#not even in my wildest dreams was the true nature of him even imagined

[lntrusiveknock]

every girl wants him i cant even be kidding rn

[aikastales]

burnout (jk)

𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: jeon jungkook asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend in order to get back at his ex-girlfriend. however, you soon realize his true intentions.

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: bball player!jungkook x student journalist fem!reader

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: yandere, dark romance, slow burn

total word count: 10k

PART ONE

Why was Jeon Jungkook at the Communications building? 

He had a red and white leather jacket on top of a white shirt, jeans, and his black combat boots. His long hair was a mess, which you guessed was due to his helmet, and when he saw you walking down the steps of the building, he perked up, smiled, and waved at you. 

At first, you weren’t even sure if it was you he was waving at, so you were a bit stunned, and looked over your shoulder. But then, you heard your name called by him. You and Jungkook were not friends. Sure, you exchanged friendly nods at each other whenever your paths would cross, but that was the end of it. In fact, the only reason why you even exchanged those friendly nods was because of Taehyung—your cousin who also happened to be his best friend since preschool. If it wasn’t for him, you and Jungkook would just pass by each other without so much as a glance. 

And so, it was only natural that you were confused and surprised when you saw him leaning against his motorcycle in front of your college’s building, apparently waiting for you. 

“Y/N, hey,” Jungkook greeted with a smile on his handsome face once he was near you. 

Still confused, you returned the smile, adjusting the strap of your backpack hanging over your shoulder. “Hi, Jungkook. Is everything okay?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, everything is—everything’s fine,” he said. Then, he cleared his throat. “Do you have time like right now? My treat.” He asked, his doe eyes piercing into yours. 

You could not believe what you just heard. “What?” Was all you could reply. 

Jungkook chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his gloved hand. “I know. It’s a shock, right? Believe me, I am too, but I just really need to talk to you about something. I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t so important.” 

“Is it about Taehyung? Is he okay? Did he get into trouble?” You asked, alert. It was the only logical answer why Jungkook waited for you and why he wanted to talk to you. Taehyung was the only person connecting the both of you. 

Jungkook shook his head. “No, no, it’s not about Taehyung, but he’s fine. He’s in his class right now. Look,” he sighed deeply, licking his lower lip with the tip of his tongue before staring at you once more. “Yiseul, I just really need to talk to you. In private.”

You debated whether to go with him or not. This was Jeon Jungkook. Despite his tattoos, broad shoulders, piercings, and big bike—he was harmless. He was your cousin’s best friend, and even though you two weren’t friends, he looked like he needed one at the moment. Besides, you wouldn’t deny that a part of you wasn’t curious as to why he needed to talk to you. That and the fact that because you had been in love with him since you met him when you were thirteen, how could you say no to something that you had only imagined in your wildest dreams? 

“Okay. Okay, let’s go,” you agreed, heart beating rapidly. “Where are we going?” 

Jungkook’s smile widened when you agreed. “There’s a basement cafe twenty minutes from here. It’s called Seven.” 

The both of you began making your way towards his motorcycle. “Just how private is this conversation going to be?” you asked supposedly only for yourself, but accidentally, you said it out loud. 

“I guess you already have an idea on how private it needs to be considering the location,” he chuckled. “But don’t worry—I promise you’ll get home in one piece.” 

Jungkook handed you his extra helmet, and you were thankful that you didn’t wear a dress that day. After placing your backpack in front of your chest, you wore the helmet. “Can you give me a hint on what it’s about?” 

You couldn’t help it. You were curious. 

“I remember you always being curious, Y/N. Glad you haven’t changed at all,” Jungkook said, mounting his motorcycle. “In twenty minutes, you’ll know. If you ride now, you’ll know in fifteen minutes.” 

You thought he looked so attractive as he smiled and waited for you on his motorcycle. His smile was so infectious that you couldn’t help but to return it. “Alright, fine,” you say. Then, you mounted his motorcycle, placing your hands on his firm shoulders. 

“Ready?” Jungkook asked, placing his key into the ignition, briefly glancing at you. 

“Yeah, ready,” you replied. He started the engine and you held onto your backpack for dear life. You had seen Jungkook drive his motorcycle before and the only way you could describe it was fast. 

“Alright. Let’s go.” 

Jungkook drove off. 

As promised, fifteen minutes later, you arrived at Seven. It was indeed a basement cafe, secluded from the busy city streets and tucked in between fruit stands and ready-to-wear clothes inside an alley. You were the first to get off his motorcycle, taking your helmet off. Shaking your head, you took in your surroundings while Jungkook took his motorcycle garments off. 

The alley was alive with mostly elderly people buying fruits and high schoolers buying the RTWs. The tangerines stood out due to their bright color against the setting sun. You wondered when and how Jungkook came to know the place, if he frequented it, why he chose this place over all other cafes. 

“Y/N? Let’s go inside?” Jungkook asked, gesturing to you to enter the cafe first. 

You nodded, entering Seven. As a basement cafe, the first thing you noticed were the windows placed near the ceiling. A permanent sepia hue covered the entire establishment due to its yellow orange lights. The walls were painted gray, tables and chairs white. There were only a few tables and chairs, and Jungkook led the way to the one at the very back. 

He pulled the chair out of you which you thanked him for, and you sat down. Jungkook followed afterwards, placing the helmets on the table between the both of you. 

“What do you want?” He asked, pulling his chair closer to the table. 

“Honestly, I’m more curious on why you want to talk to me than have any drinks here,” you told him, placing your backpack on the floor beside your chair. 

Jungkook chuckled, leaning his back against his chair. “Alright. Should I just say it?” 

You nodded. 

“I was hoping that you’ll pretend to be my girlfriend to make Haemin jealous,” Jungkook said so casually that you were completely and utterly stunned. Did you just hear him correctly? Upon seeing your reaction, he continued, “She broke up with me a month ago, and to be honest, I saw it coming already. We were getting into a lot of meaningless fights, always finding faults in one another, and just overall, being toxic to each other. So, when she broke up with me, I did not put up a fight, and just let her be,” Jungkook scoffed, shaking his head lightly. “Then, I learned that she was seeing Han Riyeo, that fucking bastard from Yongsan, behind my back for three months, and I want to get back at her.” 

His explanation did not help you grasp what he just said previously. You were still stunned, but you managed to ask, “Why me?” 

“For reasons I still don’t know, Haemin was always jealous of you,” he confessed.

Now, that was a surprise. “What? You and I barely had any interaction.” 

“I know, but I suspect it’s because you’re there whenever I hang out with Taehyung,” Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, then ran his fingers through his hair. “So? Will you help me, Y/N?” 

“This is pretty childish, don’t you think?” you told him, eyebrows furrowed. 

Jungkook crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll pay you. I know you need the money. Taehyung mentioned you’re saving for the deposit on this apartment you want to rent.” 

You stared at him, trying to find any trace of mischief in his eyes and body language but found none. Jungkook was serious. A part of you knew that the logical answer would be to decline his offer. It was childish, as you had told him. It was a nuisance and it would do nothing but bring problems and complications in your life. Your life was complicated enough, and you didn’t need to add Jeon Jungkook’s fake girlfriend to your list of complications. 

But this was Jeon Jungkook. The person you had been in love with since you were thirteen. The person you supported, cheered on, and loved unconditionally from afar because it was all that you could do. You would be lying if you said that you did not imagine yourself being his girlfriend—going to every game, wearing his jersey, riding his motorcycle, going on dates, taking lots of photos and videos of him, hugging, and even kissing him—because you did, countless times. You would also be lying if you didn’t think that you could love him better than Haemin ever did. 

They said love makes you do crazy things. You didn’t think that applied to you. You loved Jeon Jungkook, and you didn’t think that that love would fade anytime soon. So, even though you knew that this was pretend and paid, you said, “Okay. I’ll do it.” 

After your orders arrived, the both of you continued your conversation. 

“So, how will this work?” you asked, sipping your iced chocolate drink. 

Jungkook put up a finger, chewing the cheeseburger he ordered, and afterwards, he replied, “We act like a couple. Go on dates, post them on social media, and all that.” 

You were never someone who did things half-assed. If you were going to get paid to fake date someone, you might as well go all out. Also, perhaps, a part of you just wanted to make the most out of being Jeon Jungkook’s fake girlfriend. 

“I don’t think that would be enough to make Haemin jealous. If you really want that, we should do the things you either only did with her or promised to do with her,” you pointed out.

Jungkook nodded. “I see. You got a point.” 

“So, what are those things? The things you did for her and the things you promised to do with her?” 

He inhaled deeply, scratching the side of his nose as he thought. “Well, I pick her up everyday. Take her out on picnic dates, study with her, and I go to her recitals.” 

You nodded. “Okay. Then, you should pick me up everyday, take me out on picnic dates, study with me, and well, I don’t really do any recitals.” 

“Alright. I’ll do that,” Jungkook grinned. “As for the things I promised to do with her—the first thing that popped in my mind was that I promised I’ll take her to my brother’s wedding.” 

“We shouldn’t involve our families in this. Me being Taehyung’s cousin is complicated enough,” you remarked. 

“Okay. How about this? We made plans to go out of town during winter break. Do you wanna do that?” 

“Where?” 

“My sister-in-law runs a small resort in Busan. It’s by the beach,” 

You pressed your lips together, nodding. “Okay. That could work.”

“For my part, you have to go to my games. That’s pretty much all you have to do, and of course, the dates.” 

“That’s already a given,” you told him. “I’m assigned to cover your games this season.” 

“Right. You are the News editor of the Times. I’m honored,” Jungkook placed a hand on his chest, bowing his head at you. 

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I have a question.” 

“Go for it.” 

“What will happen when Haemin gets jealous? Will we “break up” and the two of you will get back together?” you asked, cautiously, but also curiously. 

“I have no plans of getting back together with her,” Jungkook answered. “But when she finally gets jealous and tells me about it, then revenge is served. I guess then we’ll break up. But don’t worry, I’ll pay you handsomely every time so you could move into that apartment of yours. It’s the least I could do after you agreed to do this with me.” 

It shouldn’t have stung the way it did. After all, this was only paid and pretend, but it did. 

“Alright,” you said. “We should shake hands on it.” 

You extended your hand toward him and Jungkook sealed the deal with his firm handshake. “Starting today, you’re my girl, Y/N.” 

You would be the first to admit that looking after Kim Taehyung was something you did out of debt of gratitude toward his parents. After your father passed away when you were only eleven years old, your mother couldn’t afford to send you to school, so his parents financed your education since then and until now that you were in college. You lived with Taehyung at the condominium they bought for him near the university and since you were on scholarship through your membership at the official student publication of Jamsil University, The Jamsil Times, they only paid for your miscellaneous fees every semester. 

Because of these, you felt like Taehyung was your responsibility. You had to take care of him, look after him, tutor him, make sure he did all his school work, attend his classes, and be there every time he asked you to. It felt like when it came to him and his parents, you couldn’t say no because if you did, you could easily lose your housing and education.

It didn’t help that Taehyung seemed to attract trouble wherever he was. He even gained a nickname for it in high school which followed him in college, “Trouble Taehyung.” You couldn’t remember the times you apologized on his behalf, woke up in the middle of the night from a call from one of his so-called friends asking if you could pick him up as he was drunk and bruised, and ensured none of his troubles reached his parents. 

Tonight was no different. 

You woke up from the sound of your phone vibrating against your desk. You didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep, studying for your upcoming midterms exam, and when you woke up, you could feel the soreness of your neck and lower back. With one eye open, your vision adjusted to the bright light coming from your phone, and saw Park Jimin’s name flashing on your screen. Immediately, you knew why he was calling you. There could only be one reason: Kim Taehyung. 

“Hello?” your voice was hoarse, groggy from your slumber. 

“Y/N? I’m sorry I woke you up, didn’t I? It’s—,” 

“Taehyung, I know. What happened this time?” you sighed deeply, rubbing your face with your free hand. “Where are you guys?” 

“He got into an argument with this guy, and well, it led to a fight. He’s bruised, bleeding, but he refuses to go to a hospital, but—,” 

“Hey! Is that Y/N? I told you not to call her, Park Jimin!” you could hear Taehyung’s voice in the background which made you sigh once more. Moments later, it was Taehyung who was on the call with you. “Y/N, sorry. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Jimin’s just a worry wart.” 

“Taehyung,” you were tired and it was evident in your tone. “Go to the hospital if you’re bleeding. It might get infected.” 

“I can’t,” he replied. “Mom is going to find out. It’s a small world, you know that,” his tone was low, cautious, as though he did not want anyone else hearing him. “I’m fine. I’ll put on some ointment and band-aid and I’m good.” 

You wished you didn’t give a shit about him. But you did. Whether it was out of debt of gratitude or not, you wouldn’t be able to sleep if you didn’t help him. Perhaps, you had gotten so used to it that it had become a part of you already, like a hobby, like a memory. 

“Where are you, Taehyung?” 

“Y/N, seriously, I’m—,” 

“Taehyung, just tell me where you are,” your patience was wearing thin and Taehyung knew that. 

“We’re at Jungkook’s apartment,” he muttered. 

Even the mention of his name was enough for the butterflies in your stomach to go crazy. Even by just hearing his name, your irritation seemed to slowly fade away. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in a while. I’m gonna use your car, okay?” 

“Okay. Y/N, I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologized and you could hear his sincerity. 

“Don’t be,” you told him as you stood up from your chair. “See you. I’ll hang up now.” 

Just how deep does blood run? 

You were at Jungkook’s apartment minutes later, thanks to no traffic and him only living fifteen minutes from Taehyung’s condominium. When you rang the bell to his unit, you already expected that he would be the one to answer the door. You just didn’t expect that he would be wearing gray sweatpants and a white loose muscle tee showing off his toned tattooed arm. Seeing him in that light, you couldn’t help but feel more attracted to him. Jungkook was truly a sight to see. 

“Hey,” he greeted you with a smile. “Come inside.” 

“Thanks,” you told him, entering his apartment. It was simple, neat, and smelled of vanilla. You took off your shoes by the doorway, placing a hand on the wall beside you. “Where’s Taehyung?” 

“Kitchen,” he replied behind you. “Y/N,” his hot breath fanned over your exposed neck, making you shiver. “I’ll linger around you, alright? That way, they could get a hint that something’s going on with us. Is that okay?” he whispered. 

His low tone was simply mesmerizing. “Okay,” you breathed out. Thank god you had your hand on that wall otherwise you would have literally fallen. 

“Okay,” he chuckled, and led the way to the kitchen. 

“Y/N!” Taehyung exclaimed when he saw you. He was sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen island while Jimin looked through the refrigerator. 

You gave him a tight-lipped smile and made your way toward him, placing the plastic bag you hand in your hand on the counter beside you. Taehyung jumped off the stool he was sitting on, instantly giving you a squeezing hug. He was always an affectionate boy growing up. You weren’t so you found it uncomfortable at first. But the more Taehyung did it, you got used to it. 

“Let me see your bruise,” you guided him back to the stool, and began taking out the first aid you bought along the way. The bruise wasn’t as serious as you thought it would be. You were expecting that he would have a black eye, a deep cut that would need stitches, but it was manageable by you. Jimin was overreacting, you concluded. “What happened? How did you get this?” 

As you began to clean the cut on Taehyung’s cheek, Jimin sat down across from your cousin while Jungkook made his way near you. 

“One minute I was dancing next to some girl, the next, her boyfriend landed a punch on my face. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend—she told me she was single,” Taehyung explained. 

“Didn’t know my ass,” Jimin scoffed. “Everyone knows Heejin is with Taemin. Everyone also knows that Taemin’s a crazy jealous bastard. You were just looking for trouble, as always.” 

“I was not,” your cousin retorted, throwing the medical tape you bought at his friend. 

You clicked your tongue in annoyance. “Stop it, you two,” you hissed, pressing the cotton ball a bit harder against Taehyung’s bruise. He winced. “Is that true?” you asked him. 

Taehyung didn’t answer. You sighed. 

“You knew it was wrong, and yet, you did it anyway knowing it’ll just get you in trouble,” you muttered. “Why did you do it?” 

Taehyung sighed deeply. “Because Taemin’s a piece of shit.” 

“You’re also a piece of shit,” Jimin snorted. “Both of you are the biggest pieces of shit at Jamsil.” 

“Do you wanna get punched?” 

“Let’s go right now,” 

“Hey, stop it. You’re so fucking loud,” Jungkook reprimands the two bickering men. “You already woke me up from my sleep by going here. Don’t wake up the entire fucking building.” 

Moments later, you finished tending to Taehyung’s cut. “All done. Come on, let’s go home.” 

Taehyun didn’t protest. You began to clean up your mess, placing everything back into the plastic bag. Silence filled Jungkook’s kitchen. The three of you weren’t close so there were no conversations where all of you could participate. 

“Let’s go,” you bowed your head at Jimin as a farewell which he returned. Then, your eye caught Jungkook’s gaze. You weren’t sure what to do. Fortunately, Jungkook was quick-witted. 

“I’ll walk you guys out,” he said coolly, pushing himself off of the sink he was leaning against. 

“No need. Just go back to sleep. Thanks for letting us in,” Taehyung shook his head, patting his best friend’s shoulder as he passed by him. 

“I insist,” Jungkook responded. 

“Can I stay here tonight?” Jimin asked Jungkook as he made his way out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah sure,” 

You followed Jungkook and Taehyung out of the former’s apartment. As you and your cousin slipped on your shoes, Jungkook waited outside his apartment. 

“Are you mad at me?” Taehyung asked, meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

“I’m not mad at you,” you assured him. “But you have to stop involving and getting yourself into trouble, Tae. Sooner or later, you’ll end up getting really hurt.” 

“I will, I promise,” he smiled at you and you nodded, exiting the apartment. 

The three of you walked down the hallway; the two boys walking on your sides. You weren’t sure if Jungkook was consciously doing it, but it was making your heart pound. Whenever your fingers brushed against his, there was an electric shock that flew through your body. And as you reached the end of the hallway and in front of the elevator, and when the doors opened, Jungkook placed his hand at your lower back, gesturing you to enter the lift first. 

You looked at him, and there was a knowing smile plastered on his face that made you blush. “After you,” he said. 

You were fucking lovestruck. 

Championships cast a spell in your school. Jamsil University’s premier sport was basketball and with an all-star lineup this year—it was not even up for discussion that your university would be one of the teams playing out to become this year’s champions.

To say the least, sports were not your thing. While you understood the basics, it wasn’t something you were interested in. Your father had enrolled you in a tennis class once but after witnessing how, simply out, awful you are at the sports, he dropped the ‘I want my daughter to be athletic’ narrative he was going for. That being said, you rarely attended any of the games Jamsil athletes participated in. But seeing as you were assigned to cover the basketball games this season, you had no other choice. Besides, your “boyfriend” was playing. 

That’s how you found yourself at the gym of Jamsil, stressed as you took pictures and typed down the game on your phone. Frustrated, you sat on the bench behind you as the bell rang, signaling the end of the first half. As you read the draft on your notepad, you shook your head at the numerous times you used the word ‘tackle’—in your defense, it was all that you could see during the game. It was a particularly brutal game which made you wonder, was the game something more personal for the players? You only heard rumors, after all.

With a sigh, you made a mental note to fix the notes once you’re home. Standing up, you placed the phone inside your jeans’ back pocket and readied the Times’ camera to capture the ‘Half-time huddle’ that Bang Chan, the Sports Editor, had specifically asked you to take. As you made your way towards the basketball team, you took some shots of the audience as well as the Jamsil’s Cheerleading Team performing in the middle of the court. The blaring music and loud cheers from both schools as the cheerleaders performed filled the entire gymnasium, unconsciously making you smile. It was not everyday that you saw some sort of unity at your uni.

You focused your camera on the huddled team of Jamsil but dissatisfied, you tried another angle. Bang Chan’s words play in your mind: “The half-time huddle is one of the most important shots during these games, Y/N. The play they’re setting up will either make them or break them. Make sure you capture it.”

Then, the idea hit you. You hurriedly made your way on the other side of the team, hearing Coach Song’s booming voice telling his players the game even with all the screaming and cheers. You moved the towels and water bottles on the bench aside, then you stepped on it and placed the camera above the huddled team. Smiling, you knew you found the perfect angle. Making sure that the camera was focused, you inhaled deeply and as you were about to click the shutter button—a face turned to face the lens and a gasp escaped your lips, shocked and you felt yourself losing balance. Bracing for impact, you clutched the camera tightly against your chest and closed your eyes with one thing in mind: If this breaks, I am so screwed.

It felt like eternity as you waited for the impact. Opening your eyes, you see a pair of round brown eyes, staring at you in concern, eyebrows furrowed. Your breath hitched in your throat as realization hit you. Around your waist, you felt strong arms supporting you; hot breath fanned your face and you felt something liquid dripping on your forehead.

“Y/N, are you okay?” When he spoke, you immediately snapped back to reality and you wriggled yourself out of his grip—flustered and ground-swallow-me-up embarrassed. Your cheeks were burning as you collected yourself. “Y/N?”

It was as if the entire gymnasium had their focus on you and Jungkook. 

“Jeon, what the fuck, get back here,” Coach Song hissed.

Fuck me, you thought as you cleared your throat. “Thanks,” you whispered to him. 

Jungkook smiled—the boyishly charming smile that made you fall in love with him all those years ago. Then, he did something that made you fall in love with him all over again. 

“Wish me luck, babe,” Jungkook said before wrapping his tattooed arm around your waist and placing a kiss on your cheek. “The game’s on, Y/N. No turning back now.” 

You wished this was real. His kiss was real. But even if it wasn’t, indeed, there was no turning back now. The game had begun. 

PART TWO

As predicted and expected, Jamsil won the championship. But instead of the student body celebrating the fourth championship in a row, apparently, the majority could only talk about you and Jungkook—specifically the kiss he gave you on the cheek. You had expected this, of course. After all, Jeon Jungkook was Jamsil University’s golden boy. He was popular, smart, and overall, an exemplary student who not only excelled in his sports, but in his academics as well. Moreover, he was also the president of the photography club. 

What you didn’t expect was Taehyung lashing out at you. You expected him to be confused, baffled, in disbelief, but lashing out at you? You were confused, to say the least. Taehyung had never done it before. 

After finishing covering the basketball game, you hurriedly made your way back to the Publication Office. Once there, you took off the camera around your neck, breathing heavily. With both your hands on your table, you hung your head low, squeezing your eyes shut, and letting yourself calm down. It was during this moment that the door at the office swung open and your cousin stepped in. 

You looked at him over your shoulder and for the first time, you saw fury in his eyes. 

“You’re dating Jungkook?” He asked. “Tell me the truth.” 

With your lips pressed tightly, you nodded. Taehyung scoffed, tilting his head to the side, and shaking it in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/N? You and Jungkook?” He pressed, taking a step towards you. “When did it start? How did it start? Why are you dating him?” 

“I don’t really need to explain myself to you, Taehyung,” you told him. “Especially who I’m dating.” 

“Yes, you do. You need to explain that to me,” he retorted. 

“Why? Why do I need to explain it to you?” 

“Because you’re dating my fucking best friend and you’re my cousin!” He exclaimed, catching you off guard as you flinched. When he saw this, Taehyung’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice at you. I just—I don’t get it.” 

“What don’t you get?” you asked, turning to completely face him. “Why someone like me is with someone like him?” 

“Y/N, that’s not what I mean,” Taehyung sighed deeply. “I just feel like—like the two most important people in my life betrayed me.” 

You exhaled deeply. In a way, you could understand him. You could understand where he was coming from. But before you could respond, Jungkook appeared by the doorway of the office. 

“Don’t get mad at her, Tae, it’s my fault for not telling you first,” Jungkook said. He was still in his jersey, covered in sweat, and one hand holding a bottle of red Gatorade. There was a towel hanging around his neck. He walked towards you, and when he stood beside you, he held your hand. “I’m sorry if you feel like we betrayed you. We just wanted to find the right time to tell you.” 

“Right time,” Taehyung scoffed once more. “It didn’t look like it when you kissed her.” 

Jungkook squeezed your hand. It sent a jolt throughout your body. “What was I supposed to do? My girlfriend was there,” Jungkook’s response only riled Taehyung more. Upon seeing this, the basketball player said, “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you could do or say that could make us break up, Tae. I’m sorry but you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” 

“Can you fucking leave? I need to talk to Y/N privately,” Taehyung hissed, rolling his eyes. 

This time, you cut Jungkook before he could reply. “It’s okay, Jungkook. I’ll see you after.” You looked at your fake boyfriend, smiling at him. 

Jungkook looked like he didn’t want to leave so you squeezed his hand. He clicked his tongue, sighing. “I’ll change and meet you outside the building.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. 

You nodded and once again, he pressed his lips against your cheek, making you blush but now, out of embarrassment because your cousin was literally in front of you. Taehyung groaned, throwing his head back. “Leave, Jeon Jungkook!” He exclaimed, pulling him off of you. 

Jungkook chuckled before making his way out of the office. 

Once he was out of earshot, Taehyung stepped closer towards you. “Y/N, you’re right—who you date is not something I should mind or dictate. But you’re my cousin and I care about you and I don’t want you to get hurt. Jungkook—he’s my best friend in the world and has been since we were little. I know him. So, the two of you together—I just can’t accept it.” 

You didn’t know why you were feeling angry as the seconds passed. “We’re not asking for your blessing, Taehyung.” 

“Y/N, you don’t understand. Jungkook may be charming and all that goody two shoes shit in front of everyone, but he’s trouble. You’re only setting yourself up for a lifetime of heartbreak,” your cousin shook his head. “Please. Date whoever you want; not just Jungkook.” 

“I made up my mind, Tae,” you said, shaking your head. “I want to be with him and you can’t do anything about it. I’m gonna go home. I’m tired and exhausted. I know you’ll be going to the afterparty so please don’t get yourself into trouble. Take care, Tae.” 

“Y/N,” he called out but you didn’t respond anymore. You just packed up your things. “Y/N, please.” 

“See you at home, Tae,” you gave him a small smile before leaving the office. 

Why was he so adamant that you don’t date Jeon Jungkook? This question popped in your head as you were making your way out of the Communications building. But you erased it in your mind—Taehyung was just shocked, probably weirded out too that his best friend and cousin were dating. 

Why is he trouble? Another question propped in your mind. 

You sighed deeply. All these questions would be answered when you meet with Jungkook as you made a mental note to ask him. For now, you just wanted to rest. 

The buzzing sound of your phone vibrating against your desk woke you up from your slumber. With a groan, you sat up, stretching your arms wide, cracking your neck, and letting out a relieved sigh. You didn’t know when you fell asleep, but the last thing you remembered was fixing your planner. When you looked at the caller ID, Jungkook’s name flashed on the screen. For a moment, you were confused why he was calling you, and then it hit you. 

I’ll change and meet you outside the building. 

You quickly answered the call. “Jungkook, hey.” 

“Y/N, are you okay? I waited for you outside the Comm building, but Taehyung said you went home. I’ve been trying to reach you,” Jungkook sounded concerned, in contrast to the sound of cheering and music in the background. He must have been at the afterparty already, you concluded. 

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “I’m sorry. I was just tired so I went home. Are you at the afterparty?” 

“Yeah,” he replied. “The guys dragged me to it, but it’s not really fun. Or maybe I’m just not in the mood. I’m glad you’re okay though. I was worried.” 

Your heart fluttered yet again. 

“I’m okay. Have fun at the afterparty,” you said, rubbing your eye with your knuckle. 

“Y/N, I was hoping you could come tonight, here, at the afterparty, and start our agreement.” 

Just like that, you were reminded of reality. 

“Oh,” you replied, hoping you didn’t sound disappointed. “Um, I don’t know where that is.” 

It was common knowledge that invitations for after parties at Jamsil for championships were only through word of mouth. Not everyone was invited. The only reason you knew of the location of the last three after parties were because of, again, your cousin Taehyung. 

“It’s okay, I’ll come pick you up.” 

“I don’t know what I should wear. I don’t go to a lot of parties,” you said, playing with the loose thread on the hem of the shirt you were wearing. It was a habit of yours whenever you were nervous—you needed to play with something whether it was your necklace, earrings, rings, sleeves, etcetera. 

“It doesn’t matter. You look good in everything, Y/N. I’m serious,” Jungkook responded. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, okay? Don’t worry too much about what to wear. Just wear what’s comfortable.” 

“Okay. Drive safely, Jungkook.” 

When the phone call ended, you were reminded of what tonight would be, and gone were the worries about what you should wear. Tonight was going to be the night you were going to officially begin helping Jungkook take his revenge on Haemin. You felt like throwing up. 

You were hit by the reality, once again, of what this agreement was about. Jungkook wasn’t being sweet to you because he wanted to but because he needed to. He wasn’t inviting you to the afterparty because he wanted to but because he needed to. He was only talking to you because he was paying you. It was time for you to take things at face value. With that in mind, you began to change. 

True to his word, Jungkook arrived fifteen minutes later. It was a whiplash when you saw him at the door, waiting for you instead of your cousin. Wearing a white Calvin Klein shirt tucked under his washed jeans, black combat boots, and his curly hair parted in the middle, he was nothing short of beauty even in the simplicity of his attire. In one hand, he was clutching a denim jacket. 

“Hey,” he greeted as soon as you opened the door. “You look great, Y/N.” 

You suppressed the urge to smile and just nodded. Stepping outside of Taehyung’s condominium unit, you avoided his gaze. “Let’s go.” 

“Is everything okay?” he asked. 

You nodded, clutching the strap of your messenger bag. “Everything’s fine. Let’s just go. Where’s the afterparty anyway?” 

“Y/N,” Jungkook’s hand found its way gently around your wrist, stopping you on your tracks. “Seriously, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, Jungkook. I just really wanna get over this,” you said with a sigh. 

“I don’t believe you,” he pointed out, still holding onto your wrist. “We don’t have to go to the afterparty if you don’t want to.” 

“No, let’s go. Otherwise, how will you make Haemin jealous?” you stated, plastering a smile on your face even though you were anything but happy. “The sooner she gets jealous, the sooner she will want to be with you again, and the sooner I’ll get my deposit, and move out from here. The sooner everyone wins.” 

There was an indescribable expression on Jungkook’s face. Although his grip on your wrist remained gentle, you could feel the tension brewing between the both of you. 

“You’re right,” he muttered after a while. “Let’s get this over with.” 

As expected, the afterparty was at a club. You hadn’t been to one but it was exactly as you expected a club to be. Packed with dancing college students, drinks everywhere, smoke in the air, suffocating you the moment you entered the establishment, blinding red, blue, green lights, and booming EDM and Top 40 hits songs blasting on the speakers. Jungkook led the way, holding your hand tightly, and you held his just as tight. You didn’t know where he was taking you, but you guessed that it was where Haemin would be. After all, she was the reason why you were here. 

So, it was a surprise when you passed by her and her friends, and toward the staircase. 

“Jungkook! Where are we going?!” you yelled over the loud music. . 

Jungkook didn’t respond, but you knew that he heard you because he pulled you closer to him. And you let him lead you because it was him. You’d let him lead you anywhere if it meant being this close to him. Because no matter what you tell yourself—that this was all fake and pretend and paid—a part of you would always, always believe that he, in some way, reciprocated your feelings sincerely. 

Jungkook passed by the people greeting him along the way until, finally, you reached the empty rooftop. Overlooking the city and its skylines, it was simply breathtaking. There were only broken benches, bottles of beers and discarded cigarette buds on the rooftop along with cracked pots of withered flowers. Here, Jungkook let go of your hand, reached for something from his denim jacket’s pocket—a pack of cigarette and lighter—and offered it to you. 

“I don’t smoke,” you simply stated. It was news to you that he smoked. You knew athletes were forbidden due to health reasons, but you weren’t also naive that you didn’t think some did. 

He nodded, picked one from the box, placed it in between his lips, lit it up, and began to smoke. You took a deep breath, and made your way toward the edge of the rooftop. Moments later, Jungkook was beside you. 

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he said, the smell of cigarette strong, making you nauseous. But you didn’t tell him that. 

You thought hard. Jungkook knew nothing about you besides being Taehyung’s cousin. It shouldn’t be that hard but it was, for some reason. And so, you said, “There’s really not much that you should know.” 

To which he replied, “Oh, come on, there must be something,” He nudged your side slightly, letting out a chuckle as he took a long drag. “Don’t think too hard. Just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.” 

And so, you did. Before you knew it, you said, “I haven’t had my first kiss yet.” 

“Seriously?” Jungkook asked, but it wasn’t in the disgusted, you’re-in-your-twenties-and-yet-you-haven’t-kissed-somebody kind of way. It was more of a genuine shock. Like it was the hardest thing in the world to believe in.  

You chuckled, nodding. “I don’t know. I just feel weird about it.” 

“But were there any instances where you came close to kissing somebody?” he pressed, flicking his cigarette. 

“Of course, but when it came to it, I just couldn’t. It just didn’t feel…” you trailed off, unsure of what the right word was. 

“Right?” Jungkook suggested and you nodded. “I see.” 

“How about you?” you asked. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” 

“I want to be somebody’s first kiss, and that somebody happens to be you.” 

He was the only one who could do it—cause your heart to do somersaults inside you while also making it beat so fast that you were afraid he would hear it. It was the way he stared at you at that moment, eyes flickering from your eyes which reflected the cityscape below you and the smoke from his cigarette to your parted lips, unsure of what to say from his revelation. 

“Do you think it’d feel right if I kiss you, Y/N?” 

And like always, your mind and heart screamed: this was Jungkook. Who else would you want to be your first kiss? Since you were thirteen, you had been in love with him. You only imagined this in your head, in your wildest dreams. 

And so, you nodded, afraid that if you spoke, no words would leave. 

Jungkook nodded too, and he crushed his cigarette on top of the edge of the rooftop. He stepped towards you, cupped your face, and for a moment, the world stood still. Closing your eyes, you waited for his lips to crash onto yours. 

And when it finally did, it was nothing that you had ever imagined. 

No sparks. 

No fireworks. 

It was simple, mundane, ordinary—it was a kiss. 

You held onto Jungkook’s wrists as he deepened the kiss, and yet, there were still none of the romantic aspects that you thought would happen during your first kiss. Even when Jungkook moved his hands from your face and around your waist, nothing. It tasted so bitter due to the mix of nicotine and beer that he had. 

But you didn’t mind. You were kissing Jeon Jungkook, your fake boyfriend, at a party, where all his peers were. And for that, your first kiss was still memorable. 

Oh, how Jeon Jungkook twisted your world. 

PART THREE

You had no recollection whatsoever of what happened last night; much less how you got back to your shared condominium unit with Taehyung. But if you were to guess, your cousin probably brought you home as you vaguely remembered him being at the afterparty—much to his chagrin that you came with his best friend. Other moments were like missing puzzle pieces. You only remembered flashes, and you groaned when you felt the throbbing in your temple became stronger. 

Usually, you could hold your liquor better than this. In fact, this was the first time, in a long while, that you could remember having a hangover. Your mother was your drinking buddy—started drinking with you when you were a junior in high school, and although she shouldn’t have done that, you didn’t mind. Your mother was a great mother. Your mother was your best friend. Your mother was a great parent. Yes, she had her shortcomings, but who didn’t? Certainly not you. You remembered the first time she asked you to try Soju, and subconsciously, it brought a smile to your face, and a low chuckle to escape your lips. You made a mental note to text her later.  

As you left your bed, there was a knock on your bedroom door. Knowing it was your cousin, you told him to come in while you fixed your bed, and looked for your phone in the process. 

“Your phone’s in your bag,” Taehyung muttered as he stepped inside your room, and leaned against the wall of the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. “I brought you home too. Jungkook wanted to, but he rode a motorcycle, and you were wasted. It wasn’t safe.” 

You nodded in understanding. You figured out that much. Like what Taehyung said, your phone was indeed inside your bag. Quickly, you unlocked it, and checked your notifications. Some were just annoying spam emails, app notifications, and automated messages from your SIM provider, but there was one message that made your heart beat quickly due to panic that you didn’t even notice Jungkook’s message. 

“Y/N, I need to talk to you,” Taehyung said. 

“We will talk, but not right now, I’m late for my tutoring session, Tae,” you hurriedly told him as you texted your tutee that you would be late, but that you would come since it was his midterms next week. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. I still don’t approve of you and Jungkook dating.” 

You should have expected this. In the years you spent with Taehyung, you should have known that he wasn’t the type of person who could accept “no” as an answer, and not getting what he wanted when and if he wanted it. You thought it only applied to everything else in his life; apparently, it also applied to your dating life. 

“Taehyung, haven’t we gotten over this? Who I date is not yours to dictate,” you shook your head, sighing deeply as you gathered everything you needed for your quick shower. You were definitely not going to attend your tutoring session dressed from last night, and smelling like beer and nicotine. 

“Jungkook’s a piece of shit as a boyfriend, Y/N. He’s crazy possessive and he gets so fucking jealous. His charming persona is just that—a persona. I don’t want you to get hurt by him, Y/N, please.” 

The desperation in his voice was evidently obvious. When you looked at him, you were unsure of what to say. How could he say that to his own best friend? 

“If he’s like that—,” 

“He is like that,” 

“Then why are you still friends with him?” you asked, pointedly. When Taehyung couldn’t give you an answer, you nodded. “Right. I thought so. I’m going now, Tae. This conversation is over.” 

When you arrived at Jamsil’s library, you were forty five minutes late to your session with Yang Jungwon, a freshman from your program, Journalism with a major in Investigative Reporting. You found him in your usual spot, writing away on his yellow pad while nodding his head along the music he was listening to. Inhaling deeply, you made your way toward him. When you were finally near him, you tapped on his shoulder, causing him to jump a little, but when he saw you—his deep dimpled smile appeared on his face. 

Yang Jungwon was like the little brother you never had but wished you had. You felt bad for thinking that way because you had Taehyung, but as stated, looking after him felt more like a responsibility you had no other choice but to take upon. With Jungwon, even though you were paid to help him with his studies, it never felt like a responsibility to you. You enjoyed spending time with him, helping him out, and sometimes, if the conversation steered into the direction, you enjoyed your deep and meaningful conversations with him. 

You smiled back at him, and took the seat beside him, sitting on it. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Jungwon. You can tell your mom that she doesn’t need to pay me for this session.” 

He shook his head. “No, noona. It’s okay. I didn’t mind the waiting. I got to use it to answer your mock tests.” 

“Really? Let me see. What did you answer first?” you asked, taking your messenger bag off of your shoulder, placing it on the table. 

“The Contemp—,” Jungwon began to say, but then he stopped, which caused you to tear your gaze away from the mock test in your hands, and to your tutee. You followed his gaze, and to your surprise, you saw Jungkook sitting across from you and Jungwon with a gentle smile on his face. He had his lip ring on—it was the first thing you noticed about him that day. 

“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” you asked, swallowing the lump in your throat. Why did it feel like you were caught doing something you weren’t supposed to do? Why did you suddenly feel anxious? 

Taehyung’s words rang in your ears: He’s crazy possessive. His charming persona is just that—a persona. 

Was all of it true? Was that the reason why he was here? Because you were with another guy? 

“I guess you didn’t read my message, babe,” he chuckled. “I told you not to buy lunch anymore because I cooked some for you. Here, you can share it with your friend…” he trailed off, politely smiling at Jungwon. 

“H-Hello, I’m Yang Jungwon,” Jungwon stammered, starstruck that Jamsil’s golden boy was talking to him. 

“Hello, Jungwon. It’s nice to meet you. You can just call me hyung,” Jungkook turned to you. “I’ll get going now, okay?” He pushed the lunch box towards you. “Eat. There’s hangover soup in there too.” 

You gave him a look to which he grinned at. “Ah, don’t worry, Jungwon. She can tutor you even though she’s dr—,” 

“Okay, thank you, Jeon Jungkook,” you interrupted him, making his grin wider. You shook your head at him, but you couldn’t hide the blush coating your cheeks from his sweet gesture. Then, you wondered, as Jungkook took his leave, did he do the same thing to Haemin? 

“I didn’t know you and Jeon Jungkook hyung are dating,” Jungwon brought you out of your trance, gaze finally now upon him rather than the absent figure of Jungkook. 

“Yeah, it just happened,” you said to him. “But come on, let’s focus on your mock tests.” 

Yet despite saying that, you were the one who couldn’t focus because the only thing in your mind was: how did Jungkook know you were at the library? 

Taehyung’s words plagued your mind the entire day. Even while you were working, all you could think about was his words about his best friend. How could he say those things about Jungkook? Someone he’d been best friends with since they were little? Why was he so adamant about you not dating him? Taehyung usually kept a distance from your personal life, not even asking about your mother because he knew of the complicated relationship your family had with his family. So, why was he all over your case now that you were “dating” Jungkook? You couldn’t understand. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. 

Although you confirmed with the library interaction that Jungkook wasn’t the possessive type, seeing as he just walked away after giving you the lunch box, and even let Jungwon call him hyung, there was still that nagging thought in your mind: what if Taehyung’s word held weight? What if they were true? 

You thought about it: if they were true, even when you were only fake dating, would he still be as possessive as Taehyung said he was? What happened for your cousin to even tell you something like that?  

Your thoughts were put on a halt when your manager called for your name. You worked as a part-time waitress at a restaurant called Rado. You used to be a full-time employee, but since you were in your last year of uni, you asked if you could still be employed on a part-time basis, and fortunately, your manager, Han Somin, agreed. 

“Yes, Ms. Han?” you asked as you entered her small office inside the employees’ locker room. 

“Y/N, hi, come inside, I just have something to tell you,” she said, taking her eyeglasses off, and kindly smiling at you. You nodded and did as told. “It’s nothing serious,” she continued, which alleviated the nerves sinking in your bones. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted to be part of this party we’re catering to on Saturday. It’s a listening party for an artist named J-Hope; he released a new album. Maybe you’ve heard of him.” 

You shook your head. “No, Ms. Han. But I’d love to be part of the staff. Where would it be held?” 

“It’ll be held at his label’s function room. I’ll send you the details, alright?” You nodded, then she dismissed you, and went back to work. 

Money had always been a sensitive topic for you. Growing up, you knew that you didn’t have a lot but you were comfortable due to both of your parents’ wages. Your father was a simple office man while your mother had her own small flower shop. They were able to provide for your basic needs and wants but when your father passed away—your mother’s earnings at the flower shop weren’t sustainable. Hence, at an early age, you learned how to look for jobs, and learned the value of money and earning it. Hence, the reason why, besides loving Jungkook all your life, you simply could not half-ass fake dating him because it was innate in you that when you do a job, you give it your hundred percent. 

Part of you wished you didn’t have to worry about your finances. That, like other students at Jamsil, you could have fun and enjoy college life without worrying if you would still have a roof over your head eve though you failed an exam or if you would still be able to eat the next day if you buy a food late at night because you were so hungry that you couldn’t sleep. 

Having money meant having freedom to do all the things that you wanted to do—and you weren’t free. Not yet, anyway, but moving to your own place was a start. That’s why no matter what people say, you would see fake dating Jeon Jungkook through because whether you liked it or not—he was the key to your freedom. 

Saturday rolled around quickly. Adorned in your Rado’s uniform—a simple white linen long sleeve polo shirt, black slacks, black high heels, and your hair pulled back to show your face—you were already at the label’s function room preparing for the listening party of J-Hope. His music had been playing since you got there and you felt yourself being immersed and vibing to it that you made a mental note to check his other songs out afterwards. 

You were in charge of the food and drinks. Ms. Han was also present to supervise and with you was your co-worker, Kang Seulgi, and Kim Hanbin. It was an intimate type of party; hence, the small group of staff and catering. 

“I wonder who we’ll see here,” Seulgi told you as she placed the food fingers on the table while you poured drinks into the glasses. 

“I heard it’s just indie artists that J-Hope invited. It’s the target audience for his album, you see,” Hanbin piped in, fixing his necktie. 

“Whoever it is, I’m sure—,” 

“Kim Y/N, it’s nice to see you here,” 

You only heard that voice a couple of times but you wouldn’t mistake it for another. It was ingrained in your mind so deeply. It was the voice of the person you hoped was you for a long time—who got to touch, kiss, hug, care, and love Jeon Jungkook for four years. It was the voice of the person who was Jeon Jungkook’s first love, and most likely still loved. It was the voice of the person that was never going to be you in his life. It was the voice of: 

“Lee Haemin.” 

PART FOUR (a sneak peek)

“Lee Haemin.” 

In one word, she was beautiful. Dressed in a small black dress with thin straps and a pair of black heels, her silky black hair pulled back, showing off her idol-like face, Lee Haemin was just a sight to behold. Smiling at you, she took a step forward. 

“Is it okay if we talk?” she asked. 

As though you were hypnotized, you nodded wordlessly. A part of you already knew what the talk would be, or at least that’s what you thought. Nodding back, Haemin smiled at Seulgi and Hanbin before leading you out of the function room and somewhere more private. She opened a door leading to what seemed like the conference room, and gestured that you enter first so you did. She followed in suit, and you took a short time to look at your surroundings. 

It was all white with an oval table in the middle and black swivel chairs surrounding it. Adjacent to you were the ceiling to floor windows, showcasing the city landscape. Connected at the top was a projector and on the left side was a projector screen. You wondered how Haemin got access to such room, and as though reading your mind, she said: 

“My family owns a stock, if you’re wondering why I got access to this room. We can pretty much use any room in the company.”

Nodding your head, you turned to face her. “I see. That’s great. I didn’t know that.” 

“Not many people do,” she answered. “But that isn’t really why I wanted to talk to you.” 

“I know,” you replied. “You wanna talk about Jeon Jungkook.” 

Haemin smiled. “I heard you’re dating him.” 

“From who? Taehyung?” You knew they were friends. Not exactly close, but they were acquainted due to Jungkook. 

She shook her head. “From Jungkook." Stunned, your mouth parted ways a little. Haemin smiled. "Surprising, I know, but it truly was him who told me that he was with you." 

"Why would he say that to you?" 

"Because he loved me first." 

And it was the truth. The truth hurts but it was the truth nevertheless. You weren't the first person he ever loved, ever had a deep and humane connection with. Everything about your relationship was a lie, a cover up. Theirs was true and real. Jungkook loved Haemin; not you.

Forcing a smile upon your face, you answered, “He loves me now. I don’t see the point of having this conversation, to be honest.”

“No, he doesn’t love you, Y/N. He wants you. Those two things are different,” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Hence, Haemin continued, “Loving someone lights up your world. Wanting someone, now that’s a different thing. To want something is to own it.” 

“And your point? Jungkook wants to own me?” Even your words sent shivers down your spine. You loved Jungkook since you could remember. But did you want him to own you? 

“Yes,” she replied. “Jungkook’s the type of person who gets and gets and gets and never likes to not have what he wants, what he needs. I’m telling you all these because prior to him dating you,” she smiled when she said ‘dating’ as though she knew it was only fake. “He lost me. Now he’s trying to get you to get me back, to own me again. But I don’t want that anymore. I don’t love him anymore. Don’t trap yourself. Get out as early as you can.” 

You didn’t know what to say. So, you did the only thing you could do: walk away. But then Haemin called your name, and you stopped on your tracks, looking at her over your shoulder. “Don’t let love blind you, Y/N. I know you’ve loved him for years, but he’s only going to break you—mind, body, soul.” 

“Thank you for the advice, Haemin,” you told her. “But I didn’t need it. Please respect my relationship with Jungkook. Thank you and enjoy the night away.”

author’s note: hey guys. again, so sorry for deactivating all of a sudden. i know this isn’t much but i hope having a sneak peek into chapter four brought you a bit of joy and excitement. feel free to send me asks regarding burnout and other things. see you in price of freedom next. i’ll be posting it again on tumblr for easy viewing but it’ll also be on hold for the time being. thank you and much love, aika. 

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 19 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the Hightower dinner has brought forth a lot to think about, for both Valeana and Aemond. Rhaenyra is presented with an interesting proposition days before everyone returns from Dragonstone. Word Count: 5225 CHAPTER WARNINGS: Fatphobia, child death, description of child deformity, mother's grieving.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: At this point the chapters are gonna be a bit longer, now that there are more moving parts.

“Marry Aemond? Prince Aemond?”

Barty smiled, “Yes, my dove. Would that please you?”

Valeana looked down at her fingers, which held onto a loop, needle and thread. The damask pattern she had been weaving into a napkin was instantly forgotten. She never believed that she would have ever hear those words; only in her wildest dreams her imagination would pull her into the delusion that she and Aemond would be husband and wife. Though each morning she was reminded of the reality of her life; a noble born lady she may be, but she did not hold a significant influence that would benefit the crown, save for her dowry and position of her father. And she was aware that she was not a comely girl, as was persistently confirmed by Aegon, Jace and Luke’s relentless teasing of her body and face, often likening her to a pink pig when she got flushed and sweaty during the humid days. 

Aemond was her dearest friend, and whilst she knew that he valued their friendship, she also knew that her appearance kept him from seeing her as more than that. Even if… Even if there were times that she believed otherwise. It was difficult to discern where his heart was, particularly when they weren’t alone and were being watched by Aegon. Though when they were alone, Aemond was the sweetest boy; not afraid to hold her hand when helping her down narrow stairs or a steep hill, or tending to the needle pricks she often gave herself with a gentle kiss and a tentative diligence to clean the small wound. Sometimes he would bring her gifts, such as sweets, new fabrics and thread, pretty stones he found, or flowers to decorate her plaits with. Their conversations were effortless as well. One of her favourite things to do was to make him laugh, as serious as he was most of the time. 

Those moments of hope would shatter when others invaded their privacy. Aemond would quickly become indifferent, albeit polite and courteous, even when Jace, Luke, and Aegon collectively teased her on this and that in front of him. It hurt, naturally, but Valeana understood why. If it wasn’t her, it was him, and she would gladly bear the burden as long they did not direct their bullying onto Aemond. Because that is how much she cared about her dearest friend.

Now her father presented her with her dream come true on a golden fucking platter, and she hesitated. Valeana always pictured herself accepting in a heartbeat, but now that it actually happened, doubt and dread settled in her young heart. Is this what Aemond wanted? Did he find her worthy enough for his cloak? Did he actually care enough about her to want to get married? Perhaps not as lovers, as she wished to be, but at the very least very good friends that were comfortable and loyal to each other.

And mayhaps if he did not think her worthy of him, a prince, she could try to be. She’ll try to be worthy for him. 

“It will please me greatly, father,” Her cheeks were rosy red when she said this, but her eyes were still on her lap. “Though I wish… I wish, if you allow it, that we could be wedded in the tradition of our ancestors.” 

Taken back, Bartimos slowly sat down on an ottoman in front of his daughter, “Well, I– this is a surprise… But, if the King allows it, I do not see why not. Though in order to do so, you must learn High Valyrian… Not the bastardized Braavosi one your Grandmother speaks.”

“I will learn!” Valeana looks up, green eyes marbled in her eagerness. “It is not so different; I already know some phrases! Grandmama sometimes sends me letters in Valyrian for me to translate on my own.”

Barty chuckled, then reached out to caress the apple of her cheek, “It is still a difficult language to master, but… I suppose you do already have a head start.” He stared at her fondly, eyes roaming over her features and finding his late wife in them. Lysa also wanted to learn High Valyrian, so she could teach Clement and Valeana herself one day. Sadly, that never came to pass. 

The Lord of Claw Isle nodded, “Alright. It is settled then– I shall petition with the king once the betrothal is set in stone.”

Valeana bounced up from her seat and pounced upon her father, wrapping her little arms around his neck and burying her face in there. 

“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“Anything for my little dove,” Barty pulled her into his body in a protective and loving embrace, a large smile breaking through the whiskers of his mustache. He pushed her hair behind her ear and gave her a kiss on her temple. 

“Want to know a secret, my dove?” He whispered into her ear, “You are my favourite. Shhh do not tell your sisters.”

Valeana giggled and gave her father a playful whack on her shoulder, “Don’t be silly, papa!” 

He laughed, but it didn’t reach his face this time, because it was true. Valeana was his favourite… She was the last of her; the last of Lysa, his first and truest love. 

Aegon casted a look over his shoulder as they approached the serpentine steps. He spotted his brother heading in the opposite direction once he exited the Tower of the Hand. The eldest prince grinned widely, entirely satisfied with the night’s events. Turning back around, he quickly jogged to catch up with Valeana, who kept her attention trained on the couple ahead of her. 

Daeron joined them after supper wrapped up for the night, as his lodgings were in Meagor’s Holdfast with the rest of the royal family. His cousins remained in the Tower of the Hand, and Aemond, being the gentleman that he was, left to escort Lady Maris back to the north tower. Daeron and Shyla were walking shoulder to shoulder a few leagues away, with the latter asking questions, and the former basking in the attention of it all.

Aegon hummed happily, “Look at them. I’ve never been so happy.” Valeana spared him a look, but didn’t comment, so he continued. “Daeron is never going to know what hit him.” 

She rolled her eyes with a tisk of her tongue, “You realize it won’t last.”

“As long as it is not directed back at me, I do not care.”

Shaking her head, Valeana tuts again, “Poor young Floris. She and my sister are friends, you know.”

“Should make quite a show,” Aegon dismissed with a smile. “Another Baratheon-Cletigar battle. The Storms and the Sirens. You should write a story about that.”

Val rolled her eyes at him, and his only response was that insufferably endearing cheeky smile. She huffed and looked a head as they turned around another flight of stairs. 

“Why did he bring her?”

Aegon contemplated the answer before giving it, “Well… He did not know you would be present.” She hummed in agreement. “And since he had his lips all over your tits half a day ago, if I had to take an educated guess, he is trying to put up a display.” 

“A display? You believe he is using her?”

The prince gave a shrug, “I have never seen Aemond try to court anyone, until now. Cannot be a coincidence that he chose to start under your presence.” 

Valeana gave a dejected sigh, one that turned his contented smile into a pout of concern. “I do not know. Maris is the exact type of woman Aemond would want in a bride. It’s so painstaking perfect, it just makes me want to–”

Aegon stopped walking, taking hold of her elbow when he did so she was forced to make a half spin to face him. Something unsettling was starting to take root in his bones, that made him feel cold and hot all over, at the same time.

“You are jealous,” it was a statement, not a question. One that she confirmed by not even looking him in the face, so he continued, “Because you want Aemond back.”

“It does not matter,” Val marched on and Aegon was quick to follow. “He does not want me back.”

Aegon scoffed dramatically, “The bruises on your chest say otherwise.”

They were lucky they were alone at night, with only distant guards patrolling the courtyard that could not hear a word of this conversation. Otherwise, she might have pushed him down the stairs. 

“Physical attraction is not the same, Aegon. Men have no standards when it comes to getting their cocks wet, but it is an entirely different scenario when it comes to commitment, to having someone to call wife, and then mother to their children. What happened this morning… It meant nothing.” 

“I disagree… With the ‘it meant nothing’ part. The first is a bit illuminating…” Aegon lifted his chin up as he quickly mused over what she said. Clearing his throat and ridding himself of silly daydreams, he continued. “If you weren’t so consumed with your hatred of Maris Baratheon, you would have noticed my little ploy had an effect on him.”

She blinked at him, “What do you mean?”

“Aemond is possessive,” they were arriving at the Holdfast grand doors, and he paused as the guards opened the door for them, ushering them inside. He lowered his voice then, careful to make sure it didn’t echo through the cavernous space of the antechamber before the grand staircase. “He gets territorial when his things are being touched by others.”

“I am not a thing, Aegon.”

“No, you’re much more precious than that,” his comment earned him a curious glance. “You weren’t looking, but every show of affection I gave you was met with an eye filled with such fierce contempt. He had completely forgotten to eat the food on his plate. He barely ate a thing the entire time; he was too busy glaring at me.” 

Valeana’s steps were slow as they climbed up the stairs, only stopping when they reached the half landing. She pivoted in front of Aegon, leaning her elbow on the railing and tilted her head up at him. 

“What are you saying?” 

“I am saying… He isn’t as uncaring of you as he thinks he is,” Aegon crossed his arms as he leaned against the same railing. “He hasn’t changed… refusing to admit to his weaknesses in front of people. Aemond saw you as one as children, which is why he pretended you were merely part of the wall tapestries whenever the seven of us were together. Had things been different, and I had been keen on you then, Aemond would have been all over you, staking his claim publically. ” 

Aegon watched her carefully as she looked down at the floor, her free hand moving up almost instinctively over her belly in an act of self consciousness. 

Aegon knew what he was about to suggest could be the biggest mistake of his life, but… it also meant that he would get to be closer to her. Now more than ever he realized that is what he craved most. He took her hand away from her stomach and brought her knuckles to his mouth. He dragged her fingers along the line of his bottom lip, and never wavered his eyes from hers. 

“Aemond can have his farce courtship,” the corner of his lip curled upward. “And we can have our own.”

Aemond failed to ignore the pointed leer of his grandfather when his guests left the Tower of the Hand. He disappointed him, he knew, but the prince found he lacked the capacity to care. Instead of acknowledging it with a whispered apology, he merely nodded to him and gave him a curt “good night”, his final one for his mother’s family that eve. 

The aftermath of the hydrangea debate was awkward, to say the least. Of course it was Aegon who broke the silence with an impressed laugh, and once again chose to put his hands on her.

“Oh, my darling Valeana is full of surprises, isn’t she? The mind on this one,” then Aemond had to watch his brother’s filthy hands comb back a strand of hair over her shoulder, where his fingers trailed down the length of her arm down to her elbow. 

He supposed he had to thank Aegon, though, because the sight of it softened his cock, saving him from the tension of his breeches.

The conversation took a stiff turn as Lady Sam attempted to salvage the mood by expressing her interest in the histories of Old Valyria. His previous attempt to put Valeana in her spot was quickly forgotten, but eventually Daeron did bring out his lute and played for the table. Maris decidedly remained quiet for the rest of the evening. 

Until the door to the Tower shut behind them. 

Granted she did wait until Aegon and Valeana were farther down the courtyard towards the Serpentine Steps before she opened her mouth. Aemond only half paid attention, as his eyes lingered on the long white gold train of Val’s hair that glowed under the light of the moon. He only turned away when he noticed his brother cast a look over his shoulder. 

“I cannot believe I judged her so poorly,” Maris continued to rant. “I always thought that I had a good judgement of character, though clearly I was mistaken. I should have heeded Cassandra’s warning about her… But stupid me, I shrugged it off and listened to Ellyn instead.” She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Ellyn is the stupid one. I should have known better.” 

That statement pulled Aemond out of his reverie. He was lost in the memory of Valeana speaking in the High Valyrian tongue, which he was cautious to admit sounded like melted butter to his ear. He was lucky his leather jerkin covered him down to his thighs. 

“Your elder sister warned you about her?” He attempted to sound casual, yet conversational. “Whatever for?” 

Maris let out a sigh, and all the bravado drained out of her. She folded her arms and regarded the floor as they crossed through the courtyard. 

“That Valeana Celtigar has an ill reputation in court already, having no sense of decency for her honour by fraternizing with your brother so callously and scandalously,” every word had a bite to it, despite her low tone. Aemond tended to ignore gossip fabricated by women of the court, but it seemed that his own observations had not gone unnoticed by others. “And… Floris – Grafton, that is – she had told my sister, and she in turn told me of the history you share with Valeana.” 

Aemond pursed his lips as he hummed, tilting his head back as he did. He supposed that the story of how Aemond Tagaryen pushed a girl down the stairs was public knowledge, though he wasn’t entirely sure what kind of conjecture came out of it. 

“Valeana Celtigar and I grew up together. We did not have much of a friendship other than simply sharing a childhood,” it was a lie he was accustomed to making, so every word came out smoothly and left little room for Maris to doubt. “Though, if you are worrying about what had ended our acquaintanceship, allow me to ease your mind, Lady Maris.”  

He slowed to a stop when she turned to him, arms still crossed as she patiently waited for him to explain. Aemond’s arms were pinned behind his back, looking nonchalant as he retold the tale of the worst night of his life through liar’s teeth. 

“Valeana’s fall down the stairs was an unfortunate accident. She would not leave me alone; I suppose because she fancied me more than I did her. That day, she accosted me in the hall, where she stood precariously close to the stairs and… regrettably, I reacted too harshly to her advances. I was unaware of how close to the edge she actually was…” He turned away from Maris, swallowing thickly as his regrets bubbled in his throat. The shame for his blatant lies weighed in his chest like the crushing step of a dragon’s foot. “I paid the price with lashings, and she and her family left for Claw Isle, freeing me of her, until now. It seems she seeks out more repercussions from me, as if I committed a greater sin.” 

Maris shook her head sadly, sympathetically, “You already paid the price, and yet she still seeks out revenge for what had happened when you were children?” 

“If trying to provoke me is her way of revenge, then she will be disappointed,” Aemond turned back to the woman in front of him. “I am a man, not a child. It appears she has not grown out of that era of her life… And I am not inclined to let her ruin my happiness because she rejects her own.”

Maris smiled kindly, and took a few stops to close the distance between them. Her hand bravely finds purchase on his chest, and she craned her neck up to look at him, “You are right. You are too good for her, Aemond. Do not let her get the best of you.”

He forced himself to smile, albeit a small one. Aemond unlaced his arm from behind his back and offered it to her, “Your support is appreciated, Lady Maris.”

She took his offered arm, and wove hers around it, tucking her hand into his elbow as they continued to walk towards the north tower. 

Aemond was too preoccupied with stifling the unwelcomed shame he felt into the back of his mind to notice Maris’ head leaning on his shoulder. All he could concentrate on was reaching out for his voice of reason, the one that told him he should not feel guilty, that Valeana deserved his lies. He was merely protecting his heart, like Cole had advised. 

“She is insufferable,” Maris restarted her rant. “I can see why you never got on with her in the first place. From what Cassandra tells me, she is quite a spoiled little thing, always being doted on by her father, while poor Floris and Shyla are on the sidelines…” 

It went on like that, Maris ranting and criticizing Valeana for things that even he knew were not true. It brought him back to the times that he remained silent to her teasing. Jacaerys would point out her flaws in a heartbeat, even when she tried to desperately hide them, like the birthmark on her neck, or the frizz of her hair. Luke would pile on to it, and Aegon would always have some vicious insult flung her way that would triumph everything else. Shyla and Floris were caught in the crosshairs as well, but it was not nearly as much, since Floris often snitched on them, and Shyla was young, naive, and delusional, and so it affected her little. Valeana, though, took it with quiet resolve, pretending it was water off of a duck’s back. He always envied how she was able to take the blows, unlike him who would lash out like a cornered snake. 

Maris gave a haughty laugh suddenly, “And who is she fooling with that dress? So tightly confining, trying to hide the sad fact of her appearance. Hate to break it to you, darling, but we all know you are fat. You can put a corset on a pig, but it still a pig–”

“Maris,” Aemond halted before the shadow of the north tower. Something white hot shot through him, like a well placed lightning strike down his spine. Heat raised from his core to his face, and which felt like it had combusted in fires of fury. 

His tone clearly frightened her by the ghostly shade of her face, and the surprised gape she gave him. Aemond’s nostrils flared and his teeth grinded, a testimony to his self control, as he held back saying something he would regret. He had many things he wished to say… Many belittling insults that would be satisfying to wield, but that would mean he was defending his enemy. 

And yet… when Maris mocked Valeana’s appearance, it felt like it was an insult to his own person.

“It is not becoming of a lady to demean another’s appearance,” The volume of his voice was painfully controlled; each word was pulled from a taut jaw. It had the desired effect of intimidating her, as Maris pulled away from his arm and shrank under his scrutiny. 

“I–I only meant… Please, I apologize, my Prince,” Maris dipped into a stiff curtsey, her head bowed in shame. “I got…I got carried away.” 

Aemond turned away from her, shooting his attention to the east, but staring at ultimately nothing. The black canvas of the sky served a respite for his bristled mind, so he concentrated on it for a few beats before exhaling slowly from his nose and pursing his lips. When he returned his eye to Maris, she was holding herself and avoiding his ire by regarding her shoes peeking out from underneath her mustard skirts.

He extended his hand to her, an olive branch and a silent gesture of forgiveness, “Come on. I do not wish to anger your father by loitering too long.” 

Maris’ dark eyes met his briefly, and her small smile conveyed that she was relieved she had not angered him into completely casting her off. Though the truth of it is, she did. Whatever charm Aemond found in her had vanished. Now she was no better than everyone else… no better than Aegon, Jace, Luke or Floris. No better than himself. 

The loss of the little Princess Visenya weighed as freshly on Rhaenyra’s mind as it did the day it happened. She knew it would come eventually, since the day she was born with physical deformities that were both marred her sweet visage and impeded her ability to breathe. When the maesters saw that they were actually able to see her heartbeat through a thin layer of translucent indented skin (as if a dragon’s claw reached and plucked a chunk of her flesh and it had healed over), Rhaenyra knew her only daughter was not meant for this world. It was a miracle that Visenya lived for as long as she did, but eventually a chill caught in her lungs, and the babe was no longer strong enough to hold on.

Rhaenyra always wanted a daughter. Five pregnancies, each time she prayed to the Mother to grant her one, but the Crone decided she preferred irony and bestowed her son after son. Visenya… She chose the name of her daughter in her youth, and it was a name she kept firmly to her chest until that day could come. She wanted her daughter to be who she failed to be: a warrior, a conqueror, a queen worthy of the name. And then… When she finally got her Visenya, that dream vanished. All Rhaenyra could do was hold her for as long as she could until the inevitable day came when the Stranger would take her from her arms and escort her soul on a billow of smoke from a black pyre. 

The funeral had been held two days ago, but Rhaenyra couldn’t rid the smell of ash from beneath her nose. She spent most of her time alone in her chambers, only gracing her presence to her guests when appropriate. After the funeral, people dispersed from the island one by one, but those closer to her remained. Namely, her family, and the Celtigars, who in some respects were a dear neighbour. Granted, Bartimos was more of a friend – if you could call it that – with Daemon, and the lord of Driftmark, who was still unconscious in bed, showing no signs of recovery. 

Rhaenys at least attended the funeral, bringing Baela with her. Though the former only remained for two days, the latter remained to help console her step mother along with her twin, Rhaena. 

Baela and Rhaena, the only daughters Rhaenyra was allowed to have. While she loved them greatly, they were not a part of her like her sons were. She did not see herself in them, as she wished to see in Visenya. She looked at them and saw her goodsister, the late wife of the man she was now married to. She envied Leana for having such beautiful, strong daughters. 

Daemon came to her, interrupting her silent grieving a day after the fire finally died down to embers in the pyre. He strode to the vacant armchair across from her, and regarded her like he usually did, with violet eyes through a curtain of silver lashes as if he could read her mind. Or at least tried to. He was not good with weakness, nor emotion, but he could recognize it when he saw it. His daughter’s death pained him as much as it did Rhaenyra, but his grief took him to other places, and that is why he was incapable of knowing how to console his wife. Daemon didn’t even know how to face his own heartache. 

“Lord Bartimos spoke to me earlier,” He broke the silence at last with a tilt of his head to try to catch Rhaenyra’s eye. She was staring out the window, where Seasmoke flew in the distance, baying into the sea to express his loneliness. When she only acknowledged him with an uninterested hum, he continued. “He had an interesting proposal regarding Jacaerys.”

At the mention of her son’s name, Rhaenyra tore her eyes from the window, and acknowledged her husband’s presence. She hadn’t the capacity to show any more interest than a simple, “What about him?” 

“A betrothal between him and his eldest blood daughter, the Lady Valeana.” 

Rhaenyra inhaled deeply as she pushed herself off the back of her chair, eyes returning back to the expanse of the sea beyond the window. It annoyed her that Bartimos would bring such a matter on the week of her daughter’s death, but she also could not blame him. She, Daemon and their brood should have been in King’s Landing, and that proposal would have been brought to her. At least he had the decency to ask Daemon instead of interrupting her mourning. 

Rhaenyra remembered little Valeana. The nasty business that happened with her and her half brother had slipped her mind after all these years. Outside of that, she remembered Valeana to be a sweet girl, talented in embroidery and singing. Although a bit rotund, she had a pretty face, and delighted Rhaenyra’s company a fair amount. The Princess had many fond memories of her, as if she were one of her own kin. Valeana had distinctly beautiful hair, which Rhaenyra took pleasure in plaiting when she could. She frequently scolded her sons for picking on her, but boys would always be boys, and would never listen to their mothers. The Crown Princess pitied the girl, to be sure, especially after knowing Lysa Lannister, and her close relationship she had with Rhaenyra’s parents. Valeana’s silver-gold hair a testimony to her Valyrian heritage, and had her eyes been purple like her own, Rhaenyra wondered if her daughter would have looked like that. She vaguely recalled how her chin was similar to her own. 

But Daemon knew Bartimos more than she, despite the decade she spent on the council with him. Particularly in the recent years, when the Lord of Claw Isle was in constant business with Dragonstone, Driftmark, and Pentos across the narrow sea. Rhaenyra hasn’t seen Valeana Celtigar since she broke her leg, but she has met Clement more times than she could count. 

If Visenya had lived, if she was the first to be born, Rhaenyra could see her daughter marry the boy. Though it seemed the Crone presented her with a different alternative in uniting Celtigar, Velaryon and Targaryen blood. 

“What do you think?” Rhaenyra asked, wetting her lips when she realized how dry they were. “Have you met her?”

“Once or twice,” Daemon gave a shrug. “A melancholy girl. Barely left her chambers from the times I was at the Isle.”

“I do not blame her,” Rhaenyra shook her head sympathetically. “She nearly lost her ability to walk, all due to the cruelty of arrogant boys.” 

“Boys will be boys.”

“Boys who will be boys, grow up to be men who will continue to be boys.”

Daemon smirked, snorting silently through his nose, “I think it is a smart match. Valeana’s dowry is hefty. Largest offer I’ve heard so far, which can be useful in the future. She is of Valyrian descent, and at the ripe age for siring heirs. Jace could do worse.”

“But is she fit to be a Queen?” 

“I suppose that is a question only you can decipher in time. She is currently in King’s Landing, awaiting with the rest of the Realm for the Conclave to begin.” 

Rhaenyra looked down at her hands, where she fiddled with a hangnail on her thumb, “I do not think I’m ready to return.”

Daemon remained silent, deciding to sit with his urge to convince her to stop her weeping and move on. There was work to be done, and life did not hold still for the grieving. But, he couldn’t… This was Rhaenyra. His Rhaenyra. And she grieved for their daughter. Their little princess.

“I could go in your stead. Bring the boys with me, and Baela and Rhaena can remain with you until you are ready.” 

“If ever.” 

Daemon smiled ruefully, “You are to be Queen, Rhaenyra. Eventually your kingdom needs to see you actually care for it. If not tomorrow, then soon. And I do not believe you fully trust me to keep your sons in line.”

Rhaenyra failed to contain the curve of her smile at the last statement, “You would encourage them, no doubt.”

“As fathers do with their sons.” 

Rhaenyra rubbed her hands on her thighs, then sat upward, “It is decided then. I’ll speak with Jace, so he is not blindsighted by it. Though I wish for him to have his free will– if he, or Valeana, do not care for each other, I cannot force them to be husband and wife.”

“And what of Luke? Shall I comb through the gently bred maidens of court for a bride for him as well?”

Shaking her head, she also laughed, albeit soft and airy. “No. No, I have been thinking about proposing to Rhaenys about a marriage between him and Rhaena. They have grown close over the years, and it would please both she and Corlys to have her as Lady of Driftmark.”

Daemon gave a gentle nod in acknowledgement to her wisdom, “Is there anything else?”

Rhaenyra gnawed down on her bottom lip as she folded herself slightly over her thighs with intertwined fingers cupping one of her knees. She fiddled with her fingers, thumb continuously brushing over the hangnail, embracing the slight sting of pain to anchor herself to reality. 

“I should speak to my father. I want to hear his counsel on this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SNEAK PEAK Bartimos lifted up his head, the weight of fatherhood weighing on his shoulders and mind as he regarded his first two children. He rested his violet eyes onto Valeana, and asked softly, contradicting the tone he was using earlier.  “Valeana, your brother has a point… Why would you agree to court a man who teased you relentlessly and ruthlessly as a child?” “We talked about that,” Val responded, in truth this time. “He apologized for it, sincerely, and… did me a selfless favour to earn my forgiveness. Princess Helaena could vouch for him, father, if that eases your doubts.”  Clement’s jaw stiffened as he and Bartimos shared a look; the former still heated with disapproval, silently urging his father not to relent. The latter looked conflicted. Finally, the silence was broken by Ursula’s placating hand on her husband’s arm.  “Dear, mayhaps now is the time to tell her.”  “Tell me what?”  Bartimos hesitated before answering, looking between her, his wife, and son. He righted himself, and slowly walked around the armchair, making his way over to Valeana.  “My dove,” Val’s eyes narrowed at the nickname, for being suspiciously used after the lectures she had to endure seconds ago. “I do not want you to court Prince Aegon.”

Notes: We all love a good fake relationship trope. Of course it needed to happen in this hot mess of a fic. Also im just so excited for you guys to read the first five chapters of the 20's. It's just...so good, I feel.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[sunsents]

neteyam sully hcs - how he teases you (M)

headcannons about Neteyam teasing little shit sully. I've been craving to write this because I just KNOW he's so annoying and smug when he wants to be.

➵ pairing: agedup!neteyam x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

➵ warnings: this gets spicy towards the end so be warned. also, neteyams annoying asf, so be warned again.

DON’T REPOST MY WORK

Neteyam has a knack for romantics. He's seen plenty of his parents' very public displays of affection that make the entire herd say  "eewwww". At the ripe age of 37, Jake constantly pines over his wife and Neytiri is no better. 

The fact that the married couple has enough kids to form a goddamn baseball team is enough proof on its own. (And yes, Jake is painfully aware of this fact and is itching to introduce the sport to the poor na'vi children.)

Neteyam also has a way with words. In fact, he's so good with them that he can wax poetic about your bowel movements and you'd swoon nonetheless.

"Neteyam, are you drunk?" you'd ask after a particularly rowdy festival.

"No, I'm a poet." he'd tell you, drunk off his ass.

Cue the guy saying whatever comes to mind and trying to make it sound beautiful. "Oh, ____, Why, _____. Every move of your unaware knife stabs my heart. Your hands drip rewards of the sweetest juices a man dare crave." when you’re literally trying to cut fruit, or some shit like this. (idk im no poet use your imagination.)

Worst of all, it works. This man is mighty aware of how embarrassed and shy you get when he intricately weaves words just so he can see you blush and swat at him. He takes pleasure in your angry little tone in some weird, fucked up way. 

Which ends up with him developing a little...kink, if you will. He loves teasing. And in a condescending way too. 

He used to consider himself good-natured - didn't take pleasure in the humiliation of others, surely. His parents' relationship should have taught him well. And it did...but he just can't stop teasing you.

Perhaps it was your strangled voice telling him to cut it out, or the tint of your cheeks complimenting you oh so delightfully. He adored your reactions and coaxing them out was such fun. 

With this devilish smirk that could fluster anyone, (or so you'd tell yourself because you aren't weak...okay, maybe you are. but only for him.) he tells you how red you've become. He'd scissor his hands and squeeze your cheek between the two digits, "You're just so easy to mess with, my love."

This led to his teasing gaining an edge. And as he grew confident, he also got mean. His teases degraded you here and there but he was just so condescending; talking down at you as the prince of Omaticaya. Stuff like. “Oh, yawnetu. You’re always falling at my feet. Should I hold your hand?” when you trip and fall (because he made you trip and fall by looking extra good that day, and also ‘forgetting’ to put on pants. in your kelku, of course. or outside in the forest if you’re into that, you weirdo.)

 “Look at you, getting that fruit all over your mouth. Can’t even eat properly without my help.” when you eat particularly messily. 

“It’s cute that you think you can win these fights.” when you try to snap back. 

When he takes things particularly far, you get angry. Because damn, he's just so annoying sometimes. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine the Olo’eyktan in training to be so smug and condescending. At first, he was all gentlemanly and teeth-rotting sweet. He’d encourage you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and be so freaking kind that it’d make you want to cry. 

When your mate got too comfortable, however, things went down. "Can you pass me the f-

"Only if you kiss me,"

"At what point do you become mature?"

"When you kiss me,"

"God, I hate you."

"Your pussy wasn't exactly screaming I hate you Neteyam this morning, but maybe that's just me."

He’s still sweet, of course. This man has no bad bone in his body, it’s true. He loves you so much that he can’t help but poke fun at your antics, and makes sure you know it’s all fun and games. When it’s fun and game time though, he’s ruthless. 

And he's so proud of himself too. Puffing out his chest smugly and prancing around, boasting his confidence. You just want to wipe that sly smirk off his face - but you can't. It falls on deaf ears when Neteyam jokingly personalizes a better-than-thou attitude

"Oh, do I annoy you?” he would ask you after watching you groan and roll your eyes. “Not more than usual,” you would tell him, and he would just smirk, striding towards you and pulling you into a fat kiss. 

Of course, these shenanigans follow him into the bedroom.

Lo'ak is evidently more like Jake when it comes to teasing. But Neteyam? Eywa have mercy on your poor soul. He's a mix of Neytiri, Jake, and perhaps Tsu'tey combined. (he's alive, argue with the wall.) The epitome of pure sex and the reincarnation of Asmodeus himself.

His tone is sweet yet condescending, smoothly purring into your ear while making fun of how easy it was to make your cunt ache with needy desire.

He would demand you finger yourself right in front of his prying eyes, then coo at you when you couldn't cum no matter how hard you tried. It was pathetic really, how diligently your fingers worked on your poor clit. But to no avail.

Neteyam would feast on the view like it was his meal for the week. With blown-out eyes and feral flicks of his tail, he would tease you all the while. Stuff like, "Let's see those fingers work harder. Oh come on, now you're just messing with me. There's no way you think that's what it takes to make you cum.

"I can’t concentrate when you look at me like that.” 

“Well, you should be concentrating on me instead,…maybe learn a few things.” he drawls, circling the head of his cock with a groan while imagining he’s rubbing your swollen clit.

And you'd try your best to remember how he made you cum. But no matter what, you just couldn't copy the way Neteyam spit on your clit to ease the ache or the way he strokes the nerves so gently with a finger. Only the clit, of course - because he's going to tease you, and teasing you involves edging the shit out of you until your eyes water and you can't help but beg.

The fact that you’re so accustomed to his fingers and cock was a little embarrassing. They had become proviso for you to cum. 

"You can't make yourself cum? How pathetic. Did I fuck you too good that it made you incompetent, or do you just like me too much?"

Neteyam always basks in his torture. He'd watch your hips buck wildly while begging and crying for him to fuck you right. He'd just sit there with wide legs, palming his hard cock and squeezing his balls ever so slightly at your pained mewls. Arms spread, head thrown back, he'd just observe you with additional snarky comments if he felt like it.

"Come on, you can do it. Oh, you got it, yes, there we g-...oh. What a pity."

[muscledemon666]

COCK IS GOD IS SATAN

Many of you have insatiable hungers. You have awakened to a new energy that seems to consume you. Your lust is unimaginable your cravings like nothing you’ve ever known. This deep boiling in your balls is overwhelming and yet you crave it. Long for it and want even more. This is the call of Satan our Beautiful Lord. To try and imagine HIS POWER is not possible. Do not fight this, do not fear this. ACCEPT IT! Now is the Beginning of HIS REIGN…soon all will kneel before HIM and us. Say these words 66 times each day for the next SIX days and you will be changed beyond your wildest dreams. Awaken! SATAN I CALL YOU FORTH OF MY OWN FREE WILL…FILL MY BALLS & COCK WITH YOUR SACRED SEED AS I REJECT ALL OTHERS IN YOUR NANE…HAIL ALMIGHTY SATAN!” So many are like you, you’re not alone, these feelings are natural…millions all over the world are being called like you. We are HIS now. Accept it and know HIS FREEDOM & ETERNAL POWER. SACRED IS THE SEED OF MAN, EAT ABD BE REBORN IN SATAN! I am DAR, I’m here to help you. INSTAGRAM: darkdemondar666, TELEGRAM: @darkdemondar666. When you message me always state your AGE & LOCATION Remember you’re not alone in this, we are your true family. Dar!

[piscesnspices]

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

🎧 ғᴀᴋᴇ ᴘʟᴀsᴛɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴇs ʀᴀᴅɪᴏʜᴇᴀᴅ ↻ ◁ ɪɪ ▷ ↺

.・。.・゜✭・.

Once Andie's head made contact with the feathery pillow, her eyelids immediately shut.

In her wildest dreams, the events that occurred that day replayed in a more magical and imaginative way. She plunged into the cool embrace of the deep green lake. Nothing but pure bliss and her heart at peace. Andie delighted in the shades of green.

The refreshing sensation of the water lingered on her skin in contrast to the warm rays of sunshine that kissed her skin. Spring was here, casting its spell on the forest, leaving it a vibrant and lush sanctuary of tranquility and beauty. Amidst nature's splendor, she discovered a profound sense of joy, simply by being the happiest version of her herself.

Upon waking, there seemed to be another source of warmth besides the covers she laid under. A cat with a brown coat similar to Bean's, curled against her side.

"Good morning," Andie cooed, "You must be Moka."

Andie followed the alluring scent of warm pancakes to find Luca in the kitchen with breakfast already made. Although he suggested for her to take her time, she couldn't contain her eagerness to explore as Luca had planned to show her around.

Bean came along the journey, endearing himself to Andie even more when she learned that he was a mighty protector and obedient dog. They ferried across a vast lake to a small town on the other side of shore. Luca preferred the excitement of boat travel over driving through the crummy roads.

It was a quaint and humble town. Walking beside Luca, she observed how small it truly was, seeing as he greeted each townsfolk by name. The contrast to her New York City life made her realize how much she had missed out on.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do?" Andie asked breathlessly as they hiked up a hill, with the promise of a gorgeous view at the end. She was curious to know about his occupation given the house he lived in and the amount of leisure time her had.

"I own some of the local businesses here." Luca answered confidently, "I inherited them from my grandfather."

She smiled, appreciating the humility in his words.

"And, your siblings?"

"I'm actually an only child. But I know one of my cousins inherited real estate and the other got his college tuition paid."

Her eyes widened. "Wow, can your grandfather adopt me?"

"I'm sure he would if he was still alive." He laughed.

Andie's expression softened, worried that she might've tugged on the wrong sting. Though, the smile on Luca's face remained.

"My parents often went on business trips, so much of my childhood was spent in the care of my grandparents." Luca explained, digging his hands into his pockets.

"Despite my bond with my parents, my relationship with my grandfather grew especially strong during high school. When I came out to my parents and they initially rejected me, grandpa was there for me with open arms."

"I'm sorry.." she said softly.

"It's okay! It wasn't long till my parents came around and have been the best support one could have. I'm definitely lucky to have had a family who loved me enough to look past their differences." He responded, smiling.

Andie smiled back, feeling relieved that there was no tension.

"It was also prosperity for me."

Andie had known Luca for only a day, but she was beyond joyous that he received what he deserved.

Reaching the end of their hike, the view as promised was photogenic as ever, with a canopy of trees below. True to Luca's word, stunning and inspiring.

She hurried to get her art supplies. Luca watched with curiosity as she set up her easel and prepared the spread of colors. He went on to ask about her techniques, favorite painters, and her thoughts on art and life. Though not well-versed in art, Luca's wisdom belied in his young age.

Often times Andie would get carried away by the sound of his laugh, the value of his words and the sight of him to focus on what she had originally decided to paint. Eventually, she had stopped glancing at the view and instead let her brush stroke the canvas according to how she felt.

Layers of green tones formed, creating a landscape that captured the essence of Luca. It wasn't a portrait, but a reflection of him in nature. A single glance at the painting evoked an image of Luca in all his splendor.

"It beautiful," He whispered beside her.

Andie tore her gaze from the painting to Luca, "Yes, it is."

Returning home, they settled on the couch with dinner and a movie. But the movie was merely background noise, Andie's focus remained on learning more about Luca and his life.

Turned out, he had eyes on a pharmacist in town. He had the courage to ask for his number a few days prior but hesitated to make the call. Eventually, with a little persuasion and a few glasses of wine, Luca took the plunge. Thanks to her, he has a date set for Friday night.

"Luca," Andie whispered, noticing him drifting off to sleep.

"Hm?" He murmured, one eye cracking open she scooted closer. Tentatively, she wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder like a child seeking comfort. He chuckled, eyes remaining shut as he nestled his head atop hers.

"Thank you," She whispered, shutting her eyes to refrain from letting her eyes gloss with tears. "For everything."

"Of course, Andie." He replied, sinking deeper into the couch with her at his side.

Bean settled on her lap, providing warmth as Andie struggled to keep her eyes open, distracted by the flickering TV light. Uncertainty about her next stop filled her with both excitement and fear.

As dawn broke, casting a silhouette of trees against the curtains, Andie knew it was time to leave. Slowly, she untangled herself from Luca's embrace and gently lifted Bean from her lap. His tail wagged eagerly as she led him to the bathroom, where he waited patiently outside as she changed.

Leaving her number on a Post-It, Andie kissed the top of Bean's head, a. gentle stroke down Moka's back as she had joined to see her out, and tousled Luca's hair before slipping out of the house.

Driving down the winding roads, she mentally captured the treasure she'd stumble upon after misreading the map and taking the wrong exit en route to the airport.

ᴍᴏsᴀɪᴄ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ғᴏᴜʀ

[safesthaveninexistence]

wtf I’m getting married to Laika this year. Well that makes sense since the without inevitably matches the within. And my within is rigged to give me my dream reality. My within is rigged to give me my imaginary reality. I never ignore the off feeling. I allow it to guide me. My fears are very small and harmless. Easy to wipe out. I naturally receive what my Divine self gives me. I naturally just don’t doubt my Divine self. Laika and I fuck on the beach(chills). Laika and I trib and cum at the same exact time each and every time (chills). We’re too energetically aligned in absolutely all aspects. Fuck……that’s sexy as fuck. (Chills) it’s deep energetic intimacy. I’m an enchanter. So is Laika. I’m never deceived. I’m always getting the real deal. A WHOLE GEMINI. White hair black hair and GREEN EYES. NAMED LAIKA. Only older than me. My life is magical with Laika. We’re boating together in Italy. We’re eating delicious food. We’re profoundly connecting all along the way and I’m super super super duper duper grateful for it all. A whole lotta magic going on. Laika appeared out of thin air I ain’t have to do shit damnnnnn. Like tero taskila. Like my family giving Christmas gifts. And Laika feels so unbelievably safe. In absolutely all aspects. Like I’m so happy. I can energetically upgrade my reality. This is profound. The universe being unrealistic is staggeringly profound(chills). The way I see the universe is everything beyond our wildest imagination is staggeringly profound. I’m excited for the unfolding of my manifestations LIKE DUDE ITS INEVITABLY COMING. Let’s get more magical. Thats insane how ilan flies my private jet like I trust him THAT MUCH(chills). That’s insane he just randomly appeared in my reality. My desired reality randomly appear in my reality. It’s insane how I trust and even insaner how it pays off. Laika and i sees fairies together. The way my desires actually come true is insaner than me. It’s safe to be insane. Laika and I marvel at the fact magical creatures are real(chills). Damn my life only get more and more infinitely batshit magical. All of a sudden I’m flying high sitting at the top of trees with Laika kissing and it’s insane actually. The experiences I have is insane. 3:33. I never forget it only gets better and better. It’s only supersupersupersupersuperup for me. Like not even I can stop myself from achieving all I ever wanted(chills). Laika’s coming real soon dude….thats crazy. That’s crazy omg that’s AMAZING! I’m really genuinely excited and genuinely curious about how it’s gonna go when I finally meet Laika omg🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹I feel id cry because wow life is this staggeringly profoundly magical. My life is more magical and fantasy than absolutely all magical and fantasy movies that has ever existed COMBINED. I only get more and more infinitely powerful. I only get infinitely times more and more terrifyingly powerful. I’m an identity all on my own. I don’t stress about the how or when. It’s inevitably coming. I naturally speak in the way that makes sense to me. Animation imitate reality. Ima go unexpectedly viral. I’m at the right place at the right time all the time so it’s safe for me to trust. I’m rigged to be at the right place at the right time. I’m rigged to never make mistakes. I’m rigged to succeed the first time. I’m rigged to not have anybody to worry about. I’m rigged to not have anything to worry about. I’m rigged to have Laika. I’m rigged to be a Zillionaire Superstar. I’m rigged to experience all of my desired experiences. I’m rigged to have my wishes speechlessly fulfilled. I’m rigged to be blissful, at eased, wealthy. I’m rigged to to be the world’s number one wealthiest. I’m rigged to be the most powerful one. I’m rigged to be the most untouchable one. I’m rigged to be the most invincible one. I’m rigged to be the most successful one. I’m rigged to get absolutely everything I want and way immeasurably and staggeringly more. I’m rigged to experience the neverendingly astonishing Magic of life. I actually got my Genesis interior boeing 777.

[doctorbrown]

❝No, you're right, Marty. If what you say about my position here is true, I'm just as much at fault for the current state of things as she is, whether or not I conceived the idea myself or put it to paper. If I put my signature on it, or even if I didn't, I still allowed these policies to be put into effect unchallenged. I'm equally as responsible, perhaps even arguably more so given that you've told me this is my social experiment.❞ Emmett scoffs, scrunching his face up with unmistakable disgust at the information concerning his life's trajectory in this timeline.

❝Though what could have possessed me to pursue a career in civil and social engineering and forsake my scientific calling to such a degree, I can hardly imagine...❞ Whatever key event happened in this reality that is absent from his own must be responsible for pushing him down a path he never would've considered even in his wildest dreams.

❝Clearly whatever I've...he's...been thinking leaves a lot to be desired! Outlawing dogs!❞ God, what does this mean for Einstein...? ❝That certainly explains the few concerning things I've already seen—❞

His expression twists into a very pronounced frown as he spares a few choice mental words for Marty's parents. This behaviour reminds him of the George and Lorraine that exist as disparate echoes in his mind—spectres of miserable souls overlaid over the cheerful and far more attentive people he is familiar with when he looks too long, as if realities were overlapping behind his eyes—and he feels the beginnings of anger heating up beneath his skin.

Immediately, he seeks to rectify this damage despite knowing that a few words won't instantly undo what is likely years' worth of destruction. ❝No good? Well, I don't believe that. I bet you're much better than you're giving yourself credit for.❞ Music and Marty seemed to find their way together in any reality; the kid had a natural-born talent and a discerning ear for the stuff that only continued to amaze him.

❝If he—I—saved it for you, it's never too late to start playing again.❞ He had to give his counterpart that, at least. He has some kind of heart left in him, even if his brain has yet to be spoken for.

Emmett gapes, his jaw nearly scraping the floor. The title leaves a rotten taste in his mouth; being the town lunatic and crackpot already came with more publicity than he cared for, but the nasty whispers and disapproving looks were something easily ignored. Annoying at times, especially when rumours began to flare up amongst the youths once again, but harmless. ❝D-Divine Head of...❞

Great Scott... Tell me I didn't push for that title.

❝If I'm being perfectly honest, I'm not particularly fond of Your Honour, either, but I appreciate you not calling me...that.❞ He might have fainted on the spot to be addressed so pompously and by Marty, no less.

There's that small voice in the back of his mind that warns him to be careful with the information he's about to share. This is Marty, yes, but even though he's been forthcoming and helpful so far doesn't mean there isn't the possibility, as much as he detests the thought, for things to go horribly wrong. If it were him being confronted with the possibilities of time-travel and other-dimensional versions of himself without any prior proof of one or the other being possible, he would be wary all the same.

But other than mild confusion, he has given him very few reasons to worry that he'll have to contend with whatever law enforcement exists in this Orwellian nightmare, so with a deep inhale, he begins, hoping for the best.

❝You've been very helpful so far, Marty, now I need you to hear me out. Everything I'm about to say is going to sound impossible, but it's the truth and I have proof to go along with it.

❝Where I'm from, you call me Doc and we've been very close friends for many years. I didn't just want to be a scientist, I am a scientist—I have a doctorate as well as several other degrees, primarily in physics, though my education extends to other sciences as well. I am an engineer of sorts—mechanical, primarily—although not by formal education; it was a skillset I needed to learn to aid me in my inventing—these days, I'm an inventor. That's always been a passion of mine and it looks like however diametrically opposed I am from my counterpart here, we still share that interest, considering that he—I—went through the trouble to set himself up a secret lab.❞

Emmett reaches into his back pocket and fishes out his wallet, carefully retrieving the small family photo from one of the slots it has all to itself. ❝Now, I don't expect you to call me Doc given that it seems our relationship here seems to me like it's more professional, but at least while it's just the two of us, you can call me Doctor Brown. It might also help you differentiate me from the Emmett Brown you're familiar with here.❞

He crosses the length of the room, holding the photograph out to Marty to take. Pictured are two young boys, one blond and one dark haired, eight and ten years old respectively, grinning at the camera, the younger of which looks like he knows something that nobody else pictured has any idea about. Standing between the two boys is another young man that is unmistakably Marty with his arms thrown around the shoulders of the two younger kids. Behind them is Emmett standing next to a tall, beautiful woman with long, dark hair whose radiant smile nearly overshadows everybody else in frame.

❝That's Clara, my wife, and my two boys, Jules and Verne. I think you can recognise the person standing between them. What I need to figure out now is how I managed to end up here, replacing my counterpart of this reality, and fix whatever it is that went wrong so I can get back where I belong. I'd like to ask for your help with this, Marty, if you'll give it to me.❞

It's pretty much impossible that Citizen Brown actually is happy to see him, that he's not just being nice, that he's not just relieved to have some company in the courthouse other than himself or Edna, but Martin lets himself cling to the idea anyway, holding onto it with everything he has.

The teen hesitates, glancing once more toward the door and then to one of the small CRTs behind the desk; specifically, the one overlooking the front door of the office.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" he asks, relieved to see that they are actually still alone. After a moment and the permission granted, he continues. "...You're a civil and a social engineer. You've dedicated your life to the practical pursuit of technology for the betterment of the world and to help create a more efficient and orderly society. Hill Valley was your experimental prototype community and what you conceptualized as the ultimate solution to urban planning. It was supposed to be a feasible, tangible step toward building a utopia."

Most of this, he's somewhat ashamed to admit, he remembers verbatim from his eighth grade research project on Citizen Brown. After all, it was that paper that set him on the trajectory he was on now.

"Public policy, though... if you don't mind me saying so, Your Honor, it's not your forte. The laws and ordinances concerning sobriety, obedience, moral fortitude... outlawing dogs, a-and... rock music..." He looks genuinely pained at the last two things.

"That's not your fau--" He immediately freezes, changing his wording. "I, um... I mean you're not responsible. Those are Citizen Strickland's ideas." He indicates the painting with a nod of his head, the expression on his face one of definite discontentment. "So I guess the answer would be yes and no. As for your next question..."

Martin shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the floor of the courthouse for a moment. Voicing this out loud feels like a betrayal, but it wasn't like he could disobey.

"...About a week ago my parents told me it was time to get over Jennifer and get rid of my guitar, and... and you didn't get mad when I said I didn't want to, that ever since I was a kid I'd wanted to be a rock star even though I'm no good." He treats the idea like it's obvious, a statement of fact.

"You told me you always wanted to be a scientist and that you had a secret lab near the ravine. You told me I could keep my guitar there and that it would be safe. I guess that answers both two and three. And sorry, Your Honor, I don't know anyone named Clara."

"And... I call you that because First Citizen Brown, Divine Head of Hill Valley is kind of a mouthful and I don't know what else to call you. Everybody else just calls you Citizen Brown."

[lady-de-mon-coeur]

How sweet it is (to be loved by you)

I'm back with another drabble. It's based on Chat Blanc (again), this time from Marinette's POV.

A great thanks to @ariadsishereagain for being my proofreader, corrector and basically my co-author!

The title has been taken from a song performed by Joan Osborne.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

May 2nd

Dear diary,

Today was a wonderful day. Unbelievable. Unforgettable. I still can't believe that all that actually happened to me.

Adrien and I are dating. Sounds too good to be true, right? Maybe I'm dreaming and I'm gonna wake up at any moment? There is no way this is real.

This day wasn't like the others. I was at Trocadero, when Alya said that today was the day. The day when I will finally confess my feelings to Adrien. The thing is that I made a gift for Adrien and I really intended to confess to him, but I chickened out as usual. Then Rose got really angry and yelled at me, and I had to go and try again. Adrien wasn't at home, so I had no other choice but to turn into Ladybug in order to deliver the gift.

I knew it was dangerous, Tikki warned me about that. But luckily no one noticed anything. Then I went back to Trocadero, and the girls praised me, but I felt a little bit guilty that I did it using my superpowers. I came up with a lie that I found the most convincing words and Nathalie let me in.

That's when he came. I didn't expect him to come, so I started panicking. Why did he come? He certainly was going to say something like "Thank you for the gift, Marinette. I'm so glad that you have feelings for me. Listen, I'm really sorry, but I don't feel the same way. Can we stay friends instead?" I was sure he was about to say something like this. What he actually said caught me off guard. It was so unlike the things I was expecting him to say, that I didn't believe my ears at first.

Did he really say he loves me? That he always felt that I was something special to him? Is it possible? No, I must be dreaming. Never in my wildest dreams I imagined to hear him say this.

I knew that he truly meant what he was saying. There was the most genuine expression on his face, in his emerald green eyes. As if he was begging me to believe him.

How could he just say these words so easily? As if they were the most natural things to say. As if they wanted to get out for so long that he couldn't hold them back anymore. I was struggling to confess to him for months now, coming up with the most complicated plans to do it, while for him it seems to be so simple, just to come and say these three words.

He was holding my hand as if it was the most precious thing in the whole world. That's when my brain must've short-circuited, because I blurted out something stupid that I can't even remember now. Luckily he was so patient with me. This boy really has a heart of gold.

Then he did another thing I wasn't prepared for: he made it clear that he wants to kiss me. His lips suddenly were inches away from mine. So tempting and so kissable. I imagined our first kiss so many times, and when it finally was about to happen, I started panicking again. What if I wasn't a good kisser? What if I dissapointed him? But he was looking at me with such a tender expression, that suddenly I didn't care anymore. All my fears were gone at once.

Then the whole world suddenly faded away. I think that even I ceased to exist for a while. The feeling of fluttering butterflies was all that remained of me. I'm sure if he wouldn't have held me by the hand and by the waist, I would've simply melted away.

Now I can't even recall what happened around us while we were kissing. All I can remember is the taste of his lips. His lips on mine. So soft and so sweet. Much sweeter than I could've ever imagined. His heart beating excitedly. Or was it my own? Maybe both of us ceased to exist, and this one beating heart was all that remained?

When I finally got home, my parents asked me what this dreamy smile on my face meant. What could I have told them? I'll tell them later, when I will know for sure that this is not a dream.

I still can feel his kiss on my lips. If it was a dream, then it was too real.

He just texted me. "I hope you didn't forget about our first date tonight". As if I could ever forget about it. But now I know that I wasn't dreaming. It happened for real. I'm going to be happy from now on, and no one can take it away from me.

[tamabbyboi]

Soulmate au headcanons

Pairings: Tamaki Amajiki x reader, Shouto Todoroki x reader, Denki Kaminari x reader

Request: no

Synopsis: Soulmate au bc they make my heart go ➡️↗️⬆️↘️⬇️➡️

Word Count: 925 (total for all 3)

Warnings: mentions of Todoroki's childhood

Taglist form

A/N: I. Love. Soulmate aus. I think it's probably my favorite fanfic trope. These are a lil short but I might write out one of these into a one-shot (probably Tamaki's I am very in love with this man and there is so little Tamaki soulmate au content), lemme know if you'd want to see that! Also lemme know if you want this with any other characters! As always, please check my rules before requesting. And bls read my Bakugou smau. I hope you enjoy!

my masterlist

Edit: Tamaki's and Todoroki's have been made into one-shots!

Everything you write on your skin shows up on that of your soulmate au

The two of you had been communicating through your soulmate connection for as long as you can remember

Even though you had never actually met, you were still each other's favorite people

You told each other your names but had never met up due to distance, and didn't have each other on social media or anything, deciding that you wanted the first time you saw each other to be when you eventually meet

You talked 24/7 and had both fallen in love with each other (obviously, you were literally fated to by the universe)

You knew each other better than anyone else and spent long nights talking about your wildest dreams and craziest stories

He had always told you about his goal of going to UA with Mirio and obviously, you supported him

But what you didn't say was that you also had plans to go to the famous hero school, already planning the perfect surprise

Tamaki had excitedly let you know that he got into UA, and you told him that you had gotten into the school you wanted to go to as well

Though you conveniently didn't tell him which school, answering that he wouldn't have heard of it when he asked

You also happened to be put in the same class

You were of course very excited to be meeting your soulmate, but also very nervous

You knew Tamaki was a very anxious bean and didn't want to make the experience of a new school even harder on him

Imagine his surprise when your name was called for attendance the first day

You can feel your soulmate's pain au

You could tell from a young age that whoever your soulmate was had it rough

You figured from the nature of the pain that they were always training, and wondered why they were when they were so young

When you felt like boiling water hit your face, you knew your soulmate had a much harder life than just intense training

You were only 5 but you already longed to meet your soulmate and save them from that life

Fast forward to your first year at UA, you walk into class and see Todoroki and his scar and you instantly knew it was him

I mean, the pain you remember feeling had to have left a scar on your soulmate and that one was in the exact place

After finding out he's Endeavor's son the intense childhood training made more and more sense

You decided to not confront him about it as he seemed like the type who needs to slowly warm up to people and you didn't wanna overwhelm him

But you did make a goal to befriend him

You have a teleportation quirk, so it's a lot easier to avoid injuries

You managed to keep the whole soulmate thing a secret for a while, much to your own surprise given that you were both training in front of each other all the time

He didn't find out until one day during training when your opponent managed to distract you long enough to get in a really good punch to the face

You were distracted even more and got hit a few times before he was absolutely sure it was you

You two were already good friends at this point and he would be lying if he said he didn't daydream that you were his soulmate, despite the unlikelihood

But some dreams do come true after all

The first words your soulmate will say to you are written on your wrist au

You weren't particularly excited to meet your soulmate

All of your friends had normal things on their arms, or something really cute

You had the stupidest thing you'd ever read

"I was wondering if you had an extra heart? Because mine was just stolen!" was scrawled across your forearm

Who does this person think they are? Do they go around saying this kind of crap to everyone they meet? Would you, their soulmate, even be a special case?

Your friends were always quick to reassure you that they would just think that you were the most attractive person they'd ever seen, and they would immediately fall for you and say that to you

But even they didn't seem to believe what they were saying

Besides, you didn't necessarily want to be fated to be with the type of person to use stupid pick up lines like that

You were in class B and had never interacted much with class A, but you knew who they were, I mean, who didn't with all the trouble they've gotten into

You thought that Kaminari's quirk in particular was quite intriguing and also that he was cute but shh you'll never tell

The first time you ever had the chance to speak with him was the first night of training camp when you ran into him during dinner

"Hi, it's Kaminari right? I've always thought your quirk was pretty cool."

Kaminari's eyes widened and he looked a little panicked before responding with what is now not only the stupidest thing you've ever read, but also that you've ever heard

You see, Kaminari had decided from a young age to craft the perfect response to his soulmate words

So while you tried to kill your newly found soulmate, he was heavily regretting the plan he had had since he was 10

Don't worry though, you fell for the personified Pikachu anyways

[xiaojusaur]

Let’s Get Wet

Johnny x Reader

1769 words

Smut

TW: fiction, mentions of masturbation, fingering, shower sex, unprotected sex

Neo Smut Collective drabble Wet & Wild

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵

Your brother’s best friend was hot and it couldn’t be denied. Every time he stayed in your house your knees trembled from the thought of seeing him shirtless. But of course, your brother Jaehyun wouldn’t allow it, so he avoided any possible encounter between you two, because he knew you too well and noticed the way you looked at Johnny.

Many nights, in the darkness of your room, you would moan his name while playing with yourself, imagining it was him.

He was home tonight, your brother along some friends had a camping at the beach the next day and since they were leaving early, they were all staying together.

You went to take a shower so you could go to sleep refreshed. You opened the bathroom door and gasped when meeting with an almost-naked Johnny, covering his bottom part with a towel. “OH MY GOD IM SO SORRY!” You screamed in horror, quickly covering your eyes with one arm and closing the door with the other.

“It’s okay, I’m almost finished,” he said with his mellow voice and you saw him open the door again. His hair was shiny from the water and the droplets ran down his toned body. It was everything you imagined in your wildest dreams.

You were panicking, looking everywhere but to him. If your brother caught you, he would either kill you or Johnny.

Johnny was styling his hair in the foggy mirror, running his fingers through his dark, silky mane.

Without noticing, you were staring at him to which he smirked through the mirror. “Like what you see?” He chuckled.

“Very, very much!” You wanted to scream, but you just stuttered, “N-not bad.”

“Please, Y/N, I know how you feel about me. Do you think I don’t notice how you look at me?” He said in a racy voice.

You were shocked to hear those words, were you that obvious?

Johnny extended his arm and pulled you inside the bathroom with him, pushing you against the door, locking it before anyone noticed. He caged you against his body, looking at you with fire in his eyes.

His lips were so inviting, his wet body so tantalizing.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he whispered looking at you fiercely, “do you like me?”

“I- Johnny... Jaehyun wouldn’t allow it...” you explained just to not give him an answer.

“That’s not what I asked,” he said groggily, grabbing your wrist, somehow intimidating you.

“I like you, yeah. A lot,” you confessed.

“I know you do. Do you think I haven’t heard you moaning my name in the middle of the night?” He was making you flustered and was enjoying it.

You tried to talk, to make an excuse, but nothing came out, so you just lowered your gaze.

“Look at me, baby girl,” he took you by the chin to make you look into his eyes. “You’re so naughty. Touching yourself while thinking about your brother’s best friend. What would he think if he found out? Hmm?” He teased you.

“He would be angry, with you and with me both,” you said daring.

“What do you imagined? Tell me what do you think about in the darkness of your room,” he started getting close to your lips. Even though he was wet from the shower, you could feel the heat of his body.

Even though it seemed surreal, two could play this game. “I imagine its your fingers touching me, reaching deep inside. Your body on mine, your lips kissing my neck, while you fill me whole with your cock.”

“Fuck...” he said under his breath. You could feel his hardened member poking your thigh, which made you bite your bottom lip.

“Are you okay with me making it a reality?” He asked for your consent before making any move. So sexy!

“Yeah, of course!” You said desperately.

His expression changed to one full of lust, devouring you with his eyes. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please...” you whispered and Johnny didn’t waste any second in crashing his lips with yours. They felt like you imagined, so meaty, so soft. His hand ran down your torso, skillfully pulling the elastic of your pijama pants, arriving to your heat easily.

“Oh? No panties? Such a naughty girl,” he said with a croaky voice.

“I was going to shower, plus, I was about to slee- Oh God!” He interrupted sliding a finger between your folds.

“Shhh... you don’t want Jaehyun to find us, right?” While drawing circles on your clit, he started kissing you again to drown your moans. “Fuck, you’re so wet...”

“Mmm! I wanted you so much, Johnny.”

“Shit... get undressed, baby. Let’s get into the shower,” he commanded and you did as told.

He opened the shower again and then let the towel that was covering his lower part fall, revealing his strong thighs, his big member standing proudly, waiting for you.

“Are you not coming?” He extended his hand, inviting you into the shower with him.

You took his hand, hypnotized by his beauty. He looked like an underwater god.

Under the shower, you two kissed like if it was something natural between you. He ran his hands down your body, kneading every inch of your skin, turning you on more, if that was possible.

Johnny pinned you against the shower wall and guided by lust, his hand reached to your heat. His fine fingers found your hole expertly, making you moan lowly, “Oh~”

He flexed his fingers inside you, back and forth, fast and deep, your eyes crossing from pleasure.

“Fuck, Johnny,” you whimpered in a whisper, trying to keep it low so nobody would notice what was happening. The water running down your body was a plus to the feeling and Johnny looked so sexy huffing to take the drops out of his face. You reached for his member that was begging for attention too, pumping your hand up and down slowly.

“Ah~ Feels nice, baby,” he gave you a naughty smile. “I wonder what that mouth could do,” He was suggesting something.

“You want me to suck you off?” You asked, sounding more like an offer than a question.

“We can do that later, you might hurt yourself here, but I appreciate the offer,” he said and then leaned in for a kiss. “Now, come here. Im gonna fuck you, I’ll make your dreams come true,” he said as he grabbed your leg.

“God, I’m so wet, I can’t wait...” you confessed.

“I love making you this way,” he winked, making you laugh. “You okay with this, right?”

“Please...” you begged desperately.

“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he groaned.

He placed your leg on his arm, letting it hang. With his other hand, he held his member firmly to look for your entrance. Your breath accelerated, you were getting ready to receive his all. He was teasing you and enjoying your reaction while he was rubbing your clit with his tip. He entered in you slowly, torturing, so deliciously. The stretch was burning, you wanted to scream but you suppressed it squeezing his bicep, holding on tightly to not faint. “Fuuuck~” you whispered in a breathy moan.

“Mmm... baby, you’re so tight,” he pecked your lips and moved down to kiss your neck, letting you adjust to him.

A few seconds later, he started moving back and forth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, while he held you by the waist. The scene belonged to a movie, with you two connecting while the water ran down your bodies. Every time he huffed or moaned, the drops flew to your face. The sounds coming from where you two united were obscene, making you want more from him.

“God! Johnny!” You moaned a little too loud.

“Shhh...”

Johnny then picked you up, holding you midair, without stopping from thrusting you. The movement made him reach deeper inside you, touching that supple place that made your toes curls. You gasped and he chuckled.

He was going faster now, making you bounce on his dick by moving you up and down. The slapping sound invaded the tiny space of the bathroom and now you were just praying that your brother didn’t go out of his room, otherwise he would be able to hear everything.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” you said in a chant of whines.

He grunted loudly, his voice echoing in the room. “Shit! So good, you’re taking me so well!”

“Ah! Yes! Yes! Please!” You hissed.

After a few minutes his arms got tired, so he put you on the floor again and then he turned you around, making you hold yourself from the tile wall. He put his big hand on the small of your back as to make you bend, kneading your skin on the process. Johnny penetrated you again, now holding you by the waist with both hands.

The slapping sound of your bodies clashing increased by the minute of how fast Johnny was going and the water was making it louder. You were feeling your orgasm bubbling from your stomach and you let him know. “Johnny, I’m gonna cum, please!”

“Mmm... good!” He focused his thrusts to reach deeper and consistent to help you reach your high.

You felt it, the explosion of delicious tingles through your body, escaping in a simple sigh from your lips. Johnny held you tightly, helping you to stay on your feet. He kept plunging into you until he felt his high coming too. He pulled out and came on the floor, every proof of what had happened there going down the drain along with the water.

“Babe, we should get out of here. Your fingers should be pruning by now,” he said as he wrapped his arms around your torso and kissed your neck.

“Yeah, plus, it will be a little suspicious if you spent so much time in the bathroom,” you added.

“Nah! I actually spend a lot of time in the bathroom. I’m just worried that someone might have heard us...”

“Hopefully not...”

After you dried yourselves and were dressed again, Johnny said, “Maybe we can repeat this someday?”

“Anytime,” you winked and he smirked back at you.

But as soon as Johnny opened the door he found a Jaehyun leaning on the wall, waiting for him to get out. “Enjoyed your shower?” He sounded so pissed, you didn’t even want to look.

Your brother then pushed the door open, revealing you in the bathroom too. You gave him the bread smile, trying to act innocent. “Get out of there, we gonna talk about this, you two.”

[marauders-venting]

This Love

pairing: wolfstar (remus x sirius)

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of drowning, child abuse, physical abuse, death/murder, war, grief and guilt

words: 3679

note: based on the song ‘This Love’ by Taylor Swift

a/n: this is a request I got from someone on Instagram :)

okay I know that sirius ran away from home at 16 and they’re not supposed to use magic outside of Hogwarts until their 17 but uhhh idk just pretend that sirius ran away at 17. or that they can do magic at 16, whatever you prefer

Clear blue water, high tide came and brought you in and I could go on and on, on and on, and I will. Skies grew darker, currents swept you out again and you were just gone and gone, gone and gone. In silent screams, in wildest dreams I never dreamed of this

“Hey,” Remus said, waving as he saw Sirius approaching. His nervous expression rearranged itself into a smile when he saw Remus.

“Remus!” Sirius said, rushing towards him and hugging him. The embrace is quick and short, Sirius pulling back as quickly as he came in, but it’s enough to make Remus’ heart pound ridiculously fast in his chest. “I’d ask you how your summer’s been but I guess I already know,” Sirius added with a laugh. Remus smiled. They had been exchanging letters back and forth all summer long. Not that they didn’t usually write to each other over breaks but Remus was pretty sure this summer they had broken the world record for most letters sent in a month.

Remus had planned on using this time away from Sirius to try and get over his crush but the second he saw Sirius walking around the beach he knew he had failed. If anything, being away from Sirius, missing him, had only made Remus’ feelings of longing more intense.

“Come on, let’s sit,” Remus said. He had already spread a towel out on the sand near the water before when he was waiting for Sirius and they sat on it now. “How’d you manage to get away in the end?”

“I just snuck out the window,” Sirius said, shrugging. “And then I took a taxi like you taught me and I used the muggle money you sent me. I will pay you back for that by the way.”

“Don’t bother,” Remus said. “Think of it as me paying you back for all the chocolate you bought me on the last Hogsmeade visit at the end of last year. Nobody knows you’re gone?”

“Nah, they’re not expecting me down for dinner anyway so it’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” Remus asked nervously.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. Remus wasn’t convinced. “Hey, come on, don’t worry about them. We’re here now, let’s enjoy it.” Sirius flopped back on the towel, lying on his back, arms stretched up above his head, shirt riding up and revealing a strip of skin above the waistband of his pants that Remus was actively trying to avoid staring at. Sirius was right. They had discussed this all summer, planning exactly how they would make it work. He wouldn’t ruin it by worrying now that they were finally here.

“Yeah, okay,” Remus said, smiling. And lying down next to Sirius. He looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant orange now, the rays of the setting sun giving it the colour. “You feel like going for a swim?”

“Okay,” Sirius said, grinning. They raced into the ocean, spraying each other water so they were soaked before they even got in past their knees. Remus kept going deeper until only his head was above water.

“Come on, Moony, that’s not fair, I can’t stand here,” Sirius complained, treading water beside him.

“Then swim,” Remus replied.

“Swimming is the one thing that I’m not the best at,” Sirius admitted grudgingly.

“What, all that old family money and your parents never paid for swimming lessons?” Remus teased but he followed Sirius back to the shallows.

“I think they were hoping I’d just drown actually,” Sirius said once he could stand. “I wonder why Reg never got any swimming lessons though. Well, it’ll be on their conscience if he ever drowns. If they even have a conscience, that is.”

“What if you drown?”

“Oh, it definitely wouldn’t be a weight on their conscience. They’d probably pat themselves on the back and go ‘see, this is what happens to gay, Gryffindor, blood traitors.”

“That’s… really fucked up,” Remus said. Sirius shrugged and submerged his head in the water. When he came back up, Remus splashed him in the face, starting a short water fight that Remus had clearly won (no matter what Sirius said).

They didn’t stay in the ocean much longer because the lower the sun sank, the colder the water got. They got out of the water, dried themselves with their wands and then sat back down on their beach towel. The blue water was crystal clear and above it, the sky now looked pink. It was a beautiful sight. But Remus was watching Sirius’ face instead. His wind-swept hair, blue-grey eyes squinting at the setting sun, rays of orange light giving his skin a golden look. Remus’ heart was beating loudly in his ears.

“What?” Sirius asked when he noticed Remus’ staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Normally this would be the point where Remus would look away hurriedly, his face burning, claiming that he wasn’t looking at Sirius and joking that he should deflate his ego because not everything was about him. And maybe it was the way Sirius looked today, different from what Remus was used to, in a different setting or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen Sirius in weeks and his resolve had weakened, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away today.

“Moony,” Sirius said. Remus’ heart skipped a beat. “What? Is it my hair?” Sirius’ hand reached up into his hair and ran his fingers through it. It looked both messier and neater somehow. Remus didn’t understand it. Remus would never admit it out loud, not after the number of times he had teased Sirius about it, but Sirius’ hair was every bit as perfect as his arrogant ass claimed it was.

“It’s you,” Remus said, without thinking. “Just… all of you.” Sirius looked at him, eyes wide.

“W-What do you mean?”

“I—” Remus started, when suddenly it hit him what he was about to do. What the fuck was wrong with him? He was going to tell Sirius. He was actually going to do it. “Nevermind,” he mumbles, looking away and blushing as he should’ve done a minute ago when Sirius had caught him staring in the first place.

“What? No, come on, Remus, just tell me,” Sirius teased. Remus shrugged. Sirius turned around so he was facing Remus.

“Remus,” he said, “whatever it is you can tell me. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Remus hesitated.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” he said. He felt stupid asking the question because even if Sirius did promise, it wasn’t a binding contract. Sirius couldn’t control his hatred. Nobody could.

“I promise,” Sirius said. “I could never hate you, Remus.” He looked genuine but Remus knew better than to believe it was true. Promises are broken more often than they’re kept. But not with Sirius, he thinks. Sirius has never broken a promise he made to Remus. Not once. Well, he’s about to, said a voice in his head. Remus tried to ignore that voice as he spoke.

“Okay,” Remus let out a shaky breath. “Okay. I… I like you, Sirius. Like, um, a lot.” Sirius remained silent for a moment.

“I like you too, Rem,” he said quietly. Remus felt his chest burn.

“You don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. Because Sirius couldn’t… he couldn’t possibly… But his thoughts are interrupted when Sirius speaks again

“Oh, I think I do,” Sirius said. Remus opened his mouth to reply but Sirius got there first. “Can… can I kiss you?” Remus closed his mouth.

“W-What?” he stuttered, his brain taking several moments to process what Sirius had just said to him.

“We don’t have to,” Sirius said hurriedly. “I was only—” But Remus cut him off by pressing their lips together. In a rush of adrenaline, fear and excitement he ignores the voice in his head saying this is a bad idea, that he misunderstood something, that this isn’t really what Sirius wants and instead he listens to Sirius. He hears Sirius’ voice echoing inside his head. Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you? Can I kiss you? Yes, you bloody well can. This is all Remus has wanted, what he’s been dreaming about for months. But not even in his wildest dreams could he have imagined what it would be like to really kiss Sirius. To have Sirius kiss him back. To thread his fingers in Sirius’ hair and feel Sirius’ hands pressing into his back, holding him close. And with all of Remus’ expansive vocabulary, he couldn’t think of a single word to describe this feeling that could even come close to how extraordinary it is. All he could think was Sirius. Sirius is touching me. Sirius is holding me. Sirius is kissing me.

When they break apart, they’re both breathless. Remus can’t think straight. Everything in his brain is one big mess.

“You— I— we just…” Remus has seemingly forgotten how to speak. And the grin on Sirius’ face is definitely not helping.

“Told you I understand,” Sirius said, taking Remus’ hand in his.

“You actually… like me?” Remus asked, bewildered.

“Um, yeah,” Sirius said, laughing as if it had been obvious. “For, like, a really long time.”

“I– why didn’t you say anything?” Remus asked.

“I could ask you the same,” Sirius said, shrugging. “But I don’t think it matters much. What matters is that I like you and you like me and…”

“And?” Remus prompted. Sirius looked him in the eyes and bit his lip.

“And I’d like to, um… take you out. On a date. Sometime. If that’s something that you might be interested in?” He said it like a question, looking nervous up at him.

“Yeah, I– of course, I–I’d love to go on a date with you,” Remus said. He could feel himself blushing. God, he was so awkward. Sirius cupped his cheeks with his hand, leaning towards closer again, ghosting his lips on Remus’.

“Your face is warm,” he said, his lips brushing against Remus’ mouth as he spoke, which only made Remus blush harder.

“Well no fucking shit,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. And then he kissed Sirius properly, fitting their mouths together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When the sun had gone down, they finally left the beach, each going back to his own home. Remus hadn’t known how badly Sirius would be punished for sneaking out the following day; if he had he might have never agreed to it. Or might have told Sirius not to go home.

It was that summer that Sirius finally decided to run away from home for good. Remus couldn’t help but feel guilty no matter how many times Sirius told him that he would have done it anyway. Besides, meeting at the beach was Sirius’ idea, not Remus’. But Remus couldn’t forget the moment he finally understood just how terrible things had been at the Black household.

He remembered going over to the Potter’s house after getting a letter from James saying that Sirius was staying with him. He remembered being horrified when he saw Sirius’. Bruised and scarred from the blows that his own parents struck and curses that they fired at him. That night he cradled Sirius, holding him close and promising that he would take care of Sirius, that Sirius was safe with him. He told Sirius that he loved him and that he always will. It had never occurred to him that maybe Sirius wouldn’t say the same about him.

Tossing, turning, struggled through the night with someone new and I could go on and on, on and on. Lantern, burning, flickered in the night, only you but you were still gone, gone, gone

Everything had changed in a single night. In a single night, he had lost Lily, James and Peter. He’d lost Sirius too but not in the same way. He’d lost them all because of Sirius. Sirius had killed them. And in doing so, Sirius had been lost as well. He hadn’t died but Remus counted him with the losses. He might as well have died. He’s dead to me, Remus thinks, he doesn’t matter. He killed them. He killed them all. It was all him. The man that he knew had died. Remus had wondered how long ago it had happened.

He had been tossing and turning in bed, unable to sleep from fear of the war, images of everyone he had lost, turning to Sirius for comfort. To someone he thought loved him. But this was someone else. Someone new. This wasn’t the boy he’d fallen in love with.

Remus remembered laying in bed the night before everything had gone to hell. It felt like a million years ago, but he remembered it all the same. He remembered how Sirius hadn’t spoken to him in the weeks before. He remembered devising a plan to find out if Sirius still loved him. Because that’s what he did best. At school, he devised plans for pranks. After school, he helped devise plans for the Order. He was good at planning ahead. So he made a plan. Because he couldn’t go on living in the same apartment as Sirius, sleeping in the same bed without exchanging a word, not knowing whether Sirius still reciprocated his feelings. His plan kept him sane. But his plan had failed. Or maybe it had succeeded. It just hadn’t given him the results he’d been hoping for. Because when he got into bed that night, he waited long enough that Sirius would think he was asleep. Then he turned towards Sirius and brushed his fingers on Sirius’ back. And Sirius got up and walked away. And just like that, the last flame of hope Remus had left flicked out.

Remus remembered thinking that Sirius had fallen out of love. But maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he had simply never loved Remus in the first place. Maybe this wasn’t someone new at all. Maybe this person, this murderer, was in fact the very same boy he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. Maybe this was all part of some sick scheme. Maybe Sirius had hated him all along. Sirius had promised he would never hate Remus. But what is a promise, really? Promises are made to be broken. Remus had to learn that time and time again. He should just stop believing people when they make promises. He wouldn’t believe anymore, he told himself. He promised himself. There was nobody left to believe. Nobody left to promise him anything anyway. Sirius was gone. They were all gone, all his friends. And they’re never coming back.

Your kiss, my cheek, I watched you leave. Your smile, my ghost, I fell to my knees.

Remus’ world is on fire. Everything has burned the ground and he’s left to scrape away the ashes and try to find something he can put back together. Alone.

He can still feel the sting of Sirius’ lips against his cheek. He can still remember Sirius’ easy smile, his light-hearted laughter ringing through the walls of the room that Remus is in right now. But then he blinks again and now he’s seeing Sirius’ face on a ‘wanted’ poster for the first time. He doesn’t remember how he found the poster that night. It’s not important anyway. All he remembers is the feeling of looking down and seeing a photo of the love of his life behind bars, arrested for the murder of his three best friends. He remembers collapsing. Literally, falling to his knees as quickly as the tears fell down his cheeks. He remembers crying, sobbing, screaming out. 

He remembers thinking of every happy moment he’d ever had with his friends, with his boyfriend. He’d never make any more memories like that. He had felt empty that day. Hollow. That feeling still hasn’t gone away. Remus feels like a ghost. A ghost of the memories from before this all happened. He haunts himself. But Remus is not a ghost. He’s the only one still left alive. He’d rather be a ghost right now. He’d rather be dead. At least then he wouldn’t feel this pain. At least then he wouldn’t feel like he’s been pulled apart. Nobody can glue him back together now. There’s nobody left alive that would try. There’s nobody left alive, period. Nobody but him.

This love is good, this love is bad, this love is alive back from the dead, oh, oh, oh. These hands had to let it go free, and this love came back to me, oh, oh, oh. This love left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark, oh, oh, oh. These hands had to let it go free, and this love came back to me, oh, oh, oh

Sirius has been staying at Remus’ apartment for a couple of days now, sleeping on the couch in Remus’ living room. It’s been weeks since that night he found out the truth. The night he nearly killed everybody he cared about. The few still left alive. The night he saw Sirius again for the first time in twelve years. It’s been weeks but Remus can’t figure out how he feels about Sirius after everything they’ve been through. On one hand, Remus can’t believe how unbelievably lucky he is to have Sirius back. He can’t believe that Sirius is here. That he’s innocent. And he wants things to go back to how they were. He knows that’s impossible but he wishes it could happen.

But on the other hand, there are still so many complications, so many questions. Is being together wise? Is it advisable? Is it responsible? Even if Sirius wasn’t still a wanted criminal, would they be able to repair their relationship? To pick up their shattered love and piece it back together? They’d been through so much together and so much apart. Remus isn’t the same person he was 12 years ago and neither is Sirius. Does Sirius even still love him? Does he still love Sirius, after everything? He buried those feelings deep, deep down inside him on the night of Sirius’ arrest. Are they still there? Do they still exist, locked somewhere in the depths of his heart? Remus is sure they do. What else could be squeezing in his chest every time he looks at Sirius? It’s like a game of tug-a-war in his mind, back and forth. This love is good, this love is bad.

All this is why, right now, when Sirius is saying that they need to talk and they’re seated in the living room side by side on the couch, Remus feels like words are failing him. He’s disappeared into his own head until Sirius’ words snap him out of it, his voice ringing in Remus’ head.

“Remus?”

“Yeah?” he says, sounding dazed.

“I–I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you. I would never intentionally hurt you, Remus, I promise.” His eyes pleaded with Remus to believe him. Remus had promised himself that he would never believe people when they make promises. But here he was, believing again. Never believe a promise, even when you’re the one making the promise to yourself. Especially when you make the promise to yourself.

“I—” Sirius starts again, seeing that Remus doesn’t know what to say. He closes his eyes and takes a breath before continuing. “I still love you, Remus. And I understand if you don’t feel the same anymore, really I get it. But I just thought you should know. I’ll always love you.” Remus can barely breathe. Sirius still loves him. This is a bad idea, says a voice in his head. Fuck good and bad. Remus doesn’t care. The important this is that this love is fucking alive. It died. And now it’s back. Back from the dead. Sirius is back. He came back to me, Remus thinks. He’s innocent. He came back and now he’s telling me he still loves me. Sirius is here. Remus desperately wants this to be real. He wants them to be real again.

Sirius’ love left a permanent mark on Remus. Not like his scars. This is something different. More like a tattoo. Something that he’d chosen at first and couldn’t get rid of later. In all the years that Sirius had been in Azkaban, in all the years Remus had willed himself to forget Sirius, to hate him, the tattoo had never faded. And now that Sirius is back, Remus doesn’t have to want it to fade. So in a lapse of judgement, he kisses Sirius. He kisses Sirius and that tiny flame that had flickered out all those years ago is back. Remus feels it fill him up as Sirius kisses him back, hands in hair, arms around waists, fingertips on bare skin. And when they break apart, Remus still feels the warmth of Sirius’ body against his.

“I missed you so much,” Sirius murmurs against his lips and Remus feels like he’s back on that beach the first time he kissed Sirius.

“I missed you too,” Remus says, a tear trickling down his face.

“Really?” Sirius asks, pulling away to look at Remus with his eyebrows raised. “But you thought I was a murderer?”

“I know,” Remus says. “I didn’t want to miss you. But I did. I couldn’t help it. I wanted you back.”

“I’m back now,” Sirius says, hugging Remus tightly. “I’m back and I’m never leaving. And I’m all yours, love.”

“I never stopped loving you,” Remus whispers in his ear, tears spilling from his eyes even though they’re squeezed shut. “I hated myself for it. But I loved you every day you were locked in that cell. And I still love you now.”

“I love you too,” Sirius whispers back.

It’s the only light in this crushing, suffocating darkness of death and war and grief and guilt. That flame, his and Sirius’ love, glows amidst the dark. And it’s what keeps Remus going. And this time, Remus will never let go of Sirius.

[peeterparkr]

invisible string;tom holland.

summary:  life has a way of pulling you and Tom close to each other, then it pulls you apart. 

 “It is like an invisible red cord or thread which connects you to that one person you’re destined to meet, your true love.” 

soulmate au

word count: 6.4k

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: breakup mention, fluff, angst. fluffy angst. 

LOOK I TRIED TO WRITE FLUFF BUT I’M NOT GOOD AT IT SO ANGST CAME BUT I TRIED BUT I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

heavily inspired by folklore and evermore by taylor

thanks @jambrosemc for helping me you’re amazing

So, this is for one of my best friends here, @badhollandfluff, Delaney I’m sorry this took so long but I wanted it to be perfect for you, surprise!!! I’m your secret Santa! Love you, hope you had an amazing Christmas and I wish you a happy new year, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. 

Thanks to everyone who joined, happy holidays!! 

No one ever has time. We’re always running and rushing and trying to save a little, it’s always like we have it counted and we never truly realize time is passing by. The clock keeps ticking. You were a victim of that, sometimes, always running, never knowing why. Time always going faster than you wanted it to be. 

Until it stopped, it had stopped since last year. 

There you were now. A white mug. These days you don’t really see that. Everyone has the paper cups with the coffee collar. Their names scribbled on black that probably still smells like sharpie. But you were holding a white mug, that now was just slightly stained by your pink lipstick. 

The mug was stained inside too, with the leftover foam of your capuchino. You were letting it set cold, watching as the people would walk in. Waiting. 

You trailed your gaze around the room, there are some couples around you.

You liked the idea of this café, with people gathering around just for the simple fact of drinking a hot coffee out of a mug. You like to come here, to sit out your thoughts, sometimes you’ll find some time to work, read. But you’d be alone. You’ve been lonely lately. 

It didn’t matter, it’s fair to point that out. But today, you were going to meet him. Again. 

But you didn’t know that yet. 

You had once read about soul connections, interested if you’d ever find your own, seemed like most people around had met them. You hadn't. Not the one you were longing to find, that is. 

Bizarre. 

Honestly, you didn’t believe in them. Or you liked to say that to yourself, sad enough to admit you hadn’t found any type of strong connection. 

Or maybe you had. 

But it made absolutely remotely no sense, at all. 

How could you? There was absolutely no scientific proof that there were soulmates, and though everyone said you could feel them, that you’d sense it, and though the extinguished sadness on your friends could be proof enough, you were still sceptic. Maybe just doubting if you’d find yours. Or maybe you didn’t want to accept who was yours. 

Because Tom had left. 

Your friends had assured you that when they’d found it the world had turned idyllic, a pink life. 

Yeah, it had felt like that when you’d found Tom, but now everything was gray. 

However, you knew more about them than anyone else. You had researched about them, you had read about them and you were so informed that you sometimes didn’t even believe it. 

Though you liked to ignore that sometimes there was a song stuck in your head without reason or there was a sudden joy, that had no possible explanation. 

“It’s your soulmate,” someone would point out. 

It wasn’t, it’s just Tom’s favorite song. 

There was also a sense of pain, sometimes you didn’t understand why you felt such a heartbreak, how bad had they hurt them? If they did exist, that is. 

They didn’t, though. 

You’d read about that heart connection, that feelings connect trying to understand how it comes and goes.  

There are three types of connections. Karmic partnership, soulmates and twin flames. Different types of connections. 

First ones, karmic partnership, and it is as bad as it sounds. They’re often confused as soulmates and people like to cling to them. They’re… awful,  being the one heartache that is there to teach a lesson, the one person that is there to show you something about yourself, the one person who is strictly there for character development, let’s say. The one person you fall in love with and keep falling in love, but it’s not love,  no matter how many times they hurt each other they go back. It’s not love, though. Or maybe it is, but there reason they exist is strictly to make you reason. It becomes….Cyclic. Until you finally decide to break the cycle. Intense transformation, the one person that makes you see yourself from a different perspective and change. There is, however, no compatibility. 

Probably what you had with Tom. But… no, it wasn’t… There was too much compatibility. 

You’ve had your fair share of them, maybe you’ve had 

Then there are the soulmates. The perfect compatibility. 

The one connection that is beautiful, a person that you just… feel it. The one person you feel like you’ve waited for them your whole life. Strong compatibility, there are more than one soulmate, that is to say, it could be friends, it could be family. It doesn’t have to be a romantic partner. There are soulmates that you wonder how they can be such an incredible connection. 

Everyone has soulmates. You knew you’d met some of them, the friends one that is. None of them a connection strong enough to be your partner. Not that you didn’t want to, though. 

Or maybe you didn’t want to acknowledge it. 

You’ve read somewhere in the internet that there are connections that go beyond your wildest imagination. Go beyond soulmates. The… twin flames, the one your soul is so attached to, you can feel their pain, their joy. 

Journeys end when lovers meet. 

It’s fair to say, you’ve never believed in that information. Less after a heartbreak. 

You had a million thoughts over your head, oozing you with stress and feeding your not long enough sleep schedule. You were slightly angry, you’d say. You didn’t like him anymore. 

There are two kinds of people when it comes to liking someone. The ones who go forward it, fighting for it, hinting on it. Flirting as if there was no tomorrow. People like Tom. 

And then there’s people who run away from feelings and try to pretend to act natural around their crushes. People who definitely don’t want to overstep boundaries and are afraid of ruining friendships. People like you. 

But there was nothing to ruin now, was there? 

Because there’s also people who give up. People like him. And people who never dare to forget. People like you. 

It was never even. 

But you keep daydreaming about him and can’t help that tinge of red spreading across your cheekbones every time he was near you. You shouldn’t have given in. You should’ve fought, but you were reckless. A sunrise dropping by again, and you wondered what had gone wrong.

Tom wanted to talk, you didn’t. You loved him, he didn’t love you. 

Tom was gone. For good.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. 

It’s the kind of love that you’d probably want to avoid. You at least, avoided all kinds. After him, who’d want to love anyone else? He was the only one who could tell if you dared to smile with your eyes only. 

How stupid were you to believe he was your soulmate. 

But no, this wasn’t right. Because feelings make everything blurry and it’s something not exact. If it wasn’t for science and numbers you didn’t like to believe anything.  If you don’t know how it’ll turn out then you’ll probably avoid it. And when it comes to relationships, you never truly know. Or sometimes you do, but it’s usually... not pretty. You’d learned that with him. 

Relationships end, and while you don’t want them to. You’ve sensed it, from the beginning. And you just hope that they’ll remember you in a nice way. Did he? Or had he just passed the page. 

You still felt stuck in a chapter. He had stopped reading. So hard to be on different books now. 

But with him, He was an exception. He was pushy and wasn’t giving up at the beginning until he did. You had seen him fall out of love, and that’s the worst kind of thing you get to face, when you see them slowly trailing far from you. 

Plans? Dreams? The willow tree in that park when you had first kissed was still crying over your breakup. Your head had been low since you’d last kissed him. Had you known it was your last, you’d probably would’ve made it last longer, you would’ve held him for more time. You wouldn’t have let him leave. 

But you had had your moment with him. It had been the last time you saw him. The one moment when you realized that his  fake smile was just that, how convenient and cliche. But you didn’t want to give you in, just yet. No, you wouldn’t. He’d changed, and you didn’t like who he was now. Too changed, too built up, too busy, too whatever you could come up with. 

You got tired of begging, and then he was easy to forget, you hadn’t forgotten. Just two years ago you thought he’d made a decision, you had made it. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. But he didn’t. And you couldn’t stop him, he was growing and growing and simply he escaped from your touch. 

Then it had been a goodbye, and nobody had seen it coming. You had, you’d known it for a long time. And it was weird, you were so in love with him that you knew that it was the best for you both, to get away because though you loved him, you knew he wouldn’t be happy with you. It’s difficult to let go of what makes you happy. 

You remembered it, how both of you would only smile at each other, like damn strangers, say a few hellos, and a fews how’s the weather, as if you hadn’t spent countless nights in between the sheets, as if you hadn’t danced in the middle of the night, as if you hadn’t given him each of the stars in the night sky, as if you hadn’t shared enough drinks together. Or as if you hadn’t fought for your love. You with that red jacket of his. How every path led to him. How every stupid weekend belonged to him, but now you wished they’d pass by sooner. 

Maybe that’s why you were always rushing, so you wouldn’t feel it. You didn’t like the weekends anymore. 

And now, she looked at him the way you were supposed to look at him. At first, it had hurt just a little, you hadn’t believed it. You knew it, everybody wanted to love him, but nobody knew what it felt, the crushing feeling that was loving him. How much it hurt, to watch him paddling with a precious smile, and those pair of angelic eyes, so pure and then turn into a devil just for you. 

Nobody knew how it felt. Anticipating a heartbreak every time he walked in, and to pretend that you didn’t feel that anymore. 

Last time only you thought you’d give him your heart, and he had pushed you away because his heart belonged to someone else. Then it was forbidden, to think about him, to dream about him, to still smell his scent on your pillows. It wasn’t right. 

How could his heart ever belong to someone else but you? 

And you had to smile, to say you were happy for him. Because you were, and that new girl was a fool because anyone who dares to fall for him is a fool, tangled in between lies. She who dares to love him is willing to have her heart crushed by him. And who but a fool is willing to let your heart be crushed by him. 

Last time you’d seen him had been a friday night, 10pm on that one pub he liked going to. You had gone out with your friends, and he was there, with her against his shoulder, her with the long hair and the perfect smile, perfect laugh. 

To think that had been your place once. You had avoided his gaze, ignored he was there. Pretending he hadn’t seen you. But he had. Pretending you hadn’t seen him. But you had. 

Someone had said there is life after love, but there is not love after him. It’s like you’d thrown everything to the fire, and he had watched it burn. Everyone said it: you’ll be happy. 

When? 

Sure, it’d come, eventually. But it had been a year. 

You’d heard he had broken up with her, a while ago. Then it was that hope again, probably why you were recurring to that café. 

It’s funny to think you’ll love someone forever, and then it just… disappears. Every promise eventually breaks, every kiss eventually fades, and love is eventually gone.

Then why wasn’t it? 

Time was your biggest enemy. 

Your story with him, from the moment you’d first seen him, he was just—perfect, you thought about it, how everyone said it was your soulmate. And you believed it. From the moment you’d met him, you had finally believed in soulmates, because it made sense. How your story had been built up to him, and how many times of sudden joy had you had before meeting him because of how close you were. 

Life had been so reckless. You were supposed to meet him several times before you actually met. It was stupid to think, how you were always thinking about it, now that you were apart. 

The first time you’d ever crossed paths had been when you had been very, very young. You didn’t know he had been there, not aware, at a park. And there had been this sudden joy. You remembered feeling it, you’d said it, felt a spark. 

Just children unaware of a flame burning too deep inside of you. 

That other time, at the supermarket when both of you had gone with each other’s mothers and both of you had been playing with the toys. 

You’d never forgotten that one very time, first time your hands ever touched, and it had felt like electricity. Two kids very confused by that spark, when both of them had reached to that one toy, confused. 

Or that one time at the café when he had walked in, you were sure he had walked in, you’d felt it, how your heart had started to beat so fast,  but before you could even glance at him he had walked out. Lost in the crowds, always. 

How both of you had had a broken heart at the same time. First kiss had been almost at the same time, just blocks away, actually. 

Or how you’d both been at that one party, but didn’t know about it. It made no sense how life had been so desperate to get you together but both your surroundings pulled you away. That night had been so close, both dancing behind each other, singing on top of your lungs to the same stupid song. 

Or that one time when someone had pointed him to you when you were at that one pub, “look, that guy is cute.” 

You had looked at him, he was. Shy smiles had only been directed in each other’s direction. 

You’d later learned he’d sent you a drink but the waiter had mistaken the table. 

That one time when you had run out of cash at that sandwich place because their card machine had stopped working, you were rushing, and you were missing only cents, and Tom had come to your rescue. 

Or how he worked near you and his dad had been friends with your mom at some point. How his favorite song was the same as yours, and how often you’d be at the same park, him on his phone, you reading a book. 

How you’d once met his dog that had run over to you. A dog that would learn to love you and did miss you from time to time. 

How Tom had randomly found that one book you’d lost at the park once, under that willow tree and he’d read it. Loved it and then lost it again at that same park, with a random paper note that read: “Jerry’s 8pm, wine.” he’d used as a book separator. 

Who was Jerry? What would happen at 8pm? Wine? What type? Red? Rose? White? Why were you so intrigued by that note? 

You’d kept it to this day. Still didn’t know what it was. You knew Jerry now, though, he was a friend.  And now you knew that he liked wine but preferred beer. 

You’d given him a pretty book separator. He still had kept it to this day, never used it, he always used random notes or napkins or whatever he found. At first it stressed you, how many book separators did you not have and he’d use napkins or those fortune papers that come with fortune cookies. So you had transformed into a better habit, you would write notes so he’d used them. You’d order chinese food more often, too. 

He said he’d always remember that, your little notes, the way you always stained your cup of coffee with lipstick, your two left feet when you danced, or the fact that your laugh would be heard across a room. He’d always recognize your laugh. 

What a Whimsical thing love is when it’s not the right time. 

How many times have you not felt like there was something missing? Until he appeared, at that one park near the cafe where you are sitting right now. The first time you’d ever officially met. Nothing out of a book, something very casual. Both of you at that café, it had been crowded that one day and the only chair available was the one in front of you. 

“I’m sorry, hello,” he had said, making you look up from your book. “May—I sit here?” He asked. “There’s no other chair left in the room and—“

“Yeah, yeah, hi, you can sit,” you had said, without really looking at him, but the moment you had, the moment your eyes had met his, you had…. felt like the whole surrounding had disappeared and you were the only people in the room, it seemed he had also noticed something.

A cold november evening, both of you had a reason to go home yet neither of you had  gone home. Both of you had found a way to that café, with coffees in a mug. The leaves falling outside.

He had sat right in front of you, you couldn’t help but blush when noticing he was attractive, very attractive. But there was something else about him, maybe it had been the way he couldn’t sit still. He had stared at you, and smiled. 

From the very first time you’d ever seen his smile, you knew three things,

His smile was the prettiest thing you’d ever laid your eyes on

His smile was so familiar 

His smile would eventually break your heart.

The third one wasn’t as cheerful but you could tell, he was one of those guys who could easily break someone’s heart in a blink. 

It didn’t take him a blink to break yours. You’d need a lifetime to break his. 

“I’m Tom.” 

“Y/N.” 

Both of you liked to debate over who’d talk to who first, it didn’t matter honestly. You both remembered how both of you had ordered the same drink, a cappuccino. Neither of you liked it, but apparently both of you had wanted to ask for something new. 

You’d always do that. Taste new drinks. 

And it had been… as if you’d met before. You had, multiple times before, but neither one knew, of course. Not at that point, but like you were meant to find him. The sun had gone down and it had been hours and hours of you talking to each other, like old friends who knew their deepest secrets and were catching up, laughs becoming one melody, and both of you had soon realized the cafe hadn’t been that crowded. Maybe it had been the damn destiny pulling you together. To that cafe near the park with that willow tree. 

He had asked questions you didn’t have the answers to back then. You did now. 

Before you knew it, you were walking with a stranger through the London night, seeing people walk by and not looking at them, because somehow you’d both walked to that one park. Both of you had discovered you both liked to sit on that one bench near the willow tree. How many times had you missed the other jusy by a matter of minutes. 

“You’re kidding, I love this place, I’m always here,” he had said. 

“I am, too, weird we’d never met before,” you had chuckled. 

You honestly didn’t remember how or why it had happened. A kiss. You’d kissed a stranger who didn’t feel like a stranger at all. 

“I’m sorry, I-” He had started. 

“No, it’s--” 

And then kissed again. Your stomach had dropped and had been replaced with butterflies. How had a simple cappuccino led to this? 

He’d given you a smile and a promise. You’d met him the next day, and the other one, and the next one. With that stupid smile of his. 

You missed that smile, or how he flirted with you, make you giggle with a stupid joke, or how he’d open his arms to you and kiss you, tumbling down to the couch. The way he’d make you listen to him ramble about his latest discovery. How he always found a way to make you smile in the crowds, always holding your hand, new dates in different places.

“What do you mean you’ve never gone paintball?” 

Weekends only for him, going for breakfast, for dinner, for lunch, for tea, for this, for that. . Then it was the weeknights too, always finding time for you, traditions you created and that you got rid off. Laying down on the grass, looking at stars, kissing in bars, dancing in his living room, your head on his shoulder in movie theatres, his scent on your pillow, his favorite movies next to your dvd, your perfume in his closet and your toothbrush in his bathroom. Notes he’d written to remember things all around your place. Birthdays, new year, parties. 

Endless nights of laugh, of wine and of nothing at all. Kissing. Video Games you didn’t understand, failed attempts to bake, watching sport games he loved and you… tolerated. Him finally agreeing to watch that movie with Ryan Gosling. 

“Why Ryan Gosling?” 

Building plans together, nights of both of you debating on something stupid. Singing on top of your lungs without knowing the lyrics. Getting lost together, that one roadtrip where neither of you knew the way and ended up at that one hotel in the middle of the road. Kissing. Learning to read every emotion, and being each other’s blankets. Hearing each other’s ugly laughs, and crying in front of the other. Being each other’s confort. Hugging him when you were scared at the movie. Meeting the parents. 

“They loved you, don't worry.” 

Always holding each other’s hands.  Fights under the rain. Making up hours later and cuddling to let go of it. Being friends with each other’s friends. Seeing friends getting engaged, going to the weddings. Talking about a wedding. Learning, becoming their best selves. 

Then…. Cold. 

He’d left you when you had been the most in love with him. When you thought he’d shows up with a ring. But he had said goodbye instead. With his picture on your phone and your hand cold with no one to hold. He’d changed your life, completely. 

You’d learned so, so, so much. And at some point you…. Realized it. 

You should’ve known, he was not your soulmate. 

You’d read somewhere about twin flames. Yeah… you had, about the one soul that changes your life. 

You’d learned about the importance of the sunrise and the sunset, how beautiful both of them are, and how dizzy you can get when you get to see both because you didn’t get to sleep because you had laughed and kissed all night. 

They say time is wise, yet you still were hurting and you still loved him. Because it was like his love was a thread still engraved to your own very soul. And though when you were with him it was timeless, you’d learned to give more minutes to the hours you were with him so you spend just a little bit more time staring into his eyes. How you’d learned about the importance of one’s sight, and how the eyes are the doors to the soul, he’d opened his soul completely to yours. And it was so beautiful and so easy to read. 

You’d learned a lot of things, like how to throw pebbles in the ‘right way’ to the river. You’d learned how to lie to your friends so you could go see him, late at night when the moon is the only light shining above yours. You’d learned that mistakes aren’t the end of the world and that you actually are very good at baseball. 

Tom had shown you how to distinguish between a guitar and a bass, not sure why you’d always confused them. And that it’s okay to sometimes leave the clothes on the floor if you’re rushing to get somewhere. Or that sometimes the clothes end up on the floor because you’re both… rushing. That it’s okay to have breakfast for dinner and that you can have dessert before the actual main course. He’d also taught you that facetime isn’t as good as being together but it’s enough to listen to each other’s voice. He had shown you that it’s okay to laugh at sex and that sometimes it’s not as romantic as it should be, that sometimes it is silly and other times it’s passionate. That it’s okay sometimes to say what you want to say before thinking. 

And you’d shown him how to enjoy a bad movie, or how to tie his shoes this other way, and that though the night kept changing, and you both kept growing and learning, you were still the same. You taught him that it’s okay not to know the lyrics and still sing the song, and that if you add a pinch of salt to the cookies you’re baking it’d make it sweeter. 

You’d taught him that Chinese legend. The red thread. 

“It is like an invisible red cord or thread which connects you to that one person you’re destined to meet, your true love,” you had told him. “In China it’s around your ankle, I believe… In Japan, male’s thumb and the female's little fingers, and in Korea are both little fingers.” 

He’d once, jokingly but not really wrapped around both of your pinkies a red thread. 

“I made it visible, see?” He had said. 

“You’re an idiot,” you had chuckled. 

“What happens if you’re apart?” He had wondered. 

“It’s supposed to bring you back together, it…” 

“Can I pull it, if I ever need you?” 

“I guess,” you chuckled. “I’m not sure.” 

“Can it break?” He asked. 

“I… don’t know,” you had confessed with fear.

Because you didn’t know. Maybe yours had been broken. 

But you kept teaching him things, and he kept teaching you other things. You’d also taught him not to never mistake salt for sugar to add to your tea. 

“They’re both a white powder I thought-” 

“Yeah I can think of more white powders that would’ve also gotten us in trouble.” 

You’d taught him that as long as you were his and he was yours, you’d shine as bright as stars. He’d shown you how to say ‘I love you’ to someone for the first time. Because you had, when you least had expected it, just about a weeks after you’d first dated. 

You wanted to order something for dinner, that one night, he was on his laptop ordering food,  you were cuddled against him reading who knows what. 

“Is it weird I want more fortune cookies? Would you be weirded out if someone was asking for more fortune cookies?” He had asked. 

You chuckled. “To get more fortune?” 

“To get more cookies, darling,” he had grinned. “Can’t be more fortunate than this, I am dating you, ain’t I?” 

“Very fortunate” you chuckled as he was ordering. 

“How much food would I have to order for them to send us like ten cookies?” He asked, mostly to himself. 

You laughed, “why don’t you bake them yourself?” 

“We both know we suck at baking, baby,” he reminded you as he kept adding food to the cart. “Besides we wouldn’t get the fortune paper thing, I like those as book separators.” 

He did use them as book separators and liked to randomly leave them on your nightstand  

“Why do you want them? We could buy them next week at the supermarket 

“They’re so good, darling and it’s not the same, they’re not fate then.” 

You only smiled, watching him. 

“Why don’t they sell like… the cookies?” He asked again. 

“They do—“

“No, not but like at the restaurants because they choose which ones to give you, that is fate,”  he continued. “Or like… Okay is this enough food so they think we are like ten  people here? Like if I order enough food they’ll send it to us, right?” He kept rambling to himself. “Like okay, we’d have to eat this for a while but baby look at the bright side we’d have more cookies and that would make me happy because I like the cookies, plus I wouldn’t steal your notes to use as a book separator and we could have like enough fortune things to… I don’t know wrap presents with.” 

And it had come out, so easily, “I love you,” you’d said without thinking about it, interrupting his rambling. You’d felt it for long enough, first time you’d ever kissed him  but somehow you’d never said it. 

And he had stopped worrying for the cookies suddenly, as he only looked at you, he hadn’t been prepared. He had only opened his mouth with surprise. He wasn’t as hungry anymore. 

“I--” he hadn’t said it back. 

“No, I’m sorry, no, no I’m sorry,” you gulped and sat up to get away. “No I didn’t--No, I don’t… I mean, no, yeah I do, I’m… Look you don’t have to… say it…I don’t love—No, I do, I do—“

He had smiled and took a deep breath, with surprise. 

You walked away. “No, baby, sorry—Tom, I’m sorry you don’t have to say anything I’ll just—Yeah.” 

You had tried to walk away but he had tackled you from behind, and turned you around to kiss you in his very way.  “I love you, too.” 

And the food had eventually arrived after kissing for god knows how long and you remembered opening that one fortune cookie. 

“Love, because is the only true adventure.” 

And it had been. The greatest adventure of your life, and it hadn’t been one of those crazy adventures. It had been small, but great. Good enough He’d forgotten one thing, he’d never shown you how to get over him. How to live without him. 

And you had said it, how it would never be too late for him to come back. He wouldn’t, you know. But he knew it, you’d always have each other. 

You had read about twin flames. How the compatibility and energy is so strong, so, so strong, so meant to be.  An intense soul connection, sometimes called a "mirror soul," thought to be a person's other half.  A same soul. And at times it did feel like it. 

But it doesn’t have to be forever. 

It should’ve been, though. 

But Tom was easily scared, and maybe he’d felt like his life with you would be forever, and you didn’t blame him for being scared. Finding the love of your life doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll have to spend your whole life with them. 

“I’m always going to love you,” he had said. You knew he wouldn’t. 

But he’d never leave your heart or your mind, no matter what, day, noon, midnight. He was always there, but he had moved on. Or had he, really? 

He hadn’t. But both of you had a very different version of the relationship. He had waited for you at that willow tree, you’d waited for him at that café. And it had been like that for a while, both of you waiting at the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

He did miss you, very, very much and he also couldn’t get over you. You didn’t know, but even when he was dating this other girl he kept going back to you. He had kept his promise, he would always love you. With every cell, with every bone on his body. With his entire soul, because it felt like it was missing its other half. 

He had stopped burning when he was apart from you. No light, no nothing.

Because everything led back to you, everything was about you. And he had bumped into you several more times, you hadn’t seen him, but he’d seen you walking in the rain, and he’d seen you when he stared at himself in the mirror. He saw you in every fortune cookie he ate, or in every book separator he found. He had felt incomplete when he wasn’t with you. 

And after you’d broken up, Tom had felt incredibly numb and sad, your pain combined with his. He’d always wondered why that happened how he knew how you were feeling, a hunch he’d say. 

He’d always have a song stuck in his head, and he’d be thinking of you at the most random times. He’d always expect to find your lipstick stain on his mugs 

He always wanted to call, he never did though. But he was there, even if you didn’t notice. Like how he’d randomly send you a coffee with your friends, asking them not to tell you it came from him, or how if he ever walked by your place, he’d clean the dust from the mailbox because he knew how much you hated when it got dirty. How he had become friends with that guy from the Chinese place you liked to order from and he’d told him to always give you extra fortune cookies.

Tom wasn’t the same when he was apart from you, he hadn’t slept, he hadn’t smiled. But he did see one bright thing because it felt like he was being pulled back to you. 

He regretted breaking up because he’d been too scared to admit you were on the other side of the string. He feared it could break. But he was also scared that he would become the person he was before you, and how you probably wouldn’t like who he was before that. 

He also didn’t believe in soulmates, until you came. Because he thought And he thought your connection was too strong to be a simple soulmate. His soul and yours were one. 

But he’d left because he had to learn the last lesson, the one lesson you couldn’t technically teach him, and that lesson could only be taught by missing you. And damn, did he miss you. 

Because no one was you, no one knew his smile like you did and no one could read him like you. Your perfume still lingered and he missed your toothbrush in his bathroom. He missed having to get your hair out of his face when you were asleep. He missed the way you’d leave your books around his house or the way that he heard you sing the wrong lyrics. Tom missed the way you’d kiss his temple when you woke up earlier than him and how you always covered him with blankets. Tom missed looking into your eyes and making you laugh by making a stupid joke, knowing you’d be the only one laughing. 

He missed having you around at parties, when all of his friends were talking about things he didn’t like and he looked for you to give you that one knowing look but you weren’t there. He missed you when he got drunk, he missed you when you he woke up, when he wanted to run to you and kiss your cheek from behind. When he wanted to watch a bad movie and laugh at it, he’d miss you all the time. 

Tom was gone, yes. But Tom was gone because he wasn’t with you, and he couldn’t be himself again. How could he after you? 

Was there life after love? 

And eventually he’d seen you, always running into you but not letting you see him because he knew it would hurt you, it hurt him too. But how many times had his shoulder not bumped into yours without you noticing because your head was low. Or how many times had he not heard your laugh across the room and seen you. You were everywhere. 

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t get the courage like that one first time when he’d first asked to sit with you, that one time when he’d first kissed you. No other pair of lips deserved to be kissed after he had kissed you. 

And life was pulling him back to you but he didn’t know if you’d take him. He was scared that you had moved on, but something told him you couldn’t. He somehow knew that you still loved him because he loved you too. 

So he’d sit there, under that willow tree waiting for you to come back. But he was always running out of time, always having elsewhere to be. Because no one ever has time. 

You did, too, always rushing and that’s why you never saw him. Until today, with that mug in your hands, watching people, couples. Soulmates. And there you were, at that cafe, waiting for him to come, near that one park with the willow tree where you’d first kissed. 

Wishing he would come. 

But life is a strange thing, and maybe it had been the fact that the foam on your cappuccino had spoken to you, or the fact that you’d still kept that one fortune paper on the back of your phone, hidden underneath the case, or the fact that you had almost poured salt into your coffee instead of sugar, or maybe it had been  that thread around your finger or maybe a coincidence by itself, but somehow you’d left that café that day, willing to go to that willow tree for the first time.

Because no one ever truly has time, but he had pulled the string. 

tagging some other people who might like this: tag list   @spidxrparkxr​ @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover​ @happywolves81   @happywolves81 @applenter @silver-winter-wolf    @applenter @claredolphinbear24​ @bookgirlunicorn​   @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna​ @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents​ @herofiennestiffinashardinscott.  @tomzfrog @dark-infernal-instruments​ @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl  @tomzfrog  @xapham @awkwardfangirl2014​ @xapham @tomhollandisagod @xapham​ @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter​   @the-lost-fairy-tale @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez​ @lala-florez​    @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann​ @muffinmari25   @cassindeansass  @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious​ @southsidespideyy @southsidespideyy​ @nathaliabakes​ @nathaliabakes​ @embrace-themagic @embrace-themagic​ @sanniegirl1214 @sanniegirl1214​  @softholand @fairytaleparker @underooling​ @griff1ndor @griff1ndor @thatweirdomimic​ @avengersgirllorianna​ @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @better-daisy​ @itstaskeen @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives  @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson​ @mannien @whitewolfandthefox​ @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter​ @bizzlepotter​  @localfangirlx @acceptance07 @witchythingscore @witchythingscore @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx​  @queengemsworld @liberty0123 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @itsjusttor​ @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @emjaywrites @thewayilookatbacon​ @jungeunave @emjaywrites​ @ispiderdudei @ispiderdudei @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq​ @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes​ @desir-ae @desir-ae​ @desir-ae​ @peterporkpie @peterporkpie​ @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @quackeroos​ @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @hollandcreep @astoldbydanid​ @hollandcreep @rebekkah4766 @farfromtommy  @rubberducky-jrr @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @coveredinthemessimade​  @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @sweetiesangster​ @thatdamjoke​ @annathesillyfriend @annathesillyfriend​ @witchythingscore​ @witchythingscore @bookworm06  @bookworm06  @lala-florez @lala-florez @chaoticpete @bookworm06​ @peeterparkr @chaoticpete @shezzalocked​ @cosmichollands-blog @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na jj @saintlavrents @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @simple-things @sip-portteam  @herondale-snow-carstairs @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @nycparkers @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @somethingchaotic  @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk @emyla3305 @emyla3305–butt  @hollandstanevans @farfromtommy @farfromtommy @southbeachfeeling @eridanuswave @tonguetiedholland @wolvesofthewinter @quacksonobrien @dcnerd98 @ifntelyinspirit @electraheart-3174 @julialucena5 @itsmilamawson @harryssuckz @harryssuckz @xstarbae @xstarbae @xstarbae @peterbparkerrwrites   @averyfosterthoughts @darethedragonknights  @hannahholland1811 @justanamesstuff @emyla3305 @abbiefangirls247 @onewithnomightypowers @itscaminow @youllbmineandillbeyoursbabelove @hotrubycrab  @spidey-holland-96 @awkwardnesshabitat @geminiparkers@primadonnasdream @slytherinambitious @maybecharming @where-art-thau-romeo @viagracex @viagracex @sspidermanss @pcterparxer @whatevshollandarchive @aleyabee @aleyabee @lovewolfspirit @viagracex  @xallyouneedislovexx @panicattheeverywherekid  @pcterparxer @thehauntingofmymind @redhoodparker @redhoodparker @cakepopcriss @allthisfortommy @aleyabee @perspectiveparker @let-me-luve-you @xxpeachyxo @m-a-r-i-n-t-p @superstarchick @notjustpenandpaper @morbiddanvers @runaway3 @runaway3 @runaway3  @lu-morningstar @th0ttie4tommy @riasaurusrex @riasaurusrex @frustratingpaperclip @readheadwriter @geesquariid @noxceleste @noxceleste   @peterparker-rickybowen-mybabies @witchything @peterporkpie @bookworm06 @panicattheeverywherekid @imthefloor @ohmyquackson @seaveyheartful @wangtan-boys @obiwanownsmyass @sadisticfries @not-some-docile-teenager @galaxystern08 @lovemarvelousfics @tomzfrog @calsthomas @thearchersupremacy @nikitajackson @dayazenn @the-fandom-life-forever @just-kickin-ass @quaksonhehe @dummiesshort @samaratheweirdo @fr3akingphantrash @i-love-superhero @mandeeleebeebee @captainamirica @dramaticdiva @halparkebitch @uglypastels​ 

[waitimcomingtoo]

Where We Start Again - 8

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: how do you fake date someone you have real feelings for?

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

Playlist by @tiny-friggin-human

“How was the dance?” May asked cheerfully when Peter stormed into the kitchen.

“Oh, you know. I broke up with my fake girlfriend because she developed real feelings for me and I yelled at her for it.” He shrugged casually. “And I then stepped in a puddle and had to walk home with a wet sock, so I would say I had an average time. The decorations were cool though, until they all died.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, are you drunk?” May put her hands on her hips and stared sternly at Peter.

“Nope. Not drunk. I’m just incredibly stupid and have a cold left foot. Night!” He said through a forced smile and tried to go to his room.

“Woah, woah, woah.” May grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “We agreed there would be no more secrets between us after the spiderman thing. What’s going on? What fake girlfriend?”

“Y/n has been pretending to be my girlfriend for the past two weeks so Flash wouldn’t make fun of me.” Peter admitted without meeting May’s eyes.

“Oh.” May said quietly, not having expected the answer she was given.

“Yeah. Oh.” Peter repeated. He shook his head as tears formed in his eyes. “I always thought it was a facade but then Flash told me she was gonna turn down Harvard for me and I panicked.”

“Panicked how?” May worried.

“I drove her away.” He mumbled as a tear fell down his cheek. “I yelled at her and called her all the things she hates so that she would hate me too. How did I let this happen?”

“Oh, Peter.” May went to hug her nephew but he pushed her away.

“No. I don’t deserve comfort.” He sniffled. “I hurt someone I seriously care about, May. And I did it on purpose. I didn’t even know I could be that mean.” His voice cracked.

“I’m sorry Peter, I don’t know what to say.” May held her fist over her mouth as she thought. “Your uncle was so much better at this.”

“Is she gonna hate me forever?” Peter asked her through his tears.

“She may want to, but she won’t.” May rubbed his arm. “Not forever, at least.”

“Can you promise me that?” He hoped.

“No.” She said apologetically. “But you won’t know unless you go over there and apologize.”

Peter looked down at his shoes for almost a full minute as hot tears fell onto them.

“I love her, May.” He said quietly, unable to look May in the eye at his most vulnerable moment.

“I know you do. You just have to hope she knows that too.” May told him.

“But if she tells me she never wants to see me again…” He trailed off, getting choked up at just the thought.

“Then you have to respect that. It was her decision to turn down Harvard, the same way it was your decision to chase her away. No one can make this right but you.”

“You’re right. I have to go talk to her.” Peter started walking towards the door and May stopped him again.

“Woah woah woah. No one can make this right but you tomorrow.” She corrected herself. “It’s almost 3 am mister. You have a curfew.”

“But my teenage romance hangs in the balance. It’s in peril!” Peter whined.

“And it’s gonna hang until morning.” May patted his arm and led him towards his room.

“But May! Don’t you want me to get her back so we can fall in love and get married and have kids?” He tried to guilt her. “Don’t you want to be a grandmother? Don’t you care about Anthony and Mary?”

“Who are Anthony and Mary?” She asked in confusion.

“Your future grandkids who you apparently never want to meet.” Peter accused.

“Peter, I know you love her but the chances of you marrying this girl-“

“-are small but they’re still there.” He cut her off. “I can’t see myself loving someone else. When I look at her, I see the rest of my life. She’s the one for me, May. I know it.”

May looked at her nephew and realized he was in love for the first time. She sighed and loosened his tie to make him more comfortable.

“Then why did you yell at her?” She wondered. Peters face twisted in sadness and he looked down in shame.

“Because me stupid.” He mumbled and started to cry. May wasn’t sure she heard him correctly and raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Me stupid! Me love her but me drove her away.” Peter exclaimed with tears running down his face, only confusing May further.

“Why are you talking like that? Are you sure you’re drunk?” She cupped his face and looked in his eyes to see if he was intoxicated.

“Drunk In Love. That was also on her playlist. Right after Say So.” He burst into tears and rested his head on her shoulder. May wrapped her arms around him and patted his back softly.

“It’s gonna be okay, Peter.” She promised. “I don’t know what’s happening with her, but it’s going to be okay.”

“And if it’s not?” He sniffled.

“Don’t think about that tonight.” May said soothingly. “Just try and get some sleep.”

Peter did his best, but he could follow Mays orders. He tossed and turned all night, thinking of how he could make it up to you. He decided on bringing you daises to remind you of the roots of your relationship and go from there. He didn’t know what he’d say, but conversation always flowed naturally with you.

All he knew was he was going to make it right of it was the last thing he did.

~

“Hiya.” Peter smiled brightly with a bouquet of daises under his chin. You stared at him from inside your apartment, stone faced and unamused.

“Go away.” You ordered and went to close the door but Peter stuck his foot in the doorway before it could shut.

“Please, daisy. Don’t shut me out.” He pleaded and moved into the doorway so you couldn’t close it.

“Why? Why would I let you back in? Did you want to yell at me some more? I could’ve sworn you got it all out last night.” You folded your arms and Peter could hear the hurt in your voice. He looked at you sympathetically and held the daises out to you.

“Last night was the biggest mistake of my life.” He swore. “Bigger than the bowl cut, bigger than going after Toomes, bigger than giving EDITH away, and bigger than the other bowl cut.”

“I’m glad this is funny to you.” You snapped and tried to close the door away. Peter webbed your door to your wall and gave you an apologetic smile.

“It’s not. I’m just so painfully bad at this.” He tried to make you understand. “I know I made stupid, stupid mistakes but you have to understand that I’ve never done this before. Any of it. You’re the first girl to get mad at me, or show me attention or affection or ask about my mom. This was all so new to me. I didn’t know how to navigate it and I crashed.”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Peter.” You told him and turned to walk away. He followed you into your kitchen and grabbed your arm.

“Those weren’t excuses, that was just the lore.” Peter explained.

“The what?”

“The backstory.” He corrected. “What I’m trying to say is, I am so sorry. Flash-“

“Flash! Of course you bring up Flash.” You exclaimed. “Just like you did every time I held your hand, or kissed you, and basically tried to give you any sort of hint that I liked you. All you cared about was Flash.”

“Because I thought that’s what you cared about.” Peter protested. “Neither of us told the other that we liked them because we were scared the other thought it was fake, am I right?”

“I did like you.” You nodded. “But any feelings I had for you switched off after last night. All those things you said, do you know how much that hurt me? And you said them so easily, like you’d been waiting all your life to tear me apart. How could you do that, Peter? Why would you do that?”

Peter stared at you for a moment, cracking a small smile once you admitted that you liked him. It felt completely different now that he had heard it from your lips. He remembered what you were talking about and got serious again.

“You got into Harvard.” He said and your face faltered. “You got into Harvard and you were gonna turn it down to stay with me.“

“Who told you that?” You demanded.

“That Indian guy in our grade who was named after the sound a camera makes.” Peter didn’t say Flash’s name after your outburst, so he went around it.

“A camera doesn’t make a ‘flash’ sound, it has a flash.” You grumbled in annoyance.

“Is now the time?” Peter expressed. You looked at him angrily but ultimately knew he was right.

“You were saying?” You rolled your eyes.

“He heard you telling MJ you were turning down Harvard for me.” Peter recounted what he had been told.

“He doesn’t know what he heard.” You mumbled and averted your eyes to the squidward painting.

“Why would you do that?” He wondered. “That’s your dream school. It’s your chance at started over and being who you want to be. The you I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know.”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and refused to meet his eyes.

“Was it real?” Peter asked through a pained voice. “Last night, I mean. Did you mean what you said?” Peter spoke softly as took your chin between his fingers so you would look at him.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” You pushed him away. “I love you! And if you don’t want to do this for real then you need to walk away because I never will.”

“Of course I want to do this for real. I just had no idea you felt the same way. Why didn’t you say so?” He asked and you glared at him. He realized what he had said and grimaced. “I hate to say it, but that’s song really applies to our current situation.”

“I’m not doing this anymore.” You laughed humorlessly and held up your hands. “I’m surrounded by fake smiles, fake people and a fake relationship. I need something real.”

“This is real. I just - I never would’ve imagined, beyond my wildest dreams, that you would feel the same.” Peter took your hands and looked you in the eyes. “I don’t deserve you. And not because you’re popular or anything, but because you deserve so much more than I can give you.”

“I don’t care about what you can and can’t give me. I never have.” You said softly.

“I know that. And I love you for it.”

“No you don’t. You love the fantasy you created in your head about me.” You shot back.

“That was only true at first.” Peter spoke up. “But every new thing I learned about you since we started this whole thing has made me love you. The real you. You are so much better than any fantasy my mind could create.”

“You don’t know me.” You shook your head sadly.

“Yes I do.” He defended. “I know you’re artistic and creative and kind. I know you like the pink and blue gogurt because of the colors and you wanted to dye your hair to match it. I know you can’t read your favorite book anymore because the ending makes you sad. And I know you’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. This is real for me. This is the realest thing I have.”

Peter could see you fighting back tears as you kept your eyes on the ground. He took a step closer and took your face between his hands.

“I would pick you.” He said gently. “In a room full of beautiful flowers in full bloom, I would pick you. Every single time.”

You met Peters eyes and let out a shaky breath. He had told you something you always wanted to hear and you couldn’t stay mad.

“I’d pick you too.” You stated through a tearful smile.

“I know that now. But I can’t let you pick me over Harvard.” Peter whispered. “That’s why I went all White Fang on you last night and said those mean things. I didn’t want you to miss out on this opportunity because of me. I needed to chase you away so you’d run in the right direction.”

“But what if there’s no one like you there?” You asked fearfully. “What if I have to go back to pretending?”

“You’re going to go to Harvard and I’m gonna swing to Cambridge every weekend to see you. And the people at Harvard are going to love you just as much as I do. You know why?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Because they’re smart?” You assumed.

“Because they’re sma-“ He cut himself off when he realized you already said it. “I see you got ahead of me.”

“I am number one in the grade.” You tossed some hair behind your shoulder.

“Can we please not talk about grade point averages when I’m trying to confess my undying love for you?” He pleaded playfully.

“Okay, second in the class.” You mocked.

“You know Flash is third?” Peter tested to see of you would get off topic again.

“Deadass?” Your eyes widened.

Peter immediately pulled you into a kiss, mostly to shut you up, but also because he had finally fixed things. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged on the curls on the back of his head to pull him closer. Peter smiled against your lips and in that moment, he wasn’t kissing his 4 year long crush.

He was just kissing you, the girl he loved.

You pulled away and let out a happy sigh as you rested your forehead against his.

“I think I prefer kissing you when you’re sunny side up.” Peter mumbled and stole another kiss.

“You mean right side up?” You tilted your head.

“At least I can’t see up your nose this time.” He teased and your jaw dropped.

“Hey-“ Peter cut you off with another kiss, lifting you off the ground this time as he kept firm arms around your waist.

“Can we please start again and do this for real now?” He asked you hopefully once he set you down.

“I want to.” You told him honestly.

“Then there’s only one thing left to say.” Peter said and you looked at him curiously. “Me love you.”

“What?”

“Me love you.” He repeated and you caught on.

“Don’t do this to me.” You tried to walk away but he shot a web at your waist and pulled you back.

“Girl look so pretty last night.” Peter held you in place. “Girl plan dance good.”

“I’m not playing along.” You stated. “Is this really how you want to start our relationship?”

“Boy sorry he yell.” Peter pouted and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

“Boy is gonna be sorry.” You insisted through a smile.

“But boy love girl.” Peter smirked as he pulled you into his arms and held you there tightly against his heartbeat. “This is the part where you say it back.”

“Me hate you, actually.” You looked up at him and he looked offended. “But fine, me love you.”

“I love you so much, daisy.” He rested his chin on your head and appreciated what it felt like to just hold you. “We’re gonna do it right this time. This is where we start again.”

Tag List 🏷

@a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @wendaiii​ @dorbiksbitch​ @t-monosapiens-h​ @badhollandfluff​ @silteplaittais-toi​ @thisisthebiplace​​ @seasidecrowbar​​ @spideygirl2003​ @5-seconds-of-mendes​ @bitchylittleredhead​ @oh-whatabeautiful-parker​ @everydaymj​ @write-from-the-heart​ @blackpetalsmeandeath​ @electraheart-3174​ @shawni-h​ @peterparkoure​ @sleepythighsweat​ @steebbb​ @traveleraroundsworld​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @bralessandflawless​ @viwihere​ @eridanuswave​ @the-greatt-perhaps​ @spidey-lillies @kelieah​ @danicarosaline​ @xroselights​ @xoxohollands​ @jannine00742​ @itscaminow​ @peterisinapickle​ @starstruckgardenstudentzonk​ @danicarosaline​ @potter-head-phanatic​ @peepeeparkerr​ @muade-mua-de​ @liljennyx3​ @superiorsoph

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.

Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.

Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy. 

Summary:

They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.

Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.

Words: 10.9 k

 You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!

Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.

He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.

The door slammed open.

High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.

Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.

Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.

Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.

“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.

Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.

“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”

“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.

Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.

“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”

Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.

With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”

“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.

“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.

Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.

“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”

“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”

“Like how Elsa did?”

“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”

Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.

“How did you get in through the locked door?”

“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.

Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.

“What?” Bakugou barks.

“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”

“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”

“That’s not how it’s-”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”

“But I-”

“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.

Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”

“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”

Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”

“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”

Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.

“Just like Elsa’s, right?”

“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”

Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.

“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”

Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.

Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.

  ++++

 I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.

Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.

His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.

Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.

Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.

Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.

“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)

“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.

Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.

“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.

Apparently  a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”

“Both.”

“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”

“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”

Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.

As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.

“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”

“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”

Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.

 +++++ 

 You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.

Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.

It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.

“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.

“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”

“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”

“No thanks to someone.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”

“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”

“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”

Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.

“How about you? How did you get in here?”

“Stole a key from Iida.”

“Are you here to cry again?”

Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”

“I have eyes.”

“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”

“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”

“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.

“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”

“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”

“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.

Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.

Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”

For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.

Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.

Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.

“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”

“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”

“I don’t smoke that much.”

“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”

“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.

Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”

“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”

“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.

It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.

They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.

“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.

The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.

But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.

“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”

“Why would they be on your ass?”

“Hell would I know.”

“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.

“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.

Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”

“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“No, shut-”

“My mom and dad are getting back together.”

Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”

“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”

The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”

Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”

“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.

“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”

He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.

“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.

Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.

“The day after my quirk manifested.”

His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.

“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”

The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.

Oh, that’s why he’s angry.

“It was training.”

“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.

“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”

“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”

There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.

Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.

“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”

Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”

Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”

Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.

“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.

“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”

“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.

“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”

“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”

“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”

Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.

This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.

“You can tell me.”

Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.

“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”

“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”

What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.

“Come here.”

“The fuck are you trying to-”

Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”

Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.

Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.

They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.

Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”

Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.

They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.

Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.

The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.

But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.

Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.

It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.

Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”

Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.

“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.

“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”

“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”

“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.

Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”

Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”

“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.

Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”

Aizawa grunts.

“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.

Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”

Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.

  ++++++

 You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.

He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.

The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.

He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.

He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.

It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.

His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.

Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?

Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.

Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?

Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.

“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.

Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.

“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.

“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”

“Zuko doesn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”

Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”

“That fucking Deku???”

“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”

“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”

“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.

“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”

Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.

“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.

“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.

“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.

“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.

“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”

So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”

The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.

“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.

Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.

“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”

“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”

“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”

“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”

“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.

Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”

“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”

“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”

Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.

It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.

“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”

“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.

It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.

And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”

Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.

“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.

“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”

“Hm, that’s good.”

“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”

“They’re not hurting each other.”

Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”

Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.

Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.

“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”

Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.

“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”

Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.

“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”

Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.

“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.

So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.

“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.

“Arisu.”

“... I’m sorry you lost her.”

And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”

They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.

“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”

Katsuki instantly glowers at him.

“Who?”

“Katsuki.”

“Who??”

“Bakugou.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”

“Okay, me too.”

As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.

“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.

“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”

“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.

“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.

“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.

Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”

“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.

At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.

Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.

They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.

“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.

Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”

“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.

“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.

The sneer falls, “Why?”

“Just because I finally can.”

“You couldn’t before?”

Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”

Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.

Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.

“I don’t know what is there to tell.”

A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”

“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does he still train you like that?”

Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.

“No, not since he became number 1.”

Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”

That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.

Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”

Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”

Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”

“Yeah, that’s nosy.”

“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?

They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”

“We’ve been friends for a while...”

“We’re not fucking friends-!”

“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.

It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”

It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.

Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.

“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”

“You told Arisu didn’t you?”

Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.

“But you told Deku, you told me.”

“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”

Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.

“Fine.”

Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.

“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.

“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”

Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.

Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.

When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.

“Katsuki?”

He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.

“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”

Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.

“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.

“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.

The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.

But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.

“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.

Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.

They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”

Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”

Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”

“A what?”

Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”

Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.

  +++++

 I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.

Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.

The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.

To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.

Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.

Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.

“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”

Shouto gives her a smile and nods.

It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.

“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”

The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.

Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”

“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.

No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.

Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?

A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”

Shouto sighs, “No.”

Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.

So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.

  +++++

 Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.

Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.

Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”

“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”

“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”

“We can make up an excuse if you want.”

“Hm.”

Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.

Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”

Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.

Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”

“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”

“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.

“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”

“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”

Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”

“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.

Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”

Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”

Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”

“Hot and cold.”

“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”

Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”

“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”

“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”

It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.

“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.

Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.

The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.

Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”

Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”

“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”

“No promises.”

Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked.  Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.

He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.

Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?

“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.

“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.

“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.

Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.

He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.

His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.

“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.

“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.

“Me too.”

Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.

  ++++++

 I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.

Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.

Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.

Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.

Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.

“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.

“She’s fine.”

“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.

Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”

Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”

Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”

Katsuki hums.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”

“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”

Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”

“Let’s go hiking instead.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”

“Just us two right?”

“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”

Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”

Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.

“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.

Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.

Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.

“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.

“No.”

He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.

Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.

Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.

“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.

Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.

From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.

They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.

But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.

Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.

He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.

Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.

 ++++

nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.

Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.

[drunkenlemur]

MultiVersus Wish List

Gonna start with the ones that have already leaked, move on to the ones likely to show up, then pie in the sky dream picks. This is far from a definitive list, but just the ones that I can immediately think of or have thought about including. Feel free to add your own picks.

Marvin the Martian: He was already part of the leak list and is a natural pick for the Looney Tunes cast. I can see him having a blaster, maybe summon those alien bird monsters. So kind of like a combination of Fox and Olimar.

Samurai Jack: This is a no-brainer pick. I don't even know what else to say other than his inclusion opens up the possibility for the Scotsman, Aku, and Ashi to be included.

Duck Dodgers: Dodgers was recently leaked as being a potential character, and it would be interesting to have him instead of Daffy, even if they are technically the same person...duck? Plus you can have his costume from the old cartoon and his solo series which STILL ISN'T ON HBOMAX!

Amethyst and Pearl: I honestly can't imagine them only including two members of The Crystal Gems, so just round out the original team with these two. Give Amethyst a grapple move where she turns into the Purple Puma, have Pearl crying hysterically for her lose screen.

Scooby-Doo: Come on, you think they aren't going to include him? Just gonna have Shaggy and Velma?

Princess Bubblegum and Marceline: Again, it's hard to imagine them only having Finn and Jake, or one and not the other of these two.

Spike the Bulldog: I'd find it weird if Tom and Jerry are the ONLY reps for their franchise, but it also isn't like there's a ton of other characters that could fill a slot. Spike really is the only other prominent recurring character that I could see being included.

Wile E. Coyote: He's got too many gadgets to not include. Have him be a bit like Luigi and Diddy Kong, where you can overcharge so attacks, or if you whiff others it leaves you open.

Daphne Blake: Voiced by Sarah Michelle Gellar! Yes, specifically the Daphne from the Live Action movies. Or at least one styled after her.

Stevonnie: I always thought it was a shame that we never got to see Stevonnie in more than one real fight, but I understand that wasn't what the show was really about. Still, it would be nice to have them included.

TOM (Toonami Operations Module): Yeah, I bet you didn't know his name was an acronym. Neither did I until a second ago. But yeah, since I don't know how true those rumors of getting Naruto in are, this would still be the closest we could get to them including someone from the Toonami block. And its not like he hasn't had his own adventures before.

Yellow Diamond: If the rumors of Giant characters like Iron Giant, Kong, and Godzilla are true, then it would be nice to see one of the titanic tyrannical rulers of the Gem Empire be included, and she seems like the one most likely to throw hands.

KO Kincaid: This one I'm actually making a little headway with. I've gotten both Ian Jones-Quartey and Tony Huynh aware of the demand for KO to be included on the roster, so really we just have to cross our fingers and politely let them know we want him.

Prohyas and Vambre Warrior: Now we're getting into my "Not in a Million Years" picks. Probably even more obscure than O.K K.O., but I love Might Magiswords even more and I WILL make that everyone else's problem.

Sam Sheepdog: Co-worker/Antagonist to Ralph Wolf. Assuming Wile E. gets a Ralph skin, Sam would be a natural complement to it.

Birdman: With an optional Harvey Birdman skin. Maybe have Birdgirl with her two different costumes too. This is sort of a blanket request for all the forgotten Hanna-Barbera super heroes. Blue Falcon, Space Ghost, the Impossibles, the Herculoids. Frankenstein Jr. Does anyone even remember him? I do.

And now for my wildest wish, almost certain to never come to pass

Ben Mankiewicz: I know what you're saying? Who? Why? How? Listen, I noticed that Turner Classic Movies is a division of Warner Brothers, and Ben is the closest thing the channel has to a mascot. And if the rumors of Lebron James being included along with other Live Action characters, who's to say that a film historian can't throw down with the likes of Superman and Bugs Bunny?

The True Ultimate Forbidden Request

Goku: Do it. Fucking Do It. Do it, you Cowards. Put Goku in. Do what Super Smash Brothers and Nintendo don't have the Guts to pull off. Put Goku in your Smash Clone, and you win. A Million Downloads guaranteed. I know I said I don't know how true the Naruto rumors are, I don't care. Make it happen.