normal. I didn't want to close my eyes, though. I didn't want this discussion to stop, and I started regretting all the drinks I swallowed. Perhaps I would be much more awake if I wasn't so tipsy.

"I have something to tell you, and I know you won't feel like it, but if you said yes it would be amazing."

I saw my best friend frown and pressed my lips together. I had to ask her now because I had no idea how long it would take me to convince her and I really feared her reaction.

"Spill, Niall."

"Yea, okay, so. I sort of told Louis we could spend the night with him tomorrow?" I pointed out, noticing her lips parting immediately. "I mean we were all friends, and you and I are even closer now! Imagine how great this friendship between the three of us could be!"

"It can never go back to how it used to be." she pointed out, as I nodded slowly.

"I know, but it's worth trying to save, yea?" I explained low, my eyebrows raised. "He won't bring his girlfriend, it'll only be the three of us. We can have one of our dare nights or something?"

I tried to decipher Millie's facial expressions as I looked at her but all I could see was pain in her eyes. I knew she still loved Louis and I knew it hurt her to be near him.

"If it hurts too much I promise to never bother you with that again."

Slowly, her traits softened and she nodded slowly.

"As long as you never leave Louis and I alone together."

"I promise. I'll even bring you to the bathroom with me when I need to go."

My best friend let out a loud laughter and it made me smile too. I loved knowing that I could make the pain in her stomach disappear the same way she did with me. I loved knowing that I could make her laugh that way.

"It's crazy that we had to have our hearts broken to finally get to know each other." I admitted, making her smile gently at me.

"It's the only good thing that came out of this heartbreak."

After a while, Millie curled up in a fetus position but her eyes never left mine. I hadn't felt this safe in a very long time and I was so thankful for the woman in front of me that I felt my heart twist in my chest. I couldn't find the right words to tell her how thankful I was to have her in my life, and how lucky I felt. I didn't know how to tell her how important she was for me.

"Thank you."

My lips parted at the words she murmured, and I felt ridiculous for not telling them before she did.

"What for?" I asked just as low when I really should have thanked her back.

"I don't have friends that really care. I didn't even know what it felt like. Besides Louis, all the friends I had never really tried to make me feel better." she admitted, looking down at her hands and licking her lips. "You're different. You care. I know it's cheesy, but you saved me, Niall."

I let my eyes roam on her face as my heartbeats accelerated. I did that? I thought she was the one who saved me, and not the other way around. I was such a pathetic excuse of a human after Grace broke my heart but Millie had taken care of me, she had helped me survive and then she gave me the strength to live again.

"Honestly, Mill, you're the one who saved me."

--

I woke up early and frowned as the sun hit my face. My eyes fluttered open only to see Millie still facing me and asleep. Her lips were slightly parted and she whimpered low, moving slightly on the mattress.

I thought I'd be nauseous and hangover but I was surprisingly not but I didn't dare moving at all, scared to wake my best friend up. She looked peaceful and I spent a few minutes just looking at her. I tried to remember the conversation we had the night before and moved gently closer to her when I saw her shiver.

I brought my hand to her face slowly and let two of my fingertips brush against her cheek. I had no idea why I was doing that, and I didn't even have the excuse to be drunk, all I knew was that I wanted to touch her and be close to her, as if being close to her mentally was not enough. We were close, it was true. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had a close friend like that, but I didn't feel close enough to her. I wanted to be closer, I wanted to be close to Millie in every single way possible, and that thought made my heart jump so high in my chest that I feared it would escape by my mouth.

"Mill..." I whispered, running my thumb on her bottom lip gently as her eyelids seemed to flutter. "Hey, are you awake?"

Her eyes finally opened but she shut them again suddenly and groaned low. "Fuck, we fell asleep on the roof." she mumbled, moving closer to me and hiding her face in my shirt.

I held my breath but after a few second, I wrapped my arm around her and chuckled. "You'll survive."

"I want my bed." she complained again, her voice muffled before of the fabric of my shirt.

"You can go now, I'll put the mattress and the blanket back where it belongs and join you in a few minutes."

She nodded against my chest and my lips curled on the right a bit but it took her a few more seconds to peel herself away from me and finally get up. When I walked back in the apartment, I noticed it was quiet but extremely messy. I walked by Louis' room and stopped, sticking my ear on the door to see if he was there but couldn't hear anything and finally just reached Millie's room, knocking gently on the door.

"It's open." she muttered.

I walked in and closed the door gently behind me before joining her in bed. I was awake and she was almost asleep but she still managed to talk despite slumber taking slowly possession of her body.

"Cuddle me, okay? I need it."

I felt my whole body throat at her request but held my breath when I moved closer, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her closer to me. I closed my eyes, inhaling the scent of candies in her hair and my heart twisted in my chest. Was it possible that Millie wanted to be close to me physically, too? Was it possible that we felt the exact same thing at the exact same time?

"I need it too."

[junosartsthetic]

Patching Things Up   

Wordcount: 3846

Character(s): Dabi, (Y/N)

Warning(s): Innuendos. Swearing. Mentions of sex. Angst. 

Note: This is an updated version of a one-shot I originally posted on my Quotev account.

__

 You snuggled deeper into the blankets surrounding you, your feet tucked under you as you leaned against the armrest. Your eyes fixated themselves onto the T.V. as you flipped through the channels with one hand, the other holding a mug of hot chocolate.

       A sudden knocking at the door caused you to pause your channel surfing and look towards the door a little ways away from the living room. You could see the rain pouring outside the window but spotted nobody.

       You raised an eyebrow and set your mug down on the side table before standing up, the remote being placed on the arm rest. Your socks slid against the wooden floor as you made your way to the door, covering your robe against your body to keep warm.

       You peered out the window and saw a figure, though it was too dark to make out the specifics. You flicked on the porch light.

       A young man with jarring purple blotches of skin all over his body held together by staples slouched forward, his hands gripping his side. Blood dripped from it.

       You let out a gasp. You recognized him as one of the members of the League of Villains— Dabi.

       Your hand went into your robe pocket and you pulled out your phone, getting ready to dial the cops before a harsh knock stopped you. Your eyes met a bright teal as you stared at his face through the window. His gaze was soft, softer than you’d seen from his pictures on the news. It looked strangely familiar.

       You slid your phone back and put a hand against the window, tilting your head. What was he doing here? Why your house?

       His mouth began to move, and you made out the words, ‘open the door.’

       You shook your head.

       He frowned. ‘Please.’

       You bit your lip before reaching for the handle and opening it. Now, only a glass door remained between the two of you.

       You reached out to grab the handle to the glass door, and pulled it open slightly. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ you thought, now holding it open wide enough for him to step inside. ‘He’s a murderer. A Villain. And I’m letting him inside because of some weird nostalgic feeling. God, I’m an idiot.’

       He grabbed the edge of the door and used it as a brace as he limped inside. He was soaked to the bone and blood began to drip onto your door mat.

       “What the hell are you doing here?” you asked, closing the doors behind him. “I don’t even know you.”

       Dabi let out a breathy laugh which quickly devolved into coughing. His eyes held a certain spark to them, and you squinted at him. He shrugged his leather coat off and hung it on the coat rack before kicking his shoes off. “Yes you do,” he replied, now beginning to limp towards your kitchen.

       “Hey!” you said, stomping after him. “I don’t know what came over me to let you inside, but you don’t get to prance around my house like you own the place.” You caught up to him and pulled on his arm to get his attention as he was now digging through your medicine cabinet. “And I have never met you before in my life.”

       He turned his head to glance at you, flashing you a cocky smile. “C’mon, you really don’t remember me, princess?”

       “Princess— ” you shot him a glare—  “For, the last time, I’m a knight, not a princess— ” you stopped, flashing back to a vivid memory.

       “Okay,” he said, his six year old self pointing at your five year old self with a wooden sword. “Now, you go and be the princess, and I’ll slay the dragon for you!”

       You shook your head, crossing your chubby arms. “No! I wanna be the knight in shining armor!”

       “But then who will be the princess?”

       You smiled. “You!”

       He shook his head. “I don’t wanna.”

       “Okay, then you can be the dragon, and I can be the knight, and there can be a pretend princess!” You tilted your head, wondering if that would be alright. “How about that…”

       “Touya,” you suddenly said, your body freezing up as you backed away from the male who was now taking his bloodstained shirt off in the middle of your kitchen.

       He paused, his arms partially behind his head and his shirt halfway off, and let out a soft chuckle. “It’s been a while.”

       Your heart began to race as your eyes fogged up with tears. “I- I thought you were dead! What the hell are you doing with your life! A villain, really?” You shook your head, wetness now rolling down your cheeks. “Why, Touya?”

       He finished pulling his shirt off, revealing the true extent of his scars, and began to dab a cotton ball doused in rubbing alcohol on what looked to be a bullet wound on the side of his stomach, his other hand holding a pair of your tweezers. “The name’s Dabi now.”

       “I don’t care.” You wiped your tears away and grabbed the cotton ball and the tweezers before gesturing for him to sit on one of your bar stool chairs. “I need answers. You can’t just— ” you let out a tense breath—  “just show up here after all this time!”

       He sat down on the bar stool and turned his wound towards you. “Fine, but I’m currently bleeding out, so maybe we should focus on that first, aye, princess?”

       “Shut up,” you muttered, nose scrunching up as you examined the wound. You assumed the bullet was still lodged in there somewhere, which meant you had to use the tweezers to get it out. “You’re lucky I care about you, or else I’d throw you back out on the street.”

       “Even after all this time, huh?” he said, looking at you as you slowly moved the tweezers towards the hole. “I thought you’d be pissed as hell and punch me in the dick or something when I showed up here.”

       “Oh trust me,” you replied, shoving the tweezers in the wound rather harshly before gripping the bullet and yanking it out, making him flinch and curse in pain, “I am definitely pissed and will not hesitate to punch you in the dick.”

       You placed the bloody bullet in the sink and quickly grabbed some gauze and cotton balls, wrapping the wound and creating pressure on it. You had to wrap your arms around his torso to properly secure the gauze, and fought the urge to blush. ‘I shouldn’t be this close to a cocky shirtless villain.’

       He laughed, but said nothing else as you finished tending to his wound and proceeded to back away, putting your hands on your hips. “Alright, I doubt you’ll die, so now tell me what the hell is going on.”

       He stood up from the chair and began heading back towards your bedroom. “Let me take a shower first, then we’ll talk.”

       You let out a groan. “Fine, don’t get blood on my white towels, moron.”

       He turned back to flash you a stupid grin before opening your bedroom door and shutting it behind him.

       You sat on the loveseat to wait, and eventually heard the water kick on from the master bathroom shower. It took another fifteen minutes for it to kick off.

       You turned towards your room door, ready to scold him again for showing up out of the blue, but the words got caught in your throat.

       He opened the door, a towel in his hands as he rubbed the water out of his hair, his lower half sporting a towel skirt and nothing else.

       You tried your best not to pay attention to the way droplets of water rolled down his chest, and made their way between each and every muscle before disappearing into the towel wrapped around his hips.

       You attempted not to notice how attractive his hair still was, despite being dyed black now, or how hot you still found him despite his new scars. They simply added more character to an already completely one of a kind person, and you bit your cheek. ‘God, why did I have to fall in love with him, and why am I still in love with him?’

       His voice broke you from your thoughts. “Are you done staring? I’m fuckin’ freezing. You got any clothes that would fit me?”

       You cleared your throat and patted your cheeks in an attempt to quench the redness. “In the bottom drawer of my dresser should be something. Just put your old clothes in the washer in the bathroom.”

       He gave a mock salute before walking back inside, a water puddle now on your floor from where he once stood.

       Standing up, you moved to your kitchen to grab a rag before wiping up the water, going to clean the blood off your entryway, as well. ‘God damn it, Touya.’

       After another five minutes, he walked out in a familiar pair of sweatpants and a band tee, a smirk on his face. “You kept my clothes? D’aww.”

       “Shut up and sit down,” you muttered, face flushed as you gestured to the couch across from the loveseat you sat in.

       “Okay, fine,” he replied before heading to the loveseat and picking you up bridal-style, sitting down and proceeding to set you on his lap. “There.”

       You let out a vaguely offended noise, flustered. “Hey! Just because we dated way back when we were teens doesn’t mean you can come in here and pretend like you didn’t disappear for years!”

       “Why not?” he replied, leaning back in the chair and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against him. He was warmer than you, despite just taking a shower, and you assumed his quirk kept him rather hot.

       You shook your head and attempted to lean forward, only to get pulled back once more. “Because, how do I know you’re the same person you were back then? What happened, Touya? Last I remember, you were nineteen and living with me, and then you suddenly vanish and never come back! You can’t do things like that!” The tears you shed in the kitchen returned full force, choking you up.

       “I told you, the name is Dabi now,” he mumbled, placing his chin atop your head and letting out a sigh. “And I have no excuses for what I’ve done. There’s nothing I can say to change what happened. I— ” he took in a breath, his normally cocky exterior shattering to reveal the true pain underneath—  “I’m sorry, princess— no, (Y/N). I’m so fucking sorry.”

       You heard his voice crack, and felt drops hit the top of your head. Neither of you spoke, just letting out all the bottled up emotions of the past few years.

       Eventually, you managed to stop crying long enough to pull your head away from his chest and look him in the eyes. He was already looking at you. You reached up and gently cupped his cheek, rubbing the purple skin which covered the lower half softly. “Does it hurt?”

       He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

       You began to tear up again. “Is this my fault? Did I push you over the edge?”

       He immediately placed a hand atop yours, his other one hugging your waist tightly. “No!” he yelled, before clearing his throat. “No… You had nothing to do with this. I just— I snapped. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take him. He constantly reminded me I wasn’t good enough and I didn’t— ” he heaved out a breath—  “I didn’t deserve anything, much less someone like you.”  You knew exactly who he was.

       “Touya…”

       “I told you— ” you used your other hand to hold a finger to his mouth.

       “Hush. You’ll always be my Touya.”

       He gave you a half-hearted smile which turned into a playful smirk. “Your Touya?”

       You flushed. “Yes. You never broke up with me so technically we’re still dating, and you’re still my Touya.”

       He let out a soft snort. “God, I missed you,” he muttered, rubbing his thumb against your hand before leaning forward.

       You moved the finger against his lips to cup his other cheek, and copied his movements.

       Despite the roughness of his lips, the kiss was soft, and you could feel the old spark between you re-ignite.

       When you pulled away, his eyes were closed and he had a smile on his face. “I missed that, too.”

       You laughed.

       The beeping of a cell phone brought you both out of the moment, and he looked towards his jacket still hanging on the coat rack. “I need to get that, it’s probably that dick Shigaraki.”

       Your expression dulled. ‘Right, he’s a villain now.’

       He gathered you up in his arms before standing up and placing you back on the loveseat. He trudged to his coat, pulled out a phone and read the lit up screen. He glanced at you.

       You looked at him. He turned away, typing out a response before heading back towards you. “Are you leaving?” you asked, voice strangely monotone.

       “Not yet,” he replied, picking you up again to return to his original spot. “I told him to shove it for now.”

       “Won’t you get in trouble for that? I don’t want you getting punished because of me,” you said, voice now conveying your sadness.

       He shrugged and cuddled you closer, one of his hands reaching for the cup of hot chocolate on the side table to take a sip. “I don’t care. I’d go through the worst of whatever the world has to offer to stay like this,” he said, voice honest and content and sounding much like your Touya.

       The person before you now wasn’t quite like the Touya you knew, nor the Dabi, he was an odd combination, but you didn’t care. Your long lost lover was now back, and that was good enough for you. Sure, it might be wrong to still be in love with him, despite all the awful shit he's done since he's been gone, but you can't help it. When you love someone, you never really get rid of that feeling.

       You closed your eyes and began to drift off to sleep, but not before feeling a goodnight kiss against your forehead. You smiled. ‘Yeah, definitely good enough for me.’ You awoke to the smell of something burning, and your eyes quickly shot open as you tumbled out of bed. Your back hit the ground as you let out a groan, rubbing the sleepiness out of your eyes.

       Flashbacks of last night flashed in your mind and you shot up from the floor and ran to the kitchen.

       Smoke filled the kitchen, and you slid open the window above the sink for some fresh air.

       You spotted Touya amongst the fog, a pan filled with bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove.

       You nudged his shoulder and gestured to the smoke-filled room, coughing. “What the fuck are you making over there, fire?”

       “It’s been a while since I’ve made you breakfast, alright? Give me a break,” he said, turning off the burner and sliding the bacon and eggs onto two different plates.

       You closed your eyes for a moment. “You didn’t have to—  I didn’t ask you to. Honestly, I thought you’d have left while I was asleep.”

       He grabbed both plates and set them down on the bar counter before sliding into a seat. “Do you want me gone that bad?” he asked, smirking.

       “No! I— ” you cleared your throat—  “I mean, I just assumed you had villain things to attend to and such.”

       He let out a laugh. “Villain things? What does that even mean?”

       “I don’t know,” you replied, puffing your cheeks out in anger. “I just meant I didn’t expect you to stay. It still doesn’t feel real. I— I thought you were dead!” Despite you trying not to, you started to sniffle, making him frown. “It feels like you’re back from the dead! I attended a funeral for you! I said my goodbyes and yet here you are!” At this point, tears streamed down your face as you held your arms against your chest. “I can tell you want things to go back to the way they were, but that can’t happen! Things have changed too much…”

       He stood up from the stool and walked over, wrapping his arms around you. He smelt like burnt food, and you let out a small laugh. He was trying his hardest to win your affections back, but you couldn’t help but hesitate. “Nothing I can say will ever make what I’ve done okay—  I know that. I just—  I can’t just walk away now, either. You’re the only person I have left who knows I’m still alive, and I’m still in love with you, (Y/N).”

       You buried your face into the old band tee he was wearing, moving your arms to wrap around his waist tightly. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up. I’m happier than I’ve been in a while, but what if you leave today and never come back?”

       He moved a hand to softly grip your chin, and brought your head up to make eye contact. “Look at me, princess, I won’t abandon you, not again. Not ever again.”

       Your lips formed a hesitant smile. “How can you say that? You could die and I wouldn’t know. I hate the fact that you’re a villain, Touya. I hate it so so much and I— I wish you could stay with me forever instead of going back there.” You shook your head, pulling away from his grasp and taking a seat on a stool. “But I know that this is a choice you made for valid reasons, and I couldn’t ask you to drop everything. Let’s just— I guess, enjoy the time we have now, and figure everything out later.”

       He took a seat beside you, and you two ate in silence. Everything tasted vaguely like smoke, and you let out a sigh. He still sucked at cooking.

       “I moved you to your bed, by the way,” he spoke up in between bites. “I slept on the couch.”

       You glanced at him, rolling your eyes. “My bed is more than big enough for two, moron.”

       “I see your caring nicknames haven’t changed,” he said, grabbing both now-empty plates to bring them to the sink. “Would it hurt to call me something nice for a change?”

       “Oh sorry,” you said sarcastically. “What names should I be calling you?”

       He looked over his shoulder, hands still scrubbing the dishes. “Oh, I don’t know, your knight in shining armor, babe, sweetie, the best sex you’ve ever-”

       You interrupted his monologue by throwing an apple from the fruit bowl at him, face red. “Shut up… moron.”

       He frowned. “That wasn’t very nice.”

       “It wasn’t supposed to be, now stop cleaning the dishes like you live here. I can do it.” When you got up and attempted to push him aside, he didn’t budge. “Would you just sit down, moron? I got it!”

       “No.”

       You let out an exasperated sigh before grabbing him by his shoulders and looking him in the eye. “Would you just sit down, babe? I got it.”

       “Better, but no.”

       You smacked his chest before crossing your arms. “I’m not saying the last one, now move.”

       He opened the dishwasher before placing the dirty dishes inside. “Too late, I’m already done.”

       You simply threw your arms up in surrender before trudging to the living room and taking a seat on the couch.

       Within moments, a body was next to you. You glanced beside you to see Touya sitting with his elbows on his knees, staring boredly at the black television. “What now?”

       “I’m assuming you now have to leave, being that you told your superior to shove it last night and they’re probably a bit pissed.”

       “You just can’t wait to get rid of me, huh?” he said, annoyance lacing his tone.

       “Okay, fine, get in trouble, see if I care.” You pouted, bringing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them.

       You felt him wrap his arms around you. He kissed your ear. “Let’s do something. I’ll leave soon, just not yet.”

       You pushed him away. “Like what? By the time we figure out where to go you’ll have to leave.”

       “Who says we can’t do something here?”

       You rose a brow, which prompted him to pull you into his lap, his lips quickly meeting your neck. You flushed red, a shiver going down your spine at the coldness of the staples against your skin. “We haven’t seen each other in years, and your first idea of something to do is fuck?”

       He pulled away. “Uhh, yeah?”

       “Wow. Classy.” You stood up, despite his grip on your waist telling you not to, and turned to face him. “We should go on a walk.”

       His face fell. He blinked at you. “Seriously?”

       “Yes!” you grabbed his hands and pulled him up. “Like we used to do! I miss walks.”

       He sighed, but nodded nonetheless. “You sound like a dog, but alright. Only for you.”

       You smiled and went to put on warm clothes.

       Eventually, you two made it outside dressed in fall clothes. After last night’s rain, puddles formed on the sidewalk and you stepped in them as you walked, observing the falling leaves.

       Your arms were wrapped around one of his, one of your hands holding his. A sense of Deja Vu washed over you, and a light blush permanently dusted your cheeks. Having him back, even for a day, made you happier than you’d ever been before, and you weren’t ready for him to leave.

       After walking only three blocks, a ping sounded from his pocket, and he looked at the screen of his phone before scowling. “Damn it.”

       “Hmm?”

       “I gotta go.”

       You stopped walking, giving him a sad smile. “Oh. Do you know when you’ll be back? I’ll sorta miss you.”

       He laughed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before smiling. “I’ll sorta miss you too, princess. I’ll be back as soon as I can, just don’t assume I’m dead, alright?”

       You smacked his arm. “That was one time! And being you were gone for years, I had a right to!”

       He grabbed your wrists, pulling you in for a hug. “I know. Just— wait for me. I promise you I’ll be back.”

       You slipped out of his grasp and stood on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You better be, moron.”

       After a last kiss goodbye, he shot you a wink before beginning to trek forward, leaving you standing on the sidewalk with a soft smile and tears in your eyes.

       ‘God damn it. I just had to go catch feelings again. Stupid Touya. Stupid me.’

       You crossed your arms, shaking your head. “If he doesn’t come back alive, I’ll kill him.”

       With those words, you turned to walk back to your house, leaves crunching underneath you.

[echo-three-one]

Filthy, filthy reunion smut with Soap- After months of pent up sexual frustration and being away from one another, Soap is finally home and gets to have the time he’s needed with reader ❤️

Hello anon. Wow. This is a wonderful request and I hope my answer is as wonderful than you have ever imagined.

⚠️ NSFW WARNING WITH UNSPEAKABLE ACTIONS ⚠️

Here it goes. I hope you have fun?

No longer frustrated

It has been a year and a half since you last saw your boyfriend. You turned to the photos that hung on your apartment wall showing pictures of the both of you on different places, smiling about how each photo still brought vivid unforgettable memories etched in your brain. You've been with him long enough that you yearned for him everyday he was away. But this was a different case, he usually updates you about stuff on a weekly basis, and the last time you heard from him was about a month ago.

You worried, but you trust him enough that it's just his job not allowing him to communicate to you for the time being. You were proud of the idea that he's out there fighting for the world, fighting for you but sometimes his absence leaves an empty unfilled void in you heart that was always full and fluttering when he's around.

You passed by the sashes labeled King and Queen of Prom, smiling at the idea that he actually dressed well because you told him it was once your childhood dream to become one. He wasn't the kind of guy to actually show off and be the center of attention but he did his best for the both of you to win it. You don't know how he won up against the campus heartthrob but he had his own ways.

You laid down in bed and slowly closed your eyes, remembering the events of that fateful night. How you face lit up when you got crowned along with him, how his hands locked against yours as he clumsily danced around the hall, laughing at how he's bad at it, and that kiss you shared on his father's pick up truck, which was different from the other kisses you shared. It was long, it was filled with passion, and your tongues didn't know what they were doing but they did it anyway.

Then you started to slip your hands through your bra, fingers circled around your slowly hardening nipples as you visualize a memory of the nearby lake. John brought you there to tell you that you were as beautiful as the moon tonight and the rest of the nights to follow. He wasn't a really expressive person, but you know he wrote a lot about you on his notebooks. And maybe that was one of its contents.

You squirmed a little as you set free your left breast, gripping it like how he gripped it from behind you as you held on to that huge tree by the lake. You were trying hard not to make a sound even though you want to scream all your feelings out. It was both your first time back there, you remember the sharp pain when he first slid inside you, you remembered the look on his face which assured you that everything will be fine. You remembered his whole being inside you, a symbol of his love for you.

You blindly reached out for your bedside drawer, looking for the thing you hold on to when he's away for too long. It was what kept you from looking for him, but it only works temporarily, as you stilk craved for his touch.

You quickly took off everything you wore, panting aggressively as the memory still played in your mind. You felt excited, as if you were inside the memory and you couldn't pass on this realistic opportunity.

Sliding the round tip against your opening, you slowly flicked the switch open as it whirred gently across your skin. You gasped in surprise and giggled guiding the device around the space between your legs.

You heard his soft groans and felt his fingers sink around your breasts as he slammed his hips toward you. On that moment, it didnt matter how your dress was on the floor or if people are going to notice what the two of you have been doing. You let all your emotions out as soon as he was deep inside you.

"John..." you whimpered. It was the only word you could remember, you turned back to him and saw him wearing only the sash and his crown under the moonlight, the view of the lake just beside him. His face was barely visible but you knew he looked gorgeous, his body was beautifully sculpted, as he told you that he wanted to join the military someday. A few more thrusts and he quickly ejects himself and shot his load on your back, the warm liquid slid down to your ass.

Then you snapped back to reality as you heard a loud thud by the door, dropping your toy on the ground and quickly grabbing the covers to wrap around your naked body.

Standing by the door was none other that John MacTavish, your boyfriend, he looked buffer than the last time you saw him and noticed some new scars on his face.

"John..." was all you could say. Your voice was barely audible as tears started to well from your eyes.

"Y/N..." he ran across the room, his boots loudly thumped on the wooden flooring. No other words were spoken, but your bodies tried to communicate everything with one long and passionate kiss. Tongues wrapped each other as they reunited after all those times, re-exploring every region like it was their first time. Your hands didn't know which part to hold first, his face whom you missed to see everyday, his strong arms which reminded you that he's going to protect you from everything, or his body that was there when you needed someone to feel comfortable with. You had a lot of choices but your hand went to something that you were yearning for at the moment. You cupped his already hard cock from his combat jeans and teasingly rubbed it's length, it grew sideways across his other leg and he grunted inside your mouth as you did it. He immediately broke the kiss as both of your lust-filled eyes stared at each other. You threw the covers that once wrapped you as you enjoy the feel of his eyes appreciating your body. He slowly reached out for his shoelaces and pulled each one of them while you unbutton his shirt excitedly. The boots flew along with his socks followed by his shirt. There was still on undershirt beneath it which was too tight that it hugged his whole body perfectly. You wanted to rip it apart but hesitated and slowly lifted it up instead. He raised his hands to help you out and you admired his hairy chest down to his six pack abs with a little trail of hair peeking right below his navel.

"See something ya like?" his thick accent entered your ears and sent shivers down your spine. He had a beautiful voice along with that accent and you always fall for it.

You remained quiet but your eyes say it all. You loved him ever since you two played as a kid, you loved him even when he told you he was going away for a while, and you will love him until the day you die.

John felt impatient at the pace you were undressing him. He respected that he wanted to enjoy every single second you two bonded but he had needs to attend to himself. Unbuckling his belt, he stripped off his pants along with his boxers letting his huge erect penis to spring out.

You giggled at his actions, ever since you lived together he always wanted the slow passionate style so you opted for that kind of welcome, now he was eager to do things fast maybe it was because of the time. You wanted to do it fast the moment you saw him again, but you also wanted to do what he liked. Now, you finally found the answer you were looking for.

Your eyes sparkled in delight as you looked up at him while your mouth sucked on his cock. He released a grunt of relief as his sexual frustration was finally satisfied, his hands held on to your head and guided you as you consume his entirety. You felt him push you more and you gagged and choked, making him chuckle in delight. You found it surprising but you liked the feeling nonetheless. Your mouth felt his warm cock and you circled it around your cheek like a toothbrush, momentarily taking it out of your mouth and pushing it back in.

After a few more entries he then pushed you to the bed, his cold blue eyes gazed at you, like he was a predator ready to consume you whole. You smiled at him, telling him you were ready to become prey as he aggressively spread your legs and let his mouth in.

You felt his excitement as his tongue circled around your pussy almost randomly. He didn't know which to lick first but as soon as you noticed it, he was already over the place. Soft moans escaped your lips as he teasingly bit off your other lips down there, his tongue easing the pain of the bite. You gripped the sheets as his tongue worked unfathomable acts on your pussy, and it felt even better when his fingers joined in.

You were panting hard and dripping wet, and MacTavish was there to witness it all. A sneaky smirk filled his face as he pulled your whole body effortlessly to the edge of the bed, locked his arms on your thick ass cheeks and lifted you up. He positioned his tip just above your opening, sliding it slowly to your entrance and slid it in. 

"Haaaaah" you gasped as you slowly felt his manhood inside you. He was standing up and carrying your whole body, but you see no signs of excessive effort in his face. This was all easy for him. Then his hips started thrusting, and each thrust sent you on a mind bending adventure as you locked your hands on his neck, tilted your head upward and let him fuck you senseless.

Your groans were like a porn acrtress', which was music to John's ears. A few more thrusts and he found himself on the edge, pushing it deep one last time before catching his breath. Your foreheads met and your lips found each other once again, you could feel your walls clench his thickness as he slowly ejects himself inside you, turning you around 180 degrees, making your cheeks slap his still erect cock. You were upside down and all you could see was his cock hanging between his legs. You giggled as his mouth already consumed your juices, and you started to suck on him upside down. You hands slowly massaged his balls, while you struggled to suck his cock on that position. It felt good but the rush of blood going to your head was distracting you. As soon as he's done, he flipped you back on his face and slowly set you back on the bed, spreading your legs and letting your feet rest on his shoulders.

John knelt on the bed and pointed his cock on your opening, rubbing it just atop your entrance, teasing you while laughing as he did it.

You opened your mouth to complain but before words could exit them, he immediately pushed himself in, making you moan in pleasure. The bed squeaked along with his movements, his hand reached for your breats which were bouncing along with his thrusts, he stopped them with a grip of a hand and continued to lower himself to your mouth. He once again kisses you passionately, to which you respond as you lock your legs on his back as he adjusts to slam your pussy downward. You felt him groan from inside your mouth as he picked up his pace sending you to pleasuretown once again. Your moans and gasps varied from excited to pleasure to this-actually-hurts but it was all worth it nonetheless.

"I missed you so much babe. You think you could reserve the whole day off for me. I still want to do more things to you." he whispered. You nodded in between his hard thrusts, which made you think of calling it sick tomorrow.

"Shit. I can't take it anymore. I'm almost there." he whispered worriedly. He didn't wanted this feeling to end yet. 

"John, let me taste all that pent up feeling.." you whimpered, words started to stutter as his thrusting grew faster.

Almost on the edge of release, John pulled his cock out and you immediately squeezed your breasts in between, signaling him to tit fuck you while you open your mouth and wait for release. John looked excited at your gesture and he positioned himself to do so, his hand helped his cock stay in between your breasts while the other one rested behind his head, flexing his muscles as he thrusts.

A few more thrusts and hot cum was ejected from his tip to your cheek, as he immediately grabbed it and pointed it in your mouth. The view of him groaning in release was another perfect addition to your memories with him.

He panted and laid down beside you leaving words of endearment, telling you how he missed you and how he will love you no matter what.

You smiled and told him what you have been feeling whispering to him that they still have more to catch up to. And that meant you two still have the rest of the day to get rid of that frustration.

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 6

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, starts forlex ends malex, other characters may appear - Freeform, tags subject to update

Chapter Summary: Alex comes home to find his world turned upside down; Max and Isobel struggle to save Michael’s life.

Excerpt:

How close did they come to that chest being stilled forever? The answer was clear, splashed rust-red across Michael’s clothes, and Alex couldn’t stand it, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t balance the equation made by Michael this morning and Michael here, now, this.

Alex stood sharp, with a purpose, stood over Michael whose eyes moved rapid behind his lids, Michael who flushed with life but hadn’t lived since being healed, Michael who could so easily be an illusion of hope, snatched away in a second, snuffed out. Jerkily, Alex shot out a hand, then yanked it back, checked over his shoulder for Max or Isobel or—anyone—like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar. A touch so innocuous, necessary, even; Michael shouldn’t be forced to rest with dirty clothes; but. Was he allowed? Was the universe watching?

His hands were heavy; purpose and gravity worked on them, yet with a weightless almost-faith they remembered the hill and valley of Michael’s chest, the texture and temperature of his skin, the cartography, topography of loving him and being loved.

-

Rain pounded the windshield, and pain pounded Alex’s head, from the back of his neck to behind his eyes. He huffed out short relief when he finally turned down his quiet street and settled back against his seat, no longer needing to squint through the panicked flutter of the windshield wipers at the too-bright lights of other cars as he coasted into his driveway. Parked, he rolled his shoulders back and stretched, heavy eyelids opening and shutting, brain ticking over slowly as it tried to marshal signals to his body to get him out of the car and to the door.

Exhaustion didn’t cover the way everything wore on him. Work, other people, the Project hanging over him like Damocles—how much longer could he hold Fields off without an answer before she took drastic action or moved on, maybe even called Flint in? He had a calendar in the drawer by his bed counting down the days to the end of his contract, hidden away so he didn’t have to explain himself when Forrest stayed over. Not that he relished everything about a return to civilian life, a life he’d never lived as an adult…

Even his loved ones wore on him sometimes. Guilt was another chain around his shoulders, from the way he’d ghosted Kyle for weeks, to shooting down offers from Maria to hang out, to letting his morning call with Liz this week slip from a real conversation to a perfunctory text confirmation that Arturo and Rosa were fine. On top of that, he still hadn’t texted Forrest since he landed, and now Alex was avoiding his phone, the tension of expectation he imagined on the other side of the line too much to bear.

And then there was Michael. Brilliant, stubborn Michael, who reminded him without meaning to how wide a gulf he still had to cross to regain his trust, the trust that Alex would always protect him, no matter what.

But—one day at a time. Hour by hour if he had to. Old advice from the counselor he saw after his injury, but no matter how high the papers piled up in his mental inbox (call your therapist), he hadn’t been able to get himself to book a new appointment with a new one, so he’d do what he could, and fall back on the somewhat insufficient tools he had in his outdated toolbox.

And one day at a time meant getting out of his car, carrying his groceries through the rain, and getting in the front door. Okay.

As he turned to leave the car, something moved in his peripheral vision, and he whipped his head around to chase it. Squinting through sheets of rain and twilight-gray haze, he could just make out a dark shape huddled beneath the overhang, but whether it was human, animal, or object, it was impossible to tell. Through the thundering static downpour, Buffy howled behind the door.

Moving slowly, he retrieved his combat knife from the glove box and cracked the door open. The rain rushed up from a rattle to a roar, loud enough to cover the scrape of his boots against concrete and brick as he crept toward the porch. He was soaked cold within moments, blinking water out of his eyes, still and smooth as a cat after decades of conditioning, every muscle locked to avoid tremor. The closer he got, the louder Buffy grew, barking and slamming herself against the door. A few feet closer, and the shape took form—human, definitely human, adult male by size, but whoever it was, they were slumped beside the door, not crouched, not lying in wait, so Alex lowered his knife.

Still creeping closer, he spoke up, “Hey! Do you need help—”

But before he could get out a single word more, the person lifted their head, and—

“Michael?”

Alex bounded forward the last few feet, dropping his knife with a splash, flinging himself to one knee beside Michael’s huddled form, grasping at his sopping clothes, seeking injury, something, anything.

“Michael, what’s wrong? What—”

He tipped his face up and his head lolled back; his breath rattled in his chest. The only color between his ashen face and rain-black hair was an ugly streak of red from the corner of his mouth across his cheek and chin, and a gust of wind blew the storm against them, washing his blood pink, and then it was gone.

“Michael!” Alex repeated, more urgently, frantically. How did this happen? Who could have done this? Alex’s mind shot straight to his own earlier question—how long would Fields let him go without answering. Was this his answer? Tripp’s dog tags hung leaden around his neck. He could choke on them, on the cold tin symbol of his own inaction, even now.

“Max is already on his way,” Michael said, voice breathy and labored, then laughed, a bizarre and throaty caricature of his normal laugh, and his elbow bent robotically to let him tap his temple. “Called him.”

“Why didn’t you go straight to him so he could heal you? Michael? Michael!”

But he was gone; his eyes rolled back to whites, and he slumped strings-cut so Alex almost dove to catch him in his arms; his hand fell from his head to the brick patio and struck the ground with the force of gravity, skinning his knuckles.

It took seconds for Alex to process his shock—seconds Michael might not have to waste, but nonetheless--the rain had his hands slipping on his skin, so Alex held on tighter, clutching Michael’s head to his chest, curling his body around him on the most animal instinct to shield, shelter, protect.

Despite the cold downpour, Michael’s skin was feverish, his breathing bad and worsening, his pulse fast and weak. Bracing his weight on his good leg, Alex pulled Michael over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and stood and unlocked the door.

Buffy’s barking stopped as it swung open; she scrambled around Alex’s feet, pawing at his legs, herding him inside, sniffing at Michael’s fingertips that dangled inches from the ground. Panting, Alex hauled him to the couch and set him down.

Inside, out of the rain, Michael somehow looked worse. His entire front was soaked with blood along with rain; he stank of it, all copper and salt, and bile rose in Alex’s throat. He held his breath and grabbed a towel.

“Gonna ruin your stuff,” Michael rasped. “Gonna ruin…”

Milliseconds before pressing call to figure out how far away Max was, Alex dropped his phone from numb fingers as Michael—there was no word for it, for a second, a heartbeat, Alex lost all faith in his own eyes—as Michael blurred and disappeared and blurred and reappeared a few feet away, whining like a shot doe.

“What the f—Michael!”

“Alex!” Max’s voice bellowed. A fist pounded on the door, shaking the entire frame.

“It’s open!” Alex called back, dropping to the ground beside Michael again and lifting his head into his lap. “Michael,” his voice broke as Max threw the door open. “Michael, what happened? What’s happening?”

His only answer was a babble, words Alex couldn’t understand, words that doubled, tripled in on themselves, moved backwards to forwards and slid out of Alex’s mind the second he heard them, alien, unknowable.

“Michael!” The word wrenched out of Max’s mouth. Buffy paced behind him, whining, letting out a single loud, anxious bark that went unanswered as all the energy in the room funneled toward Michael.

“Hey—[][][][][][][],” Michael said, a horrible, gasping laugh rattling out of his chest.

As the words left his mouth, he groaned and curled in on himself, choking, splattering himself with more blood as it bubbled up between his teeth; then Alex had to strain to hold him still as his back snapped into an arch. Light flashed, then flashed again, and Alex’s logical mind wanted to call it lightning but—but it wasn’t. It came from inside Michael, as all the strength left his muscles and he collapsed, again, limp against Alex. He was so feverishly hot, even for him.

“What the fuck,” Alex whispered. His mind came up blank for anything else to say; his hands tightened, one hand’s nails digging into his bicep, a fistful of bloody shirt in his other. Michael tipped his head to the side, nodding against Alex’s chest.

“Alex,” he croaked.

“I’m here.” To Max, he repeated, “What the fuck? I saw him just a few hours ago, what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Max said, reaching out to grab him.

Alex’s hands tightened more, on pure instinct, clutching Michael to his body, but then he forced himself to let him go, to let Max lay hands on him.

Max continued, “I heard him in my head, like he screamed in my ear, and I just—knew he’d be here, somehow. It’s not normal, it’s not—we never hear Michael, he’s always closed off. I don’t know what happened.”

As he spoke, his hands wandered over Michael, across the bloodstains on his chest and neck. His brow furrowed; he moved as if on autopilot, until his hands found purchase on Michael’s temples, and he closed his eyes. Softly, his hands began to glow, and Alex held his breath.

If Max couldn’t fix him…

No. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought for a second, not when his body still tingled with the sense memory of Michael’s living heat. He couldn’t die; it went against nature.

Max grunted, and his exertion pulled Alex back down to earth. He couldn’t do anything for Michael that Max couldn’t right now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be helpful. Levering himself to his feet, he headed for the bathroom, Buffy following, barking anxiously. Wrenching open the medicine cabinet, he downed two Tylenol dry to head off the pain in his leg and hip he knew was coming, then from under the sink he snatched a fresh bottle of acetone and marched back to the den.

There, it was something out of a horror movie, rain lashing the windows, lit only by the artificial twilight of an afternoon storm, Michael spread out, skin grey, blood red, Max hunched over him looking half as sick, and Alex thrust the bottle at him.

“Drink,” he ordered, and as Max obeyed, guzzling the acetone, gasping between gulps, Alex returned to where he belonged—at Michael’s other side, holding on to him as if their bodies touching would be enough to keep his spirit tethered to this world—the only world—that is, the world they shared together, rendering all others that may exist utterly meaningless.

As nightmarish a scene as they made, Alex let out a sigh of relief when he clutched Michael’s wrist and felt his pulse strengthen. His eyes moved rapidly under his lids; his breathing was regular.

“It’s working,” Alex said, voice croaking out through a thickened throat.

“I hope,” Max groaned. “His mind is like—it’s like an animal fighting back. I need Isobel, I called her, but I’m afraid if she went in we’d lose her too. I can’t think—” his eyes met Alex’s, terrified. “It has to be Jones. Jones did something, I can’t think of anything else that might have done this.”

Alex could. But he seized on the opportunity to have an enemy he could exact answers from, one that didn’t lie at his own front door.

Absentmindedly, searching for soothing and knowing on a base level where it lived, Alex ran his fingers through Michael’s rain-soaked, sweat-soaked hair, stroking it away from his forehead. Blood was drying in rivulets now on Michael’s face and neck, and Alex followed the path of one with the tip of his finger, from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

How close had he come to losing him? If he’d been stuck in traffic, if he’d stopped for coffee on the way home, would it have been too late?

No. No thinking like that now. Stay in the moment.

“What do you need?” he asked Max, who finished off the acetone and tossed the bottle aside, reaching for Michael again.

“I think I won’t know until Michael wakes up again. If he does. If not…Isobel will be here soon.”

“When you heal, can you feel what it is you’re healing? Do you know what’s wrong with him?”

“Sort of?” Max’s hands began to glow again. “I’m healing burst blood vessels—all over his body. Internal scarring, almost like burns, it’s—bizarre.” He shuddered. “What I can feel from his head is separate, and I’ve never felt anything like it before.”

Michael shivered in Alex’s arms as Max placed his hands on his head again and filled his body with light, and Alex kept his eyes on Max, watching for any sign he was hitting his limit.

“How’s your heart?” He asked, though the concern flowed bitter and false over his tongue. Even at his coldest, most calculating, he wouldn’t bring himself to sacrifice Max outright, but if Max had to give his life to save Michael’s, would Alex truly stop him?

“I’ll live,” Max replied through gritted teeth.

Over by the door, Buffy rattled off a series of barks, getting louder and louder until the door slammed open. Alex flinched at the sound, hand flying to where his gun would be if he was wearing it, even though he knew with near-certainty who it would be.

“Where is he?” Isobel shouted, red-faced and panting as she rounded the corner into the living room, Buffy jumping and barking at her heels. “Michael!”

“Iz!”

The glow from Max’s hands faded, and he struggled almost to his feet, but Isobel was there before he stood fully, folding him into the hug he was trying to give her. Then Isobel reached for Michael, shoving Alex aside so she could cling to her brother, and Alex went.

She made a strangled noise when he was in her arms, limp and lifeless even after all Max’s effort.

“I’ll get more acetone. Maybe he’ll drink some,” Alex said, using the couch to pull himself to his feet.

Isobel continued to ignore him, but Max grabbed Alex’s wrist and said a quiet thank you as Alex left the siblings alone.

The bathroom door snicked closed behind Alex before he turned the light on, and in the dark he breathed in deep and deliberate until his lungs no longer caught on every inhale against his aching ribs, his galloping heart. He white-knuckled the sides of the sink to keep himself upright until the shaking stopped.

And when he checked all his welds and seams and found himself still watertight, he turned the light on, met his own eyes in the mirror, just once, and got back to business, grabbing the rest of the eight-pack of acetone.

Before he opened the door, his phone buzzed, and he flicked it open. It was a text from Forrest.

 Hey! Just got back to the hotel after dinner. Having a great time so far…but I keep thinking I’d have more fun with you here. How’s my girl doing? And how’s my man?

Alex’s thumb hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds, lips pressed together, head blank of anything to say. Then, a lump in his throat, he shut it down without replying, and headed back to Michael and the Evanses.

He breathed a little easier when he re-entered the room and was met with a different scene than before. Max and Isobel had Michael laid out on the couch—and Alex’s mind flashed back to the way Michael had disappeared and reappeared and what the fuck was that?—and he rested more peacefully than he had before. Color was coming back to his skin.

Isobel sat on the arm of the couch, stroking Michael’s hair off his forehead, while Max sat on the floor at the other end, back against the couch.

“Thank you, Alex,” Isobel said, acknowledging him for the first time.

Alex acknowledged her back with a nod, as Buffy paced from the couch to the door and back again a few times, finally settling with a whuff against Max, resting her head on his thigh, looking up at him with huge, soft eyes.

“Hey girl,” he said softly, petting her ears.

“How is he?” Alex asked.

“Alive. Sleeping.” Isobel ran her hand across his forehead again. “We’ll see where his mind is when he wakes up.”

Alex sat on the piano bench, folding his hands between his knees. “Max kept saying he’d never felt anything like this before. Can you describe it to me?”

She groaned and rubbed her temples, and Max nudged a bottle of acetone closer to her. “It’s almost like interference, but not. There’s nothing in there that isn’t Michael; he’s not possessed. But it’s like Michael’s been repeated. A thousand different Michaels all shouting at once. He’s quieter now. But…I don’t know.”

Watching Michael’s face, approaching peaceful in an unconsciousness Alex was too fearful to be fooled by, Alex spoke slowly, uncertainly.

“When you discovered you could use telekinesis alongside your other powers, what was that like? Was it spontaneous, or…?”

“Not really? Noah said that we all had the potential for much more than we imagined, and—after—I was so angry, I thought, if Michael can use his anger this way, why not me?” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “So I wouldn’t call it spontaneous. I could always have done it, I just never thought to, until I did. Like knowing how to swim and learning a new stroke. I was clumsy at it at first, but I was just doing something I already knew how to do in a different way.”

“Hm.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Before you both got here, Michael was…”

“He called me. Like your psychic scream, Isobel, except he’s never done that before. And he kept emitting light. While I was healing him,” Max said, looking up at Isobel. “Flashes of light. Not electricity.”

“And before you got here, he—teleported. Only word for it. Something none of you have ever done.”

“What?”

Isobel grabbed Michael’s shoulder tightly, like he might disappear right in front of her, like she could stop him. Max just shook his head silently. He really did look awful, eyes red, dark bruises beneath them, a shakiness to him that hadn’t been there last time Alex saw him, some random Thursday when he brought marshmallows to Michael’s because he’d never actually had a smore that wasn’t made in the microwave. Maybe his condition came down to the rigors of saving someone’s life with your own, but considering how worried Michael had been for weeks, Alex thought not.

“I don’t know,” Alex said, dragging his hands over his face. “None of us know. We’re just talking in circles.”

“I guess we just have to wait for Michael to tell us,” Max said.

“Or we go beat it out of that bearded f—”

“No, Isobel.”

“You can’t keep defending him.” Her voice went high and loud, zero to a hundred. “Look what he’s done! He almost killed Michael, what is wrong with you?”

“I’m not defending him!” Max shot back, wounded. “I’m telling you not to go running off on some half-cocked vengeance scheme when Michael still needs you here! If he’s lost inside his own head somehow, there’s no one who can help him but you. We’ll deal with Jones later, when we know Michael is safe.”

Isobel growled but capitulated.

Not letting any ugly silence settle, Alex got up and said, “I’ll put some coffee on.”

They watched over Michael for all the rest of that evening and into the night, as the storm quieted and the sun set and Michael’s hair dried into a familiar halo of curls. At some point, Isobel brought Alex’s groceries in, half-ruined, and Max made dinner with whatever could be salvaged. While they worked, Alex sat with Michael in a chair pulled up to the couch where he lay, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

How close did they come to that chest being stilled forever? The answer was clear, splashed rust-red across Michael’s clothes, and Alex couldn’t stand it, couldn’t reconcile it, couldn’t balance the equation made by Michael this morning and Michael here, now, this.

Alex stood sharp, with a purpose, stood over Michael whose eyes moved rapid behind his lids, Michael who flushed with life but hadn’t lived since being healed, Michael who could so easily be an illusion of hope, snatched away in a second, snuffed out. Jerkily, Alex shot out a hand, then yanked it back, checked over his shoulder for Max or Isobel or—anyone—like a kid with a hand in the cookie jar. A touch so innocuous, necessary, even; Michael shouldn’t be forced to rest with dirty clothes; but. Was he allowed? Was the universe watching?

His hands were heavy; purpose and gravity worked on them, yet with a weightless almost-faith they remembered the hill and valley of Michael’s chest, the texture and temperature of his skin, the cartography, topography of loving him and being loved.

They started slowly. He eased up the hem of Michael’s ruined t-shirt with a pinch of fabric, without touching his body at all; he inched it up his back where it rested against the couch, until he ran out of room to work with cloth alone. The shirt bunched around his underarms.

Alex had no choice but to touch, so he did.

His hand still fit the circumference of Michael’s arm, and he lifted it. Michael moved without resistance, idle art in living warmth, velvet skin, liquid veins. Alex moved as if he was as delicate as glass. The second arm was no easier; Alex worked just as tenderly, every inch of his skin lit up with sensation. Leave no trace, like Michael’s body was some untouched scrap of woodland in Alex’s brief custody rather than the sweetly historied path toward home. But that was where Alex was right now, what time and choice made of them.

He pulled the shirt over Michael’s head, and it came away easy in his hands, and he went to his bedroom to get a new one.

The whole thing took less than a minute.

Michael slept on.

“Any change?” Max asked softly, handing Alex a plate of the dinner he’d already forgotten about. Buffy followed him from the kitchen, but she didn’t go after the food, opting for her bed beside the piano, where she continued to watch Max with adoring eyes. He didn’t comment on Michael’s shirt, for which Alex was pathetically grateful. In the kitchen, the water ran as Isobel did the dishes.

“No. Can…you sense any change? Through your bond, or through a handprint?”

“No. Maybe? When I first got here, he took up so much space, metaphorically, psychically, that it was almost hard to breathe. He feels more like himself now. Like he fits inside his body. So that’s probably good.”

“Probably,” Alex agreed.

The water shut off, and Isobel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “I’m going in,” she said flatly.

“What?” Max asked.

“His head. I’m going in. I need to see what he’s seeing; to try and pull him out. This?” she waved a hand at Michael. “Isn’t normal. Liz died and she wasn’t out this long. I’m going in to get our brother back.”

Take me with you? Alex almost said it, almost begged, as much a violation of trust as it would be to walk Michael’s mind uninvited. But as Max healed his body, as Isobel healed his mind, Alex was helpless to do anything, and he never wore helplessness well. It clawed its way out of him. It destroyed things if he failed to catch it in time.

But he held its leash tight, for now, and gave Isobel an equally tight nod.

“What do you need?”

“Space. No interruptions. It seems like you’ve got enough acetone”—five bottles were still left at the foot of the couch—“so I just need time.”

“You can have the guest bedroom,” Alex agreed.

He and Max carried Michael between them, sharing his weight. Some rearing and needy part of Alex wanted to do the work himself, bundle Michael in his arms and hold him close, but he’d already carried him once today, and Tylenol only went so far. Once he was situated on the bed, Max went to get acetone and water for Isobel.

Weak in the legs, Alex sat beside Michael’s head, never taking his eyes off him. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t. And neither was it a possibility for him to reach out and touch his hair, his forehead, his cheek, so he only watched.

In the door, Isobel cleared her throat. She held both liquids—Max had put them in different-colored cups—and set them on the bedside table before sitting on Michael’s other side.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Alex said, but made no move to go.

After a few seconds, Isobel made a frustrated noise and tossed her hair. “Whatever. You can stay.”

“I—really?”

“It’ll be boring, and if it freaks you out, you can’t interrupt. But yeah.” Alex opened his mouth to respond, but Isobel just held up a hand. “I don’t pretend to understand your weird alien soulmate bullshit. Yours or Max and Liz’s. And I don’t really care what your deal is with Forrest Long, but if you mess my brother around, I’ll end you.”

“I’m not—”

“Again, don’t care. I just know…” she softened. “…I just know how much you mean to Michael. So you can stay.”

Alex swallowed, the lump in his throat too big for him to answer with words, so he nodded, and Isobel nodded back.

“Okay. Starting now.”

Her eyes slipped closed as she lifted Michael’s hand and pressed it between both her own.

The world didn’t change; no power within Alex’s senses rippled between the two of them. Isobel wasn’t wrong to call it boring, as even the uncertain anxiety of what was transpiring in Michael’s head couldn’t keep his attention from wandering. Half an hour in, Max came into the room to stand beside the bed as well, and he clapped a hand on Alex’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, an attempt that reassured neither of them. But it was a brother’s touch, and that meant something.

In that room, throughout that silent ordeal, they were family. Alex was part of that family. It was a feeling he had no room on the shelves for; it fit in none of his boxes. He could barely comprehend it, so it sat in the center of the floor, and for a few hours, everything rearranged itself neatly around the new centerpiece of his world, like it was meant to be there all along.

The night deepened on, pain and exhaustion graying Alex’s vision. Discretion and strategy overtaking his determination, he was close to calling it quits and attempting a few hours of sleep when Isobel surfaced, bone white and nose bleeding as Max scrambled to hand her the acetone.

“Did it—”

Max didn’t even finish the sentence before, with a drowning, sucking gasp, Michael followed her out. Alex shouted, elation, shock, fear, everything, as Michael coughed and coughed until a clot of blood dislodged from his throat, guzzling the water that Alex passed him. His bloodshot eyes met Alex’s over the rim of the glass, confused and shocked, and Alex just nodded, trying to say without words everything that…just everything.

Everything.

On Michael’s other side, Isobel was laughing, breathless and triumphant.

“I’m going to kill you! I’m going to fucking kill you,” she wheezed, throwing herself into Michael’s arms.

Michael’s eyes fell shut as he rested his head against hers. “I know,” he rasped in return, but his lips pulled into a smile anyway. “I know.”

“Michael,” Max said weakly.

And Michael replied, “I know.”

Max rounded the bed to fold the both of them into a hug. Alex might have even joined them, if he wasn’t—he realized only now—shaking too badly to move. But in the midst of all the sensory overload, the misfiring nerves electrifying his helpless flesh, one sensation rang true.

Alex’s hands rested on the bed, stiff and motionless, until one of Michael’s crossed that untouched skin, light at first then more firmly, finger atop finger, knuckle nestled into soft palm, and Michael held his hand and gave it a squeeze, and Alex squeezed him back.

[fruitcoops]

I NEED TO SEE THAT LUPIN VS GREYBACK FIGHT HOLY SHIT THE WOLF IS A N G R Y ALSO- sirius’s reaction after the game 😏 maybe if you feel comfy with that if not it’s fine i just feel like sirius would go buck wild if he saw remus fight lmao. o r——— remus being vv bossy and dominating and- you get the idea lmfao. work your magic, love, ill love it regardless of what you do with it ❤️

Anon, this ask made me laugh so much when I first saw it. If anyone has computer skills, please record a live reading of this and send it to me so I can giggle for all eternity. I love you.

As requested, Sirius’ POV! It’s almost 2k words again and some of the dialogue is the same as Remus’ POV, but since he was in an......unreliable headspace the first time around there have been some changes. I hope you like it! Credit for Coops/ Sweater Weather goes to our savior @lumosinlove

TW for a panic attack, fistfighting, and scabs/ bruises/ minor blood

Sirius was so gone for Remus Lupin it wasn’t even funny. The whole game, he had been a force to be reckoned with on the ice as he dodged checks and slammed two goals in without breaking a sweat. Remus had gone to bed anxious and awoken with a determined set to his mouth that was incredibly attractive, though Sirius had been unable to properly appreciate it at the time.

Then Leo got hit, hit by Greyback of all people.

Sirius hesitated at first, torn between rushing to Leo’s side or going to beat the living shit out of Greyback for what he did. Finn crossed the ice with Talker and Kuny on his heels and they carefully pried Leo off the posts—oh, god, he looked like he was in so much pain—while a flash of black and furious red slammed Greyback down. Remus?

Greyback seemed too shocked to fight back as Remus landed hit after hit on him, pinning him to the ground with one hand wrenching the front of his jersey until it nearly tore. Sirius had made the foolish mistake of thinking yesterday’s emotional breakdown would be the end of his nerves, but no; no, this was the culmination of years of looming terror.

By the time Sirius got his arms around Remus and tried to pull him off, Greyback was a wreck. His lips was split and both eyes were already swelling with purple-black bruises as he stared up in shock. “Let go!” Sirius shouted over the stadium noise. “Re, you have to let him go or you’ll get in trouble!”

“—fucking let me go—”

“Stop it, this isn’t you!”

“—if you even breathe on them again—”

“Remus, sweetheart, that’s enough!” Sirius heaved backward and Remus came with him, writhing in his hold like a cornered wildcat. His threats were low enough that Sirius could only make out every third word, but the pure, unbridled venom in his voice was palpable. “Just—just stop fighting me, love. You have to breathe, Remus, take a deep breath.”

“Get off me, I’m not done with him yet,” he spat, struggling to break free. Remus was strong, but Sirius was stronger—his arms didn’t budge as he leaned back against the boards and nearly lifted Remus off the ice.

“Yes, you are. Leo’s going to be fine.” Sirius grunted as one of Remus’ sharp elbows caught him in the side. “Greyback’s going to get kicked out but you need to stop.”

Remus’ sudden weight as he slumped was a surprise; Sirius nearly dropped him. His whole body shook for a second and he grasped at Sirius’ hands. “Leo—around the goal post—“

Sirius wasn’t entirely sure what reassurances came out of his mouth, but they must have been good enough, because Remus listed to the side and stopped thrashing entirely. “Lupin!” Coach barked as Sirius pulled him off the ice. Please don’t be angry, please don’t be angry. “What the hell were you doing out there?”

“ ‘m sorry, so sorry, Coach,” Remus wheezed, leaning all his weight into Sirius, who scrambled to catch him. His face had gone from flushed to alabaster pale, almost gray in the bright lights. His pupils were so dilated there was barely any of the warm amber Sirius’ loved around the edges and every breath was shallow. “Fuck, wasn’t thinking, ‘m sorry.”

Coach visibly rocked backward, his gaze flickering to Sirius’ face. “Alright, Lupin, why don’t you head back into the locker room for a bit. Black, make sure he’s okay.”

Thank you, Sirius mouthed as he wrapped one of Remus’ arms around his neck. Coach nodded silently and he felt his eyes follow them as they headed for the tunnel. “You’re okay, sweetheart, just hang on for a moment—”

Remus mumbled something and dropped like a stone.

Sirius’ knees smarted with pain as they hit the ground, but he was too consumed with Remus to focus on that. He couldn’t seem to decide what to do with his hands, grasping and grabbing at the walls blindly. “Remus, look at me. Come on, you’re okay, just open your eyes.”

“Bad. This feels bad ohmygodIhithim.”

“You did—”

“Sirius.” His voice cracked and Sirius’ heart broke. “Sirius, I hit him. ‘m not scared, just angry.”

“I think you’re a lot of things right now,” Sirius murmured under his breath. “Can you open your eyes for me, love?” Remus sucked in a few harsh breaths as tears slipped down his cheeks, but soon frightened amber met grey and Sirius reached out to hold his arms. “It’s just us right now. We’re in the tunnel.”

“So much happening. Can’t stop shaking.”

“I know, Remus, just take your time. Let it out. I love you so much, you know that? You’re okay now and you can just hang on to me. I’ve got you.”

“Why do I feel like this?” he asked in little more than a whisper as he desperately reached out for Sirius.

“You just worked through a lot of trauma in under a minute, honey.”

“It is, it really is.” Sirius frowned; he started to wonder what Remus was talking about when he began…laughing? He was laughing. Okay. That was new. It wasn’t really laughing, just short, broken-off wheezes that were a cruel imitation of the little down-up that happened when Remus read a funny passage in a book or Sirius made a pun.

And then he cried, and cried, and cried.

So Sirius held him.

“I hate him, and I feel better,” Remus mumbled into his shoulder on the tail end of a heaving exhale. It was the first coherent thing he’d said since the ice.

“Ride it out, sweetheart, you can do this.” Sirius pressed a kiss into his hair as cold hands tangled in his jersey and strong shoulders shook. The guilt was eating him alive—how could he have missed this last night? Just how long had Remus been bottling this up?

“Pads?”

Sirius looked up at the end of the tunnel but never relinquished his hold. “Hey, Pots.”

James’ eyes flickered once to Remus and his heartbreak was clear. He had always been an open book like that. “How is he?”

A pause. “He’ll be better soon. We’re just gonna head home, I think. Any news on Leo?”

“Bruised ribs, no major damage.” James raked a hand through his sweaty hair. “Three weeks and he’ll be good as new. I’ll let the guys know you left, alright? Do you need a ride?”

“I’ve got it, but thank you.”

“Sirius.” Remus’ strangled voice made them both wince and Sirius rubbed his back gently as the sobs abated into trembling breaths.

“Keep me updated?” James asked, resting one careful hand on Sirius’ shoulder.

“I will.”

“Drive safe, Sirius.” And then it was just the two of them, twisted together as Remus slowly came back to himself.

Sirius didn’t say much as he led Remus to the car, both in their socks with their skates in his other hand. The drive home was quiet; Remus curled up against the window and closed his eyes immediately. The worst of it was behind them.

Even Hattie seemed to understand something was wrong, because she nuzzled Sirius’ thigh once and licked Remus’ hand before laying down in her bed and watching them leave. “Good girl,” he said softly.

Remus managed to get two whole buckles undone on his pads before Sirius stepped in with careful fingers and lifted the heavy gear away. The scabs and bruises on his knuckles had been hard to see in the darkness of the tunnel, but they were stark in the gentle light of their bedroom. Sirius took his hands and stepped into the shower, then turned the water on hot.

A slow ripple worked its way down Remus’ back as the steam rose and fogged up the mirror. Sirius reached for a bar of soap—not mine, he says it’s toothpaste on steroids—and smoothed the suds down his spine. “Is this okay?” he asked as the muscle jumped under his touch.

Remus sighed. “Yeah, it’s good.”

He worked his way up to his shoulder blades. “Are you okay?”

There were a few heartbeats of comfortable silence before Remus spoke again. “I think so? I feel lighter. I don’t know yet. Did I scare you?” His voice was fragile, but not laced with panic, just exhaustion.

“What?” Sirius laughed a little in surprise. Of course he scared him, what kind of question was that?

“Your voice was shaking when you pulled me away. I was worried.”

You were having the worst panic attack of your life and you were worried about me. Sirius’ knees nearly gave out with how much love flooded through his body. “You scared me a little, yeah, but mostly because you didn’t seem like you,” he admitted, sliding his hand up to wash the nape of Remus’ neck. He had been so tense on the ice, so viciously angry and vengeful in a way that Sirius would have never expected. He spat and snarled and flailed like he was going to die if Sirius held him a second longer.

“You were fighting me like I was going to hurt you, and then in the tunnel you just kind of dropped. I was expecting something to happen once the adrenaline wore off, but it was really fast.” He poured some shampoo into his palm and began working it through Remus’ curls.

“It felt fast. That’s nice.” Damp, soapy skin slid against his chest as Remus leaned into him, then turned to face him. His face was cast in shades of pink and gold again, and his eyes went soft as he looked at Sirius. “Hey.”

The breath rushed from his lungs. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Do not cry, do not cry, nobody else gets to cry tonight.

“Are you…using my soap?”

“It does have an intense smell.” Remus looked up at him and smiled. “You make it work.”

“Thanks?”

The pre-laugh hiccup made the lump in Sirius’ throat return and he closed his eyes against the burn, only for a feather-light kiss to touch his nose and make him freeze. One pressed to his left cheekbone, then his right, then one to his jawline, and finally, finally, the lingering pressure of Remus’ lips on his own. Lean, strong arms settled over his shoulders and Sirius held his hips like the world would come crashing down if he let go.

“Are you ready to go to bed?” he asked, leaning in once more.

A wry smile, one that was so Remus it hurt, flickered over his features. “I’m not tired yet.”

“Okay.”

And as Remus dragged him into the bedroom by the hands, laughing at Sirius’ antics and lighting the whole damn place up with his smile, Sirius knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life right here. 

[bittydragon]

The Borrower of L’Manburg (Pt.1)

Notes: So for starters, this story is actually written by a friend of mine on discord. They asked if I would be willing to share this with you all and here we are! I’ve enjoyed reading their writing as the story progresses (and if you didn’t see in the title there are more parts in the making!) With that all said, their story is really good, so I hope you enjoy their writing as much as I do!

It had been a while since you had fled your home in L'manburg, but not nearly long enough to be able to move out of this cursed house that you had had to move into for the time being. You somehow chose what was possibly the worst building to ever live in. The dictator and his VP lived here; the ones that uprooted your life and destroyed the protective walls of the nation you called home. You were terrified every time you had to go out for supplies, but you couldn't survive another long journey to any other nearby building yet. Piercing loud yelling broke your train of thought.

"Quackity, I swear to God, don't you fucking touch that!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" A different voice yells back, laughing. The man behind that voice was a bit younger- Quackity is his name, the Vice President of the dictatorial president. He also seems to be a whole lot nicer in private than he showed when he was ripping down the walls that protected you. You tuned back in to their conversation, but it was too late. You hear the front door slam, and silence.

They had left. This gives you the perfect opportunity to go scavenging. These guys aren't exactly tidy- they leave everything out in the open, which is the only reason why you hadn't risked your life to escape to get somewhere else quite yet. You remove the pixels of the block you had hallowed out for yourself and look around, just to make sure the coast is clear. After replacing the pixels, you make your way across the counter of the whitehouse's kitchen, which is actually just a space below the stairs, with just a crafting table and a few furnaces. Once you get to the furthest furnace away, you clip your fishing rod string to the corner pixel and swing down to check for any leftover cooked food. There's some cooked chicken, so you grab just one pixel of it. You don't want to risk them noticing anything.

Just as you've swung yourself down to the middle furnace, you hear a loud thump upstairs, and freeze. The color and warmth drains from your face in an instant as footsteps begin thundering down the stairs that are right over your head. Oh, fuck…

You scramble to pull yourself up and unhook the string, but it's too late. You hear the clink of the door opening behind you, and your body turns cold. You can't see it, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

"What the actual fuck?" His voice seems slightly amused.

You're sweating bullets, but all of your senses suddenly hit you all at once. RUN. So, you bolt. You're sure that this is the fastest you've ever ran in your life, but somehow he's faster and slams his hand down in front of you.

"Oh hell no, you aren't going anywhere! You're staying right here, you tiny fuckin idiot." He laughs at you condescendingly as you slam into his hand and bounce off, flat on your back. When you try to sit up, he puts his index finger on your stomach to pin you down as he looms over you menacingly. "What, you really thought I'd just let you leave? I gotta know what the fuck you are!" He chuckles without a single attempt to comfort you. Can he even see that you're hyperventilating? You aren't sure.

Realizing that your hands are free, you pull out your swords and slash his finger in one swift motion, drawing blood immediately.

"AH, SHIT!" His scream thunders in your ears. He pulls away to look at the damage you did, and you swiftly scramble up and continue your escape to your block. "Hey!"

You're stopped mid sprint as your sword is snatched away from you, and you stumble a little bit. A moment later, you're also snatched up by the opposite hand. Another moment later, and you're held up in front of a giant, horned face of the man- and he looks absolutely pissed.

"You little piece of shit! What the fuck was that for? I didn't do nothin' to you!" Those words coming from him fill you with rage, but you don't want to piss him off any more.

"Let me go!" You squeak, squirming in his fist, your arms pinned to your side this time. Only your head and shoulders peak out of his hand. He raises his eyebrows at the sound of your voice, obviously a bit surprised.

"Hell no!" He looks at his other hand, at the finger you had slashed. He sucks on it for a second just to clean the blood off. "Not after that shit you just pulled. You're a violent little thing! What are you anyways, huh? Where'd you come from?"

"I'm a villager! Now let go of me!"

"Wh-What?" He laughs loudly. "You aint no fuckin' villager! You're smaller than a bee!"

"Yeah, thanks, I couldn't tell. I am a villager. At least, I used to be."

"What the fuck happened to you then, huh? A witch got you? When did they make that update?"

"Yeah, sure, a witch." You shiver at the memory of what happened to your village. Dream and Technoblade. You'll never forget.

He sets the fist you're in down on top of the furnace and leans over, resting his other elbow on the furnace as well. "Well c'mon, you gotta tell me your life story, I'm so very interested." Sarcasm drips from his stupid muttonchops.

"Piss off." You scowl at him. You remember how Dream had threatened the whole village if anyone ever said anything to anyone. Schlatt uses his thumb to nudge your head, just to annoy you. He smirks and chuckles.

"Y'know, you're kinda cute. I might have to keep you around." Your eyes widen at that.

"What? Keep me?"

"Yeah! Like a pet or some shit. Build you a little terrarium or something." He snickers.

You start to struggle in his grip again, which immediately tightens out of instinct. "Let me go! I'm not staying here with you, you crazy bastard!"

"Woah, woah, why the hostility, Jesus! Relax! I'm great to be around, I don't know why you're freaking out. You'd love Quackity, too." He stares off into space for a moment in thought of his new VP.

"No! I'm not staying with either of you! You ruined my home in L'manburg!" You fight with all your might to free yourself from his hold.

His eyes light up with something you can't quite place, but it isn't good. "Ohoho! So that's where you came from! L'manburg, huh? What the fuck did Wilbur do to you!" He laughs so hard that he has to straighten himself standing up. "Y'know, I rule L'manburg now. So you're technically my citizen. I rule you." He chuckles at your pitiful attempts to get free. "You're just as pathetic as all the other citizens I rule. Except with you, I can hold you in my hand. Oh yeah, you aren't going anywhere, anytime soon."

You didn't know it was possible to laugh as hard as he is.

~

You huff as you pace back and forth, glancing out the glass he had trapped you in. He had taken away your sword earlier, but before he had trapped you he had taken all of your supplies- your hook, your climbing equipment, your toolbelt, everything besides the pixel of cooked chicken. He said that you had 'earned' that.

Whenever you glance out the glass, you see Schlatt laying in his bed, turning a little bit every once in a while. You sigh, knowing that his VP will be home soon. At least that's what Schlatt told you before he went to sleep.

Speak of the devil, you hear the sound of the front door, muffled by the glass that surrounds you.

Fuck.

"Schlatt, I'm back! I got some extra food and coal and stuff!" A chest opens and then closes a few moments later.

You pushed yourself up and looked around for somewhere to hide. You see nothing. You're out in the open, trapped in glass, without anything to protect yourself. Double fuck. Footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs.

"Schlatt? I- Oh!" Quackity switches his voice to a whisper. "Shit, I didn't know he was sleeping." He giggles to himself. You push yourself to the far back corner away from him, which backfires on you immediately. Quackity swivels around, hearing the slight scuffling noise you made when moving. His eyes widen, as do yours, and he freezes. "What the fuck…?" He whispers, eyes locked with yours. He takes a step forward, causing you to press back even more. He notices.

"Hey, hey, it's okay! Don't be scared! I'm not gonna hurt you." His voice is a lot more calming than Schlatt's, especially since Quackity is still whispering, trying not to wake up Schlatt. You realize that you're shaking when you glance over at Schlatt. He notices that as well.

"Did… Did he trap you?" You nod in response. He squats down so he's not looming over you. "Oh Jesus. Uh… what exactly are you?"

You sigh internally, really not wanting to have to explain it each time. You decide to just give him what you refer to yourselves ever since Dream got your village. "I-I'm a borrower." You reply simply.

His eyes light up and he grins when he hears you speak. "Oh my god. You're so cute." He laughs, then looks over to Schlatt, who tosses a bit in his sleep.

"Can… Can you let me out? P-Please?" Your shaking slowly lessens, realizing that Quackity probably doesn't have the same intentions as Schlatt does. His eyes snap back to you. There's now pity in them.

"Oh… uh… I-I can't," he rubs the back of his neck. "I'm sorry. He… He would kill me if I did that." You wince at the second realization that it's not gonna be easy getting out of here. You sigh and slump down into the corner of the glass container, rubbing your face.

"It's okay! He's not as bad as he seems once you get to know him. You might like him! Eventually…!" He gives you a little smile. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)." You hesitate a moment. "You're less scary than him. Thanks for being… nicer."

He grins again. "What are you talking about? I'm very intimidating! I'm way taller than you." He stands up to his normal height, his shadow falling over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

"Okay, okay! You're scary too!" You giggle nervously, and he laughs.

"It's alright (Y/n), I promise nobody's gonna hurt you, not on my watch." As if on cue, Schlatt stirs from the bed, making Quackity cringe as he sits up.

"Quackity? You better not be touching the little thing in the glass that I found. I'll kick your ass." Schlatt grumbles and yawns. You try to make yourself smaller in the little corner you've claimed as he gets up, stretching even taller as he approaches Quackity and the glass container.

"No, I haven't touched her."

"Good. Don't. It's mine."

"Where did she come from?"

Schlatt is fully awake once he asks that question, grinning. "Well, apparently our little visitor here came straight from L'manburg! Isn't that cute?" He sneers in your direction.

Quackity's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what? You're from L'manburg?!" You saw his pity again. "You didn't tell me that."

You cringe. "It… It didn't come up-"

"Oh! You two've been talking! What did it tell you, Big Q?" When Schlatt looks at you, all you see is malice.

"Just… her name… and what she is…?" He fidgets nervously.

"Oh yeah? And what's that?"

"Please don't-"

"Ah ah ah! Shush! Go ahead, Quackity!"

Quackity gives you an apologetic look. "Her name is (Y/n). She's a borrower." With that, Schlatt's face lights up like a Christmas tree, and he starts laughing maniacally.

"So…! You lied to me, huh?" He catches his breath after laughing. "I didn't even care much for your name, but what the fuck's a 'borrower' and how many of you little rats are around here?" He rests his weight on his hands, placed in front of you behind the glass. You start shaking again.

You push yourself away from him. "I didn't lie! I-I haven't seen anyone else around in years. I don't know. There's nobody else here or in L'manburg." You ramble, looking anywhere and everywhere but his face.

"Schlatt, c'mon man, you're scaring her." Quackity tries to push him back, but Schlatt slaps his hand away. Your eyes widen- that much force on you would kill you instantly, but it was practically nothing to them.

"Don't touch me. What I do with her is none of your business. I found her."

"Yes it is! I'm not gonna let you hurt her when she can't do anything to you!" Quackity yells back, taking Schlatt by surprise.

"She's from L'manburg! She could easily be Wilbur's little bitch sent here to get information!" Who's Wilbur?

"She doesn't know anybody. She's innocent, just leave her alone, man!"

"Fine." Schlatt steps over to your glass container, and opens the top. His hand reaches in and fills up your entire field of vision. You squeak in fear and push yourself back into your corner.

Since you made it hard for him, Schlatt has to pick you up between his thumb and index finger, on your stomach and back respectively. You squirm at first, but you grab on tight as your stomach drops when he lifts you up and out of the container. "No no no! Please!"

"If you want to protect her, then here, catch." Within a second, you're flying through the air, screaming your lungs out. You gasp when you land on your back onto a warm, plushy surface, frozen in shock, mouth agape.

"Schlatt what the fuck! You can't just do that to her, she's tiny!"

"Too late. She's your problem now, anyways."

Quackity protectively holds you close to his chest, shielding you as Schlatt walks by him and down the stairs. "If you let her run free to Wilbur I'm gonna hunt her down!" You both hear the front door slam shut.

[xjoonchildx]

airplane, pt. 2 | jjk x reader chapter five: home

pairing: jungkook/reader

word count: 2.9K rating: 18+

genre: smut | silly smut | nonsensical smut

warnings:  criminal!jungkook, koreanamerican!jungkook, reality has left the chat, plausibility has left the chat

A/N: i've never had so much anxiety posting an update. next time i decide to fly by the seat of my pants and turn a one-shot into a full chaptered fic, just punch me in the face, okay?

all kidding aside, standard smut warnings apply to this chapter and i really hope you guys like it.

xoxo

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

artwork by the shmexy @ppersonna​ who’s smut is even better than her art

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

“You broke into my house.”

It takes you a solid minute to find the breath to power that shaky sentence.

Your legs are already like noodles from your run and at this point they are threatening to come right out from underneath you. You reach a hand out to the wall to stop yourself from hitting the deck.

Jungkook stands slowly from where he’s seated on the couch, a careful smile on his lips.  

“You gonna call the cops?”

You stare at him.

Jungkook is in the country.  In Los Angeles. In your living room .  

He’s wearing a leather jacket over a t-shirt and jeans and his hair is cut short again.  He is alive and in one piece and looks somehow even more handsome than he did the last time you saw him.  How does he do that?

You’re so distracted by Jungkook -- in your fucking house -- that you miss the look of concern that comes over him the longer you stand there without saying something.  It’s like your brain is hung up -- glitching -- trying to process the scene in front of you.

“You okay?”

“You broke into my house ,” you say again, as though that should answer his question.

“That is a matter of semantics,” Jungkook argues.  “I would say that I let myself in because I knew you wouldn’t want me just standing around outside. Aren’t you the one always telling me to keep a low profile?”

A disbelieving laugh bubbles up your chest.

His sarcasm is comforting, even right now, when your heart is still racing and you can’t seem to stop sweating and you’ve just realized that you’re pretty fucking pissed that he dropped off the radar and didn’t contact you for weeks.  

“So we should probably talk, huh?”

“You think?”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. He sinks back down onto the couch and gestures for you to join him. 

You don’t.

“How the hell did you get here?” you demand.

“Same way I got out, pretty much,” he shrugs.  “Mexico. Hitched a ride to San Diego and Yoongi was able to pick me up there. Good thing I’m not from Iowa or some shit, huh?”

He aims a hopeful smile at you like he’s searching for a way to connect but you don’t return it.

A flash of disappointment crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “Good thing.”

You look down to his lap.  His hands haven’t stopped moving, fingers winding together and unwinding over and over.  He’s nervous.  

Well, good.

“I’m gonna turn myself in tomorrow,” he says after a long moment.

He knocks the wind out of you with that.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Yeah.  Turns out, I’m being represented by some incredibly-connected, high-dollar attorney.”  He looks up and fixes you with those dark, hypnotic eyes. “Any idea where I could have gotten one of those?”

Seokjin, you fucking angel.

“Maybe,” you murmur.  “What did he say?”

“Well, he told me to get my happy ass back to the States.  Said the Marshals would appreciate me walking in on my own as opposed to having to drag me back.  Said I’m going to have to eat some crow if I expect them to listen to anything I have to say.”

He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, against the grain of the now short hairs at his nape.

“Told me to get a haircut, too.”

That makes you smile.  Jin is nothing if not thorough.

“So what does -- “ you clear your throat, “ -- your attorney say about what happens after that?”

“No way to know for sure,” Jungkook admits.  “They could lock me up and throw away the key or they could decide on something else.  Kind of a roll of the dice at this point.”

Your chest squeezes at the thought of Jungkook walking into that Federal Building and leaving in a transport van.  You shut your eyes like that will somehow stop the mental image.

“And you’re turning yourself in anyway.”

He fidgets with his ear like an anxious kid.  

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” you say on a shaky exhale.  “Okay. Wow.”

A tense silence falls between you.

“I need you to talk to me,” Jungkook says after a moment. “I need to know where your head is at right now.”

Do you know how hard I went to bat for you? you want to scream, which is unfair, really.  He’s never asked you for your help. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done on your own. But now he’s here and in front of you and you are practically buzzing with the urge to vent your frustration at him.

“Why didn’t I hear from you?”  

You hope like hell you’re the only one who can hear the thread of insecurity in your voice.  “You had the burner number and I just -- never heard from you again. And now you’re in my house.”

“I know,” he admits.  His fingers keep lacing together, unlacing. “I know it’s really fucked up to just ambush you like this. It’s just that shit got really hairy for me in Nicaragua. These guys stole my phone.”

“But you managed to call Yoongi,” you snap.

“Well yeah,” he fires back. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.  I’ve had his number for years. I got in touch with him as soon as I could get my hands on a new burner.”

You tell yourself to relax.

You tell yourself that it’s a totally plausible explanation and put a hand to your forehead as though you expect to be able to feel your temperature coming down.  As though you’ll be able to feel the anger draining out of you until all that’s left is the relief that he’s here, that he’s okay.

You take a deep breath, release the tension that’s had you wound so tight.

“I left the bureau.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, “Did they -- Did I -- “

“Don’t give yourself too much credit,”  you cut in, rolling your eyes. “It wasn’t really about you.  Not all of it, anyway.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it. There is a melancholy in his eyes that unnerves you.

You’ve seen him cocky and arrogant and unrepentant and flirtatious. But this — this hat-in-hand version of him, devoid of his trademark bravado is so disconcerting.  

He looks away from you, back down to his hands.  You wrap your arms around yourself and take a moment to just look at him, to appreciate his striking face.  You think back to the first time you saw that face, how dumbfounded you’d been by his physical appearance.

Then he opened his mouth and your fate was sealed.

One way or another this debacle ends in just a few short hours.

The rational part of you craves a conclusion to this insanity, an end to the near-constant anxiety you’ve felt for months now.  But there’s the other part of you that worries this will end with Jungkook behind bars for the rest of his life. You don’t know if you’re ready to accept that just yet.

“Can you um --“ Jungkook wets his lips, “-- can you come sit with me?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly.  

You cross the room and slide next to him on the couch.  

He reaches for your hands, but does not meet your eyes.  His fingers stroke over your wrists and not for the first time you wonder how he manages to make the most simple touches feel so good.

“You asked me one time,” he starts quietly, “about why I quit school. And I -- “

“Don’t -- ” you interrupt, “-- you don’t owe me an explanation.”

He shakes his head.

“Uh yeah,” he chuckles cynically.  “Yeah, I do. I owe you pretty much any explanation you want at this point.”

You look down at where your hands are joined, down to where Jungkook is rubbing the calloused pad of one thumb against your palm.

“My mom got sick.  And it didn’t feel right to stay in school when I could be working and helping to bring in some money.”

You remember the dig you made at him -- the way his face had shuttered -- and you feel an acute pang of guilt.

“I’m so s --”

“No, listen to me please,” he says adamantly.  “She’s doing a lot better now and I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. But I need you to know that for every good thing I’ve ever done, I have done something equally as fucked up. And I just want -- “

He exhales heavily, scrubs one hand along his jaw.

“ -- I just want you to know that this shit with the money and the running is just some of me. I’ve done some really stupid shit but that’s not all I am.”  He leans closer to you, pins you with that bottomless gaze.  “I need you to understand that. Am I making any sense?”

You swear you can feel your heart squeeze in response.

“Yeah, you are,” you say softly.  He reaches one hand out to cup your cheek.

“So can I kiss you now or are you still mad at me?”

You’re tempted to tease him but he looks so unsure of himself in this moment that you resist.  You look down at yourself, remember you are still in sweaty running gear and cringe imagining what you must look like at this moment.

“I’m gross,” you protest in a whisper.

He leans closer, mouth hovering just over yours.

“Ask me if I care.”

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

Jungkook at least has the decency to let you shower before taking to you bed.

But just barely.

The second you are clean and dry he’s on you, mouth and hands everywhere at once.  Your skin -- already warm from the hot water -- heats even more under his touch.

He’s different tonight you think, as you lie back on your bed and his lips work up the column of your throat.  There’s a determination to the way he’s holding you, an urgency to the way he’s pressing his body against yours.  

You stroke your hands down his back, feel the answering ripple of muscle underneath your fingertips.  His body is leaner than it was in Puerto Rico and the realization sparks a sad throb in your chest.  

Nicaragua must have been a lot tougher than he’s letting on.

But then his lips skate across your collarbone and you force yourself to push the thought from your mind. Whatever happened to him there is over.  He’s here and he’s okay and he is literally on top of you and that’s the only thing you want to think about right now.

“I missed you,” he whispers and a shudder runs up your spine in response.  

You rake your nails against his nape, fingers teasing his freshly cut hairline and he makes a satisfied groan against your mouth, pressing his hips firmly into yours.

It’s impossible at this point to ignore the nudge of his hard cock against your stomach.  You snake a hand between your bodies to wrap warm fingers around his pulsing length and he pulls back to suck in a pained breath.

“Jungkook, I -- “ you start to speak, but an uncomfortable tickle in the back of your throat stops you.  He opens his eyes to look down at you.

“You okay?”

Hell no, you’re not okay.  

It feels like if you open your mouth to answer him, you’ll cry and you are not a crier and he’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for you to say something -- anything.

“Yeah, I just…um,” you stumble over your words and it takes a moment for that uncomfortable feeling to subside long enough for you to speak. You have to wait until your voice comes out even and controlled before you can finish.

“I missed you, too,” you say, finally.

His lips curve into a small smile.  

“I know you did.”

He drops his mouth down to pull at one soft nipple with his lips and teeth.  You sigh, arching into his touch.

The soft exhalation seems to set Jungkook off, makes the steady grind of his hips pick up in speed.  He tongues at your nipples until they are aching and hard then slips a finger into your channel to test your wetness.

He brings his mouth close to your ear, breath warm against the shell.

“I can feel just how much you missed me,” he teases in a low voice.

Arrogant bastard.  He’s right, though.  

You huff a laugh as his fingers work in and out of you slowly, drawing out your wetness. He covers your mouth with his as his thumb rubs slow circles against your clit and you moan into his kiss.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly and you feel the tremors that run down his back at your words.  “Please,” you beg, “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Jungkook kisses you again -- long and hard -- before pulling away to grab a condom from his jeans.  

You take the moment to appreciate how handsome he is, chest covered in a sheen of sweat, lean body tense with the need for release.  You watch the corded bands of his arms move as he crawls back onto the bed, sheathed and ready. He leans his weight on his forearms and the muscles in his shoulders become even more prominent as he lines his body up with yours.

You lift your head to suck at the hollow of his neck just as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge your entrance.  

“Do it, Jungkook,” you moan, rolling your hips against him. “ Now.”

He groans as he obliges you, pushing slowly inside and you brace your hands around the tight muscles of his arms until you can feel him anchored deep.  

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Every time it’s like I forget how good you feel.”

Strange how you were just thinking the same thing -- thinking about how no one else has ever pulled these responses out of you.  It’s like your body knows this man -- like it knew him way before your brain ever did.

He rocks into you slowly, deeply, pelvis flush with yours each time he strokes to the hilt.  His pace is languorous and it makes your entire body feel heavy with pleasure. You wrap your legs around him tight, willing him deeper even though you know that’s not possible.

The painfully unhurried rhythm is so, so good , but it’s not enough.  

Not when you can feel the threat of your release building between your legs and you need more to get you there.  You angle your hips up, trying to capture more of the friction.

Jungkook takes the hint, moving one hand to cup your ass. He pulls you into each snap of his hips, forces you to take every inch on every thrust.

“Come for me,” he pants. “I can’t hold out much longer.”

You can only whine your response, too fucked out at this point to form sentences.  It takes just a few more deep, desperate thrusts to make you start to unravel. Jungkook lets go the instant he feels you start to quiver around him and he doesn’t back off, lacing his fingers into yours and pinning you down into the mattress with the full force of his body.

Once the loud moaning and desperate movements slow to a stop, he drops his forehead down on yours.

The two of you breathe each other’s air for a while until your chests stop heaving and your hearts stop pounding.

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

“When does this all go down?” you whisper, cheek pressed to Jungkook’s chest.  

You’ve spent the last five minutes enjoying a warm, comfortable silence.

But that hasn’t stopped your mind from wandering back into worry.

Jungkook presses the length of your body into his side with one firm hand. You feel him tense when you ask the question.

“10 AM.”

“10 AM,” you echo numbly.  

“Yeah,” he whispers, stroking lazy patterns with his fingers down your back.  

“So,” he clears his throat. “Are you...ready to talk about what’s going on here?”

You’re glad that from this angle he can’t see your reaction, can’t see the flush that spreads over your face.

“No,” you mumble childishly.

“You’re such a brat,” he teases, dropping a kiss on your hair. “So fine. I’ll do the talking then.  I met someone.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. She’s got her head on straight, and…” he trails off for a moment.  “...she’s got me thinking about how I can get my head on straight, too.”

You smile into his skin.

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s a lot of different things at once. Kinda feisty, super smart, very cool,” he murmurs.  “Unemployed, but hey — no one’s perfect.”

Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“Is she hot?”

“Nah,” he teases, and he jumps when you pinch his stomach.  “Way better than hot. She’s beautiful. And she’s into me.  Really, really into me.”

Your cheeks heat but you keep the tone light.

“How do you know she’s not just using you for sex?”

“Well in the beginning she was,” he chuckles. “But then she showed up for me in a big way. A really big way. So even though it’s really hard for her to come out and say how much she likes me, I already know. She’s already shown me.”

That uncomfortable itch in your throat returns when he says that. It’s so weird to be understood so thoroughly by someone you barely know.

“She sounds pretty amazing,” you say after the sensation subsides long enough for you to speak.

“Yeah, she is,” he whispers. “So I’m gonna go to this meeting tomorrow morning and try to fix the mess I’ve made. Cause maybe now I have a reason to stop being such a reckless asshole.”

You screw your eyes shut and will the unexpected tears that spring to your eyes not to fall.

“10 AM, right?”

He drops another kiss into your hair and pulls your body in closer.

“Yeah. 10 AM.”

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