#or a ‘baby in an adult’s body’ which if that was true wouldn’t he act like a baby? and wouldn’t the writers make that clear? like where are

[monsterfuckermilligan]

i still cannot comprehend how u guys will write or draw or rb something of jack where he is present as a full grown adult and then call him a precious child….

[cheesycatz]

Local Cryptid Spamton EX

Spamton didn't just control the NEO suit; he fused with it. NEO was completely reliant on the wires, so their combined being compressed into the Dealmakers after the bossfight. As Spamton, in his puppet form, tried to recover, NEO used any energy he had to grow back into their combined form. Horrified about his body changing against his will again, Spamton used the last of his energy to try and heal himself, resulting in NEO compromising his brain function in an attempt to continue growing. He shambled around like a feral animal as he grew larger, forced onto all fours from the weight of the wings dragging behind him. While he does eventually recover, he already gained a reputation as Castle Town's cryptid.

Or: Peeled Spamton NEO (Lobotomized Edition)

more art and 8k word lore dump below

LORE

Today's vocabulary terms (These WILL be on the test)

Pin feathers: also known as blood feathers, they are the undeveloped feathers that appear on baby birds and adult birds when they molt. Each pin feather is covered in a protective keratin sheath that resembles a quill. Once the feather has matured, the sheath can be broken off, allowing the new feather to unfurl. Pin feathers have a blood supply that they lose once they develop into full feathers. A damaged pin feather can cause heavy bleeding.

Flight feathers: The longest and stiffest feathers that make up the outer tips of a bird's wings (and tail, but that doesn't apply here). Birds can't fly without them.

Preening: The act of cleaning and rearranging a bird's feathers. Preening also includes the process of breaking sheaths off of matured pin feathers. Preening can be a group activity, especially to clean areas that a bird may have trouble reaching. It's generally a relaxing process for a bird, especially when done by someone else.

Content warnings:

body horror, transformation horror, many mentions of blood, amnesia, general blorbo suffering idk

Now reading “Some Assembly Required”

NEO's intended lightner user would've been able to freely enter and exit the suit at their will. However, because Spamton’s a darkner, and therefore made of the same darkness as NEO, his code combined with the body itself when he entered the disk. Spamton initially couldn't move after the disk was inserted into NEO. His code—organs, bones, fur, muscle, anything available—was spread and warped in order to rapidly fill the incomplete metal husk around him. The wires, acting as a bottomless source of magic power, burrowed into his body, reforming his veins, and allowed his code to stretch and intertwine with NEO's own, creating a new being entirely. Spamton and NEO, two incomplete messes of code, came together to form a new being, a conglomerate of flesh and metal: Spamton NEO.

Spamton's magic yield was far too low to support such a drastic size increase, so this new being was almost entirely reliant on the artificial power source of the wires. Spamton NEO fired off powerful attack after attack at the Heroes of Light, each a combination of NEO's and Spamton’s own magic. As the turns passed, he could feel the heavy strain in his weak, rapidly developed limbs, but, with the wires, he could do anything. Driven mad by his desperation to escape the only thing keeping him running, he wouldn’t acknowledge the way his feathered wings drooped and the way his arms and legs swung limply, even despite the assistance of the wires. Unaware of their true purpose, Spamton NEO was ecstatic to find only one wire left. It was the thicker, central one, which traveled under his skin and through his spine. It was the only reason he wasn't fully paralyzed yet. And so, when the final wire was cut, he collapsed to the ground within an instant, shaking the earth.

Without the wires, NEO was completely reliant on Spamton's magic capacity, and he would've been too weak to move even if he hadn't been using countless attacks. Most of NEO'S code purposefully became dormant so they wouldn't die. The tiny puppet, now heavier with his new code, was strung up with vines in an attempt to wake him up. He managed a small moment of clarity, enough to accept what must be his death, but even that was too much exertion. Fully prepared to die and serve the lightners, Spamton collapsed into an even smaller form: the Dealmakers. 

As a pair of glasses, Spamton couldn't feel or perceive anything. He was left on the nightstand of Kris's room in the castle, oblivious to the outside world. Eventually, he stirred, unceremoniously reappearing in his puppet form and falling onto the plush carpet, gasping like he had just been held underwater. A sharp pain stabbed through his chest as he fell to the floor. He awkwardly shuffled until he was against the bed, breathing heavily. Where the hell was he? He'd uploaded himself onto the disk, hadn't he? This clearly wasn't the basement. Had Kris bailed somehow? He struggled to ignore the deep ache coming from his chest, as though his very SOUL was itching. He partially unbuttoned his dress shirt, trying to scratch at it, but his blunt plastic fingers did nothing. He felt a seam across his chest that was not supposed to be there, then, a click, and suddenly his cracked soul forced its way out of his chest.

Normally, Spamton's soul forcing its way out would result in a giant bloody hole in his chest, but there was nothing but a small opening hidden under his shirt. Spamton tugged on his soul's chain, forcing it to look at him. It was then that he noticed a disk forcefully lodged into his SOUL, clipping through its eye socket. THE disk. How did this happen? Did the transfer process go wrong? Spamton immediately tried to pull the disk out, but the pain that shot through every nerve in his body stopped him. His own SOUL angrily nipped at his fingers and retreated back into his body, The painful itch worsened, and Spamton passed out again. 

Spamton slowly adjusted to, well, whatever happened. The blue coloration of the bedroom he woke up in reminded him of his room in the mansion, so Spamton tried to escape as quickly as possible. He soon realized that it wasn't actually the mansion, but he didn't particularly enjoy being in a foreign castle, either. After a daring escape (hugging the walls and stopping to take a break every 10 seconds), he was weary of the unfamiliar darkners outside. He essentially returned to being homeless as he tried to adjust to this new environment, more focused on avoiding people than attempting to sell anything.

Fortunately for Spamton, Castle Town was a little less capitalistic than Cyber World, and the Card Kingdom darkners weren't prepared for tiny puppets rummaging around in the trash. His only plan was to hopefully see if NEO had been brought here. If the disk was here, then surely the suit itself had to be somewhere, right? He hoped to find it and make it take its damn disk back, or, better yet, take him. In the meantime, Spamton kept trying to remove the disk, but any progress was reversed by severe glitching fits that made him pass out everytime he tried to yank it out. He wanted to bide his time until he could get more information. He also wanted to bide his time in hopes that the perpetual headache and static covering most of his vision would dissipate on its own.

But, something started to…change. The random panel allowing his soul to pop out should've been a dead giveaway, but Spamton wasn't exactly fully aware of his surroundings at this point. Eventually, while scratching at his furiously itchy neck, the shot nerves in his fingers finally registered that there was now fur growing out of his neck. He tried to forcefully rip it out, but the uselessly blunt tips of his fingers had no grip. The strands he did manage to pull out were colored a dark black, lacking the greasy, matted texture of the rest of his hair. The first new growth he's had since his fur and skin had fallen off 20 years ago.

Spamton panicked. After being transformed into a puppet, unrecognizable from what he had once been, the idea of anything more about his body changing against his will scared him. He hated being a puppet, but at least his body had stopped warping at a certain point. Now, though, something was wrong. It wasn't his addison fur growing back; the hair was just as black as his once-dyed-but-now permanently dark hair, forcing its way through his plastic exoskeleton rather than skin. No matter how many clumps he ripped out, it seemed to just grow back. He could feel it spreading, tickling his chin and spilling against his collar as the strands grew longer.

The fur got worse, but Spamton did his best to ignore it, just as he did when he was turning into a puppet. He continued trying to pull the disk out of his SOUL, but that was getting more painful by the day. Spamton also continued to search for NEO, now with the hope that it might reverse whatever was happening. Once long black claws split open his fingertips and new digits wiggled their way out, though, he could no longer ignore it.

The fur wasn't the strangest thing. He did have it as an addison, even if it used to be white. And, he did once have blunt, chewed claws, but not these shiny 2 inch long black talons. Somehow, he could feel that they were only the beginning. He really needed to find NEO; he knew from experience that no doctor could fix a supernatural transformation like this. NEO was the only hope he had when he was turning into a puppet, and it was the only thing he could pray to now. At least it was easier to tear open garbage bags now that he had miniature knives growing out of his fingers.

The fur continued to spread. Trapped underneath his clothes, it became tangled as Spamton ignored it out of spite. An ache, different from the one plaguing his SOUL, spread across his body. He could hear his plastic frame creak as something he couldn't identify slowly grew. One night, curled up inside of the small cave he had started living in, his jaw cracked open and formed new joints at the cheeks. This couldn't be traced to puppet feature or an addison feature. This was something horrifyingly new. As much as he wanted it to be just another nightmare, he was left with no other choice than to adapt to the tender muscles that now attached his mouth to his face. 

It quickly became apparent that the aches he was feeling were a sign of change. His jaw ached, and then it formed new joints. His feet ached, and then claws matching his fingers split them open. His gums ached, and new teeth grew in. His spine ached, and now the tail he lost 20 years ago was starting to grow back.The fact that the ache in his upper back had done nothing but grow worse without anything actually popping out was getting deeply concerning. Whatever was causing the changes, it must've been corrupting his code. He's heard of Cyber World darkners with code so corrupted that tumorous limbs grow out of their body, and the idea terrified him. Could something like that even be cured? Who would actually bother to help him?

It was only a matter of time before the things starting to twitch under his plastic skin broke free. The sickening feeling of something scraping from inside, of being trapped in an ever enclosing box, desperately trying to push against the advancing wall. Spamton curled up in his empty cave. He missed his dumpster’s pillow; all he had now was dead moss. Unaware that he even could control them, the two things trapped under his back tried to flex with each heartbeat of pain. Eventually, two sharp hooks finally cracked through the thinning layer of plastic, and the rest forced its way through. Thin plastic bones, now exposed to the cold air, shakily wrapped around their owner. Spamton passed out with the new pair of bloodied, featherless wings shivering against his tattered suit.

When Spamton woke up, it didn't take him very long to notice the highly sensitive wing bones twitching behind him. And, with his now concerningly flexible neck, he could see them in full detail. Spamton didn't recognize them as wings. Once he found enough water to clean the blood off with, he saw that they were pure white and ball-jointed, just like the rest of him. Well, except for the tiny black spines already growing out of them: pin feathers. He mistook them for more hair. Convinced he had somehow grown a pair of malformed arms out of his back, Spamton was becoming desperate for any sort of cure. He had tried to find NEO using what little energy he had, but Castle Town was dense, and he didn't know where to start looking outside of the castle he was definitely not allowed in. Was it ever going to end? Was he doomed to mutate into an unidentifiable mass of broken code? 

Spamton started picking at the lengthening pin feathers. It was clear they weren't hair, but he didn't want to think about what else the protrusions could possibly be. It had been just a day, and they were already all over the wing bones. Of course, he ended up breaking one, causing black blood to immediately start pouring out. He panicked as he failed to stem the bleeding, eventually trying to summon a healing spell. Static buzzed in his vision as he coughed out a tiny cherub. It was covered in so much of his own blood that it couldn't fly. He pressed the weak thing against the wound, hoping his healing magic would just work already! The cherub finally attempted its only job, and the migraine stabbing into his eye socket grew exponentially as the tiny angel disappeared, leaving a drying bloodstain. Spamton collapsed onto the ground.

(2)

NEO was as unfinished and buggy as the man who merged with it, and it was never designed to execute a task like this. It had been draining all of Spamton's magic reserve in an attempt to reform Spamton NEO again. The healing spell had used up the already extremely little supply he had, and NEO decided to sacrifice part of Spamton's mind for the sake of maintaining its rate of progress. Now forced into power saving mode, Spamton lost most of his ability to think. He began to operate on emotions rather than solid thought. Perpetually hungry from the constant drain of his body growing, all he did was scavenge, eat, and sleep. Anytime he digested something, he curled up in pain as NEO immediately used any energy he gained to continue growing. He had no ability to regain his mind until the transformation ended.

Spamton mostly relied on the instincts he had gained from living on the streets for so long. He avoided any darkners he saw, and would react violently if approached in an attempt to hide his severe weakness. This led to the first cryptid allegations. His glowing eyes (glasses), scruffy body, and extremely distorted yet humanoid face made him stand out to both Cyber World and Card Kingdom darkners. And so, his existence had become a rumor shared between a few. He wasn't a feral animal, but his mannerisms and the fact that he could barely speak even if he tried made him seem like one.

Because Spamton's recent memory had been compromised, he didn't remember what was happening to him and assumed he was just sick. He neglected his fledgling wings as they sprouted down feathers and grew larger, not registering that they even existed outside of angrily scratching at the itchy pin feathers. Because he never exercised them, the weak wings began to limply drag behind him. When the flight feathers grew in, they quickly became shredded from being dragged against concrete. He broke many pin feathers in the process, coated his wings in a layer of sticky blood. While he disliked the heavy “blanket” he thought was covering his back, Spamton decided to mostly ignore it. It wouldn't fall off no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, his increasingly top-heavy build forced him to start crawling on all fours. He became disoriented as the world around him seemed smaller and smaller and his tiny cave, lined with bloody feathers, had turned from an easy fit to a shoulder-scraping doorway. 

As Spamton grew larger, other darkners actually started to fear him. His limp wings made him look much bigger despite the fact that he was perpetually hunched over. Staticky, heavy breaths came out of his voice box as his throat reformed to accommodate NEO's white energy spitting abilities. With his claws and fur, most darkners assumed that he was some sort of beast rather than an actual person. He growled and blindly swiped at anyone that got too close to him, eventually resulting in a blurry photo of his shadowed form making it to the first page of Castle Town's local newspaper. Although his nose and glasses were the only thing that could be made out, Swatch instantly recognized who the “cryptid” was. Though, they naturally assumed the witness account was a bit exaggerated. 

Castle Town was small, and it would only be so long before the two encountered each other. One night, a swatchling taking out the trash was unfortunate enough to find a half-transformed Spamton eating out of the dumpster. Upon recognizing his face, the swatchling tried to enact the usual dumpster puppet removal protocol, but Spamton had nearly doubled in height already and was difficult to scruff. He scratched the swatchling during his wild thrashing, causing them to drop him. He slammed against the dumpster, crumbling into an unresponsive pile of fur and feathers.

When Swatch was called to the scene, he was understandably baffled by the fact that this… thing was Spamton, but the man's head and clothes were clearly attached to it. The lightners had informed Swatch about what had occurred in the basement. From his own personal investigation, Swatch surmised that NEO had been completely destroyed after the fight, as he found no remaining evidence of its existence. And, hearing that the only remnant of Spamton himself was his off brand glasses, Swatch assumed that the man had died alongside it.

Clearly, Swatch's hypothesis was incorrect. And, somehow, Spamtom was even less recognizable as the addison he once was. But, with NEO gone, and an entirely different café under Swatch's management, he wasn't technically required to forcefully remove Spamton from the premises anymore. Swatch really didn't like the guy, but they weren't cruel enough to leave a heavily injured and unconscious man on the concrete.

As a feathered darkner himself, Swatch was appalled by the state of the wings Spamton apparently had now. Covered in a strange mess of adult feathers and dark gray down, tattered fluff shed from his wings like spores. Swatch tried to coax Spamton's wings into folding shut as they half carried / half dragged Spamton inside, but they remained limp, showing the lengthened upper arm portions of the wings and the sharp hooks sprouting at each wrist joint. Every bird-like aspect of his new form was warped, like a failed replica made from memory.

Did Swatch mention that Spamton was covered in his own blood? They were going to have to sanitize the entire building after bringing him in. After half a stack of disposable rags and possibly an entire bottle of disinfectant, Spamton was mostly clean (can't be too sure when his hair and jacket are the same color as his blood), aside from his wings, which appeared to be the source of the majority of the damage. The base of each one was caked in a layer of dried, flaking blood, revealed by two relatively small tears in the back of his jacket. Swatch couldn't imagine shoving feathers through holes that small; no wonder Spamton's wings looked like they had been put through a wood chipper.

The group of fretful swatchlings hovering around them cooed in concern at the sheer amount of broken pin feathers, but Swatch wasn't generous enough to spend several hours preening the monstrosities hanging from Spamton's back. He figured that he should remove the loose feathers, lest their swatchlings had to sweep more crusty Spamton-colored fluff off the floor. As Swatch removed entire clumps from the wings, the muscles underneath twitched in response, but couldn't muster much movement. Well, at least Spamton's wings weren't completely paralyzed.

Eventually, Swatch's persistent touch was too much, and something moved in Spamton's chest before shoving its way past his lapel. It was Spamton's SOUL, cracked and corroded nearly beyond recognition (how was this guy even still alive?), with a very familiar disk lodged through it. Two smaller, disk-less copies of his SOUL popped out, taking turns glaring at them. Oh. That was where NEO went. NEO would explain the fact that his heart(s) could just pop out now. It kind of explained the wings, but all these feathers, claws, and fur must be connected to Spamton himself. Swatch raised their palms and stepped back as the main SOUL snapped at them, the chain rattling noisily. Swatch didn't know how NEO would've reacted to a darkner attempting to use it, but this was definitely not his first guess. Apparently pleased with their submission, the cracked hearts disappeared back into Spamton's chest.

Spamton slumped forward, falling off the bar stool Swatch had placed him on. They half expected him to still be unconscious (did he have a concussion from hitting the dumpster?), but a staticky groan confirmed that he was awake. Swatch tried to question him, but the only response they got was some sort of growl. Spamton shakily rose to all fours, his wings forming a ragged cloak behind him as they dragged. He frantically looked up at the flock of swatchlings around him through pink and green lenses, steam billowing from his jaws as he produced garbled sounds. Spamton charged through the still unlocked back door, clipping his wing on the way out and ripping out another massive chunk of dead feathers. 

Swatch no longer assumed that cryptid witness account was exaggerated. The fact that Spamton hadn't produced a single decipherable word was, for Spamton, a sign that something was very wrong. He had acted like an injured animal. Swatch decided to inform Prince Ralsei about the situation, who was surprisingly relieved that Spamton had been found. Apparently, Spamton had somehow transformed into a pair of glasses, then went missing just a few days later. Ralsei was interested in giving him a room in the castle, since he had technically agreed to help the Heroes of Light.. 

Swatch kept an eye out on behalf of the prince, but it would be a while before they saw him again. Spamton didn't really remember that he had even been there, instead just mindlessly wandering across the streets in search of food. As he got larger, gaining more and more of NEO's strength, the cryptid allegations got worse. He hadn't physically hurt anyone, but if how easily he punched a dent in a dumpster was evidence of anything, he could. The feathers he was leaving behind by now were far larger than could be explained by any normal darkner species; finding the biggest, least damaged feather of Castle Town’s Cryptid was a fun challenge for some darkners. There was plenty to go around, as Spamton was constantly molting and growing more feathers as his body grew. 

Mentally, Spamton hadn't been able to recover. He thought he was still in Cyber City, and was distressed about not recognizing any landmarks. But, with the constant hunger that plagued him, he didn't have time to dwell on it. He still despised the weighted blanket that dragged against the ground and forced him to crawl on all fours. But, he got a migraine anytime he contemplated why the “blanket” was physically stuck to him, or why he could feel how itchy it always was, so he stopped bothering. He was frustrated that his little cave had shrunk; only half his body actually fit in there anymore. The dumpsters here were weirdly small, too. The darkners in general were like… half? a third? of what they were supposed to be. The distress from that thought also gave him a migraine. The shredded remains of his suit were the only bedding he had other than moss and his own feathers.

Of course, Spamton wasn't the only secret-boss-turned-item up and about. Jevil enjoyed joining the heroes of light as the DEVILSKNIFE, but did poke around Castle Town a bit. He was genuinely too tired after the fight to enact too much violence, but not tired enough to not take joy in harassing Spamton once he found him. Jevil hadn't seen Spamton since his big shot days and was very curious about his new near unrecognizable form. Spamton wasn't opposed to slapping Jevil out of the air but wasn't coordinated enough to land a hit. When he got too tired to swat at Jevil, Spamton would (attempt to) ignore Jevil while he played with Spamton's wings. 

Swatch did coincidentally meet Spamton again. They had noticed increasingly large feathers showing up in the streets and on the local news (they did find it hard to believe that someone had actually found an 8 foot long flight feather), but assumed that it was just Spamton's wings developing, not the rest of him. So, Swatch was admittedly startled when he witnessed a much larger Spamton neck deep in their dumpster a month later. Spamton's chest heaved with each breath, his neck twisting backwards until he met them at eye level despite the fact that he was currently quadrupedal. His wings, still pinned to the ground, were longer than the building itself. He grumbled something that almost resembled a sentence, then entered a violent coughing fit, leaking an unhealthy amount of steam. Swatch decided to go back into the café and grab some expired leftovers. They did not want to deal with rotting food spilling into the dumpster because of a certain someone currently ripping the bags open outside. Predictably, Spamton ate everything Swatch threw at him. Swatch couldn't make out what he attempted to say, but they could imagine the sales pitch he was coming up with in an attempt to “trick” them into giving him more. At some point, Spamton keeled over as his body processed the nutrients, NEO in the final stages of forming their combined body. Most of what was left was internal, so Swatch didn't really know what was happening and let him be. Even if they could help, they didn't trust Spamton not to hurt someone when he was this large.

Eventually, the transformation was complete. Without its armor, NEO relied on Spamton's code to form as close to a complete version as it could; Spamton EX. Spamton was alone in his cave when he finally regained his mind. It felt like gradually waking up from a deep sleep, groggily coming to his senses. He first remembered what happened before he entered power saving mode, then…the NEO fight. He had merged, he had gained its power, he used it, it was HIS and—the strings. Everything was so heavy, but he was supposed to be free! A shock down his spine, then… nothing. He thought he was dying, but he woke up, still a broken puppet. That—that damn disk! Taking NEO from him wasn't enough; of course it had to corrupt his code in the process, causing… whatever was happening to him.

Spamton tried to get up, but his center of gravity was completely off. His back ached, but it was a normal ache, not the unnatural one that preceded a transformation. The pain traveled further down the—oh, the disfigured arms that popped out of his back. They could shrivel off for all he cared. Spamton forced his eyes to fully open, then froze at the vertigo that struck him as he saw how far away the ground was. His neck twisted in on itself like a snake as he recoiled, which did nothing but make him want to vomit more. 

Spamton pressed against the cold ground, his deep yet shallow breaths disturbing the feathers littered across the ground. Where did he find those? When did he find those? This was obviously a different cave than the one he passed out in, right? He tried to take a deep breath, but was quickly disturbed by the fact that his lung capacity had somehow tripled. Okay, he had definitely transformed more since the last time he was awake, as much as he would love to pretend he was still asleep. Spamton awkwardly rolled onto his side; he didn't think he could handle trying to sit up again right now. Time to assess the damage.

When Spamton looked over his shoulder, all he could see were feathers, the same color as the ones scattered across the floor. He noticed the random spikes sticking out of the limbs, alongside the long hook at the wrist. The arms he grew; they were wings. Nervously, he tried to move them. They twitched, and he could feel that they were alive and attached, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, but the wings wouldn't move. Spamton grabbed the wing's wrist with his hand, pausing at the sight of his jacket-less arm. He tried folding it in and out with his hand, but the wing refused to hold a pose. Spamton could've spent an hour trying to get the things to move, but all they did was weakly twitch. Just that made him feel like he had sprinted across the entire city twice. 

Spamton couldn't sit there forever. He was unfortunately already growing used to the long neck after fretting over his useless wings for so long, but the height was still an adjustment. The best he could manage was a kneel before the weight of his wings would knock him over. Why had he been given the gift of wings if they couldn't even move? Was it some kind of punishment? They were feathered, like an angel…a gift from NEO? A gift that had been blackened, losing all its color because of him. Him and his broken, broken, broken code, managing to corrupt even the wings of a god. A cruel joke. Can't fly to heaven with paralyzed wings.

He was starving, and what choice did he have but to go back to the disgusting lifestyle he was trapped in? Spamton tried to take a few experimental steps, but his legs shook the moment he took his hands off the ground. A plume of steam escaped his jaws from the effort, and he sputtered at the weird, warm taste. Something unidentifiable in his throat moved independently, and—he really did not want to think about that right now, or the faint trails of steam coming from the vents(?) slashed across his ribs like gills. This transformation was far more than skin deep. Distressed at how much easier it was to walk on all fours with his now digitigrade legs, Spamton hobbled toward the town.

Any progress Spamton made getting used to his new height was destroyed the moment he reached civilization. If he could actually stand up, he would've been taller than some of these damn buildings! He hated being a tiny puppet; it was one of the many reasons he wanted NEO, but he hadn't really considered the logistics. Could he even fit in a dumpster anymore? Not that he'd thought he'd have to hide or scavenge as NEO, but…he was still so weak. No armor, no arm cannon, no phone-hands, no bullets—no wires. That was good! He wasn't strung up anymore! Just dragging around broken wings, unable to support his own body weight, limbs strained from trying to crawl for more than a few minutes—he's fine! He doesn't need the strings, he can live without them, he can, he doesn't need them, he's just…tired. 

Spamton lugged his upper body over the edge of a dumpster, shredding open the bags easily. The long claws poking out of his fingertips were a bit more proportional now that the rest of his hands and arms had grown, but just as sharp. Perhaps it was a good thing he had an external layer of plastic instead of skin; he would've accidentally sliced himself open already if he didn't. Spamton ate his fill, but it barely impacted his hunger. He wondered what time it was as he looked for more dumpsters. Without a color-changing sky-grid for him to look at, it could be 3 am for all he knew. Spamton was still learning where the quietest alleys were in this town, so it wasn't surprising that he almost immediately ran into another darkner; something not from Cyber World that he didn't care to identify. God, they were tiny. He smiled at the fact that he had to look down, not up, to make eye contact. Before they could finish fearfully backing away from him (That was a bit extreme. He wasn't even doing anything!), he decided to be productive and ask for the time. 8pm? Could be worse. He asked if the darkner had any kromer, and, after he said several synonyms, they dropped a good amount of it before sprinting away. Hmmm, this could work. He wanted to be feared as NEO, but in a “groveling at his feet” way, not whatever that was. 

Regardless, the fear meant that Spamton was alone as he embarrassingly adjusted to his new form. He had managed to almost stand up with the assistance of a tree, but had no luck on his own. It was getting a little easier to hold a crouch, but walking was out of the question. The wings were as useless as ever. All they did was respond involuntarily to his emotions, which was uncomfortable to experience. The legs, the size, hell, even the tail wasn't the worst to adjust to, since he had one as an addison. But the wings were completely alien to him. He wouldn't be so frustrated if they didn't hurt and itch all the time! He found out that the hard spines growing throughout his wings housed feathers, but only sometimes. If he tried to force one open, it would start gushing blood. He thought feathers would grow in like hair (those damn swatchlings clearly didn't have quills growing out of them like he did!) but, apparently they were far more complicated than he thought. Regardless of their broken, bloodied state, he lost track of time while using his hand to open and close his wings, mesmerized by the way the feathers fanned and folded. As useless as they were, he couldn't bring himself to hate them.

While looking for food late one night, Spamton stumbled upon a familiar café. He couldn't remember ever being here, yet he somehow remembered that it had a lot of food. The dumpster wasn't too out of the ordinary, but food was food. He nearly choked when he heard Swatch's voice. What the hell was feather duster doing here? Unlike everyone else he'd encountered, Swatch was not fazed in the slightest. They seemed curious about the fact that Spamton seemed coherent now, explaining that he had been… growing for at least a month, unresponsive aside from growls and crawling on all fours. When Swatch disapprovingly pointed out that his wings were still dragging, Spamton bluffed about the fact that he physically couldn't move them. He got defensive when Swatch asked if they could inspect his wings. They bribed him with food that was going to be thrown away anyways, and Spamton reluctantly agreed. He promised to crush Swatch if they tried anything, but Swatch was still frustratingly unaffected by the threat. 

Spamton sat outside, since his wings were absolutely not fitting in there. Apparently Swatch was running a new café not associated with Queen, which admittedly relaxed him a bit. His relaxation was ruined the moment Swatch made it blatantly clear that he was only helping Spamton because Spamton’s wings were disgusting enough to be an insult to all feathered-kind (give or take). Spamton glared intermediately at Swatch, folding his arms like a pouting child as they prodded at his left wing. They asked him to try to move it a few times, inspecting the plastic “bone” of the wing as his muscles tensed and relaxed with no wing movement. They were prodding at the ball joint connecting the wing to his back when their finger suddenly dug into the ball joint’s slit. Spamton yelped, and his wing briefly flapped in response, the gust ruffling Swatch’s feathers. Spamton was torn between yelling at him and trying to get his wing to move again. Swatch said that his theory was that Spamton’s wings were underdeveloped. Assuming Spamton hadn't been using them at all in the past month, the muscles had adjusted to their lack of use and never grown properly. Considering how much Spamton had already grown, he could probably get the wings to develop if he kept exercising them. How the hell was he supposed to exercise if he couldn't even move them!? Spamton was about to storm off when Swatch mentioned that Prince Ralsei was looking for him, as he had prepared a room for Spamton in the castle. Who? Wait…that was one of Kris's friends, right? And, technically the ruler of Castle Town, Swatch pointed out. 

Spamton contemplated it for days before eventually deciding to accept Ralsei's offer. He was a bit suspicious of the kid's generosity, but if Ralsei was stupid enough to give even that damn clown a room, Spamton was going to take full advantage of that naivety. He was way too big for the bed (and the room in general), but it felt like heaven. The Castle had food! And showers! It was the first time Spamton had seen his face since… before he met Kris, actually. The green lens was new. The same bright, acid green as the wires. He thought it was a weak connection, but as he washed away the dirt caked in his joints, he could see them. Green veins, trailing through the gaps between his ball joints, spread across his entire body, pulsing with faint light. Leading to the interior of his chest panel, traveling up the chain of his SOUL, and illuminating the broken eye socket of his heart, the socket that corresponded with the green lens. The very fiber of his being had been permanently altered, his own blood traveling through NEO's wires. It wasn't his, no; he was it.

After the topic was awkwardly brought up, Ralsei made him a green sweater. Well, Spamton assumed it was custom made, because it was baggy even for him and had wing holes in the back. He was hoping that it would stop darkners from thinking he was some kind of animal. He was well aware of his “return to fame” as a cryptid, and hoped to move past it. Actually getting the knit sweater on was another ordeal, as his limp wings were not very helpful. He snagged his claws damn near every time he touched it, and tried filing them down to more manageable blunt tips. The claws grew back to their full length the next day. Apparently, NEO didn't understand how hair and nails work, as it regenerated anything he trimmed to its original unruly length as soon as possible.

Spamton was a little more comfortable leaving the castle once he had gotten better at walking. He was still hunched over enough to look like a velociraptor, but at least he was back to being bipedal. His wings were actually getting better! Most of their movement was involuntary (he refused to listen to Swatch’s advice to exercise them), but that was enough to stimulate growth. Each wing joint could actually manage a few degrees of motion. But, they were still constantly itchy and in pain. Spamton tried washing all the dirt and blood off of them, but having waterlogged wings somehow made him feel even worse. No matter how many he ripped out, loose feathers would follow him anywhere he went, since NEO regenerated them as fast as it regenerated fur and nails. 

Desperate (because he completely refused to speak to Swatch), Spamton summoned one of his F1 angels in an attempt to study it. He was a little nervous, considering what happened the last time he produced one, but it came out perfectly normal, if not confused when it saw what its creator now looked like. Spamton made it sit in his palm while he observed the way its pristine wings folded across its back. He gingerly pulled its wings open with two claws, watching how they opened and closed. He was tempted to destroy the angel after it started biting at his fingers in response, but decided to keep it around for observational purposes. He used his hands to manually fold his own wings closed, surprised at how much better they felt. Perhaps he should've expected it, but the tiny angel he kept didn't know how to keep its wings clean, either. The feathers he accidentally plucked out of it showed no signs of regrowing, and the leftover feathers looked progressively worse by the day, so he eventually put the thing out of its misery. 

As one could imagine, learning how to properly fold his wings and making an active effort to keep them from dragging on the ground quickly improved their health. His involuntary twitches became actual flaps. His wings started to naturally bend when he wasn't actively extending them. And, finally, they could support their own weight. He did it! He had fully functioning wings! He could finally fly too—he experienced a new terror—what if he couldn't actually fly? The shredded mess of feathers attached to each wing hadn't actually generated enough lift when he tried to ascend. Even if they were in perfect condition, was it enough?

In the meantime, Spamton tried to go back to selling junk. Capitalism still ran through his veins, whether those veins were green wires or not. He wasn't actively using the fear factor to get more kromer—okay, he might've been taking advantage of it a little bit. These cowards deserved it for treating him like filthy trash for decades! He's finally BIG. Let him enjoy it a little bit! Now he gets to be the one picking up little slimes by the scruff. He found (cornered) some Card Kingdom darkner who made clothes and asked (threatened) them to make him blazer in his size. And, because they weren't some petty addison, he actually (scammed) paid them! He needed something Spamton-y, not just a green sweater. This wasn't the comeback special he had planned for NEO, but he was starting to enjoy it. He always had food and a place to sleep, even if he didn't make any sales. But, he actually was making sales (scamming people)! And he was doing it all by himself, no strings required! What else could he want? He… he wasn't lonely. He doesn't need friends…

For absolutely no reason in particular at all of course Spamton decided to spend some of his new funds at Swatch's café. He just needed to rub it in their face how great he was doing, yeah. After definitely not struggling to fit his shoulders through the doorway, Spamton made the elective decision to sit on the floor rather than try and fit on a chair. He smugly flared his wings (once everyone found an excuse to leave the moment they saw him), but accidentally bashed them into the walls. To Spamton's chagrin, Swatch was not impressed whatsoever. They couldn't understand how he was fine keeping his wings in such a disgusting state. Hey! He washed them! H–his wings are fine! Swatch realized that they were getting nowhere by insulting him, so they asked Spamton if he knew how to preen his wings.

Preen? Spamton just said he was cleaning them! Daily, in fact, with how many loose feathers he had to pull out. Swatch tried to explain that it was more than that. He demonstrated with his own arm, showing how the feathers had to be arranged and layered, especially for flight. Spamton pretended he wasn't highly invested as he finally ordered the drink he came here for. He sat in the furthest corner, frowning as he looked at his own wings. Because his mere presence was driving away customers, Swatch could easily see that Spamton was trying to mimic what they did with their own feathers. They still weren't friends, but they could respect him if he was going to make actually paying for his food a habit. They would hate to see NEO's potential go to waste because of user error.

Okay, fine, he'll admit that bird brain knew more about feathers than he did, and his wings were looking better now. But, god, why did they need so much damn maintenance? He signed up for a mech suit, not this. Alas, now that his wings didn't look and feel like moldy shower curtains, Spamton knew the next step: flight. He summoned another angel to study. The laws of physics did apply to it at least somewhat, so it was a good starting point. He was back on the rocky outskirts of Castle Town, so he really didn't want to fall. He was nervous, but, now that he finally had a full set of flight feathers, it was possible. Probably. He hoped.

He cried the first time he truly flew. He was clumsy, constantly changing altitude, and practically crashed when he tried to land, but it was euphoric. It felt like the sky was where he was meant to be all along. The thought that he could fly straight up to heaven crossed his mind, but he knew he couldn't. He'd suffocate, or he'd run out of energy long before he reached it. But, he got a taste of the sky. Just enough to indulge, more than enough. It was beautiful.

Spamton has settled in the castle. He finds any excuse he can to go out flying, as it's easily his new favorite hobby. The novelty of scaring people into giving him money has worn off, but he'll never not enjoy scamming people out of money. He's still a spam program at heart, no matter how much his code has been changed. Outside of his exterior changes, Spamton kept NEO'S ability to spit white fireballs in the shape of his face, which is the root cause of the steam that leaks out of him whenever he's frustrated or has overexerted himself. He has three hearts, his own SOUL and the two smaller ones from NEO, that support his larger form. And, of course, the wires are now threaded through his body, powered by his own life-force. Spamton is definitely still lonely. Despite all his faux confidence, he's nervous around darkners both new and old, and keeps to himself when he isn't selling something. His life is far from perfect, and his deep-rooted issues haven't gone away, but he's more content, safer, then he ever has been. He just wishes that people would stop bringing up the whole “cryptid” thing. He'd rather forget that ever happened.

END

I hope that was an enjoyable read! Originally, I kind of forced myself to make a Spamton EX when chapter 2 came out, because everyone else was doing it. But, he wasn’t that fun to draw and didn’t have any story associated with him. It took me a while to come up with the idea for a “cryptid” Spamton EX, and even longer to create a story/setup I liked. I didn’t know whether to make him gremlin sized, comically large, or something in between (I think you can tell from the 41 ft wingspan which one I picked). I also wasn’t sure whether he should be completely unaware of his transformation until the end or mentally suffering the entire time. A mutual of mine suggested “why not both,” which led me to the final story here. Hooray! Maximum Spamton suffering!

I did try to make a happy ending, but it's hard to do that with a character like Spamton without making a multi-novel length fanfiction. He’s still very lonely, but he gets to fly so eh, he’ll probably be fine. I choose not to include the addisons at all, since my other AU (Wormton) is so focused on them. And, idk how to feel about the canon addisons considering that they seemingly knew that Spamton was both homeless and puppetified. I at least mentioned Jevil, but I’m honestly not sure how much he cares about Spamton, since all we know is that Spamton hates him and Spamton hates everyone he used to know, sooo… I didn’t plan for Swatch to be as prevalent, but Spamton definitely needed someone who actually knew how to care for feathers. I’m not a Swatch expert, but hopefully they aren’t crazy out-of-character or anything. 

THIS WAS FUN! HAHAHA I LOVE TRANSFORMATION HORROR A VERY NORMAL AMOUNT

[casliveblog]

Custom Toonami Block Week 167 Rundown

Spy X Family: The Cruise Ship arc is finally over and the first half of the episode is just the family reuniting and getting into hijinks together which is something I have missed a bit in the more story-heavy past few episodes. It’s also kinda funny when Yor suddenly realizes she hasn’t slept in four days and just fucking passes out in the street. When they get back Anya’s of course ready to brag about her trip but she goes to an illuminati kid school so everyone else like got to the moon with SpaceX or something during their vacation so she just starts half giving out details she shouldn’t and half just straight making shit up which just makes her look like a huge dork while Becky tries to console her despite having a way better vacation because Becky is indeed a good girl. Yuri comes to the house after a few more shots around the cast of giving out souvenirs and shit and Anya has to tell everyone she made a fool of herself by lying at school and we get the definition of irony by having three adults living various secret lives telling her lying is bad and they just kinda let the episode end on that awkward silence and it’s probably one of the best comedic moments of the show.

Inuyasha The Final Act: It’s weird going straight from OG Inuyasha to The Final Act because originally there was five years between them but they really do pick up right where the original left off and has more plot development in one episode than the whole past season had. The plot’s basically at the point where all loose jewel shards have been accounted for so now it’s that period in the video game where you have to go back and do all the side quests you’ve been putting off. Hakudoshi’s infused Goryomaru’s soul into Moryomaru and is in full Betray Naraku mode, sending himself, Kagura and Moryomaru after the three remaining sources of non-Naraku jewel shards. It’s funny because Naraku knows this is coming and is watching it on Kanna’s Mirrorvision and is just holding Kagura’s heart the whole time ready to fucking kill her when her betrayal stops being funny. Hakudoshi goes after Kagome’s shard since she and Inuyasha are fresh off Kagome returning with the well and he… just kinda grabs it? Like damn it was that easy? Remember when half the original series was the gang owning half the jewel and Naraku trying to take it, like these guys can’t hang on to shit now, also this is the second time Hakudoshi has had the chance to stab one of Inuyasha’s allies and instead just steals their shit they were protecting right near their heart like I guess being part Naraku means you keep people alive for future manipulating. Meanwhile Moryomaru goes after Koga’s shards but he’s stopped by Kikyo, and Kagura tries to hunt down Kohaku who’s in the middle of his determination arc and Kagura catches the feels before she can kill him and ends up defending him from Hakudoshi. This kinda comes a little out of nowhere but Kagura has slowly grown more empathetic over the series and she can probably relate to someone wanting revenge on Naraku even though they realistically have no chance, like I think Kagura knows even with four jewel shards, Hakudoshi beating Naraku is kind of a pipe dream like the dude’s bricked up in his Final Form and has like 98% of the jewel I don’t think four shards will be the difference maker. Inuyasha’s group save Kagura and after a whole arc of her basically sorta helping them they essentially see her as an ally now and when Hakudoshi abducts her she tells them the Baby is inside Moryomaru and like… wouldn’t the only way to kill Naraku be killing the baby and they just made a superpowered demon armor for it? Like if I remember right the idea was to absorbed Naraku and become a hive mind with the Baby in control of the Moryomaru part being the main body since they see Naraku’s heart as his true essence but like if you really wanna kill him just stab that baby, I guess it’s basically Hakudoshi’s twin so he doesn’t want to do that but still this is a lot of complicated trickery for a simple task but then again that is kind of Naraku’s MO. Hakudoshi’s there gloating like ‘Naraku has Kagura’s heart in his hand and I’m basically invincible since my heart’s also The Baby so sucks to be you and I’m immortal’ and Naraku does the funniest thing ever and just fucking disperses the Saimyosho around Hakudoshi and lets him get sucked up by Miroku’s Wind Tunnel, proving when he has to be nerfed in 90% of situations because this show would be so short otherwise, it’s really fucking funny and like the only time the Wind Tunnel is allowed to be plot relevant so it’s one of my favorite scenes in the series.

Moryomaru attacks Kohaku but the group come and save him and both Kagura and Kohaku basically decide that they don’t want to become party members, Kagura because she’s basically a dead girl walking and the only reason she’s not dead already is because Naraku likes making her squirm, and Kohaku because even though Sango knows he remembers her now, until he feels redeemed for killing their family he can’t bear to look at her and be reminded of all the pain he’s caused. The Final Act really ramps up all these character arcs that have basically been stalling in the background and it’s kinda cool like the story progress was so slow in the original I sometimes didn’t notice when it was happening like Kohaku’s arc kinda came out of nowhere for me because I wasn’t paying attention the first time and his story bits were so far apart but it’s legit one of the most important elements of The Final Act and the convergence of all those disparate story threads is something I really appreciate about Inuyasha as a series even if getting there is a bit of a chore sometimes.  

Castlevania: Lisa is a girl that wants to learn medicine and as anyone who’s been to medical school can attest you have to get through your stint of climbing into Dracula’s castle to learn the forbidden arts, that’s just how medicine works. Now since Lisa is a charming not like other girls ballbuster of mythical creatures, Dracula likes her and takes her up on her ‘try liking humans’ offer like sure, what does he have to lose from a tiny bit of vulnerability. Now unfortunately because this is at the beginning of the series and not at the end, that goes about as well as you’d expect. The Church find damning evidence on Lisa, BEAKERS AND SCIENCE FLUIDS, that’s definitely fucking Witchcraft and Judge Frollo ain’t having it (I don’t remember this guy’s name and I’m hoping he dies soon so he’s Frollo for the moment). They burn her as a witch and the one lady that mourns her death tells Dracula and he’s just like ‘okay I have one fuck in me left to give and that is you seem like a nice lady so get as far the fuck away from this city as you can’ and just becomes a superinferno of rage and goes to tell Frollo and the gang in his best Wizard of Oz impression that they have one year to either get the fuck out of town or kiss their ass goodbye because it’ll take him a year to summon a video game style horde of the damned and make this like the intro to DOOM. Alucard is not happy about this and is like ‘not all humans bro’ and Dracula is having none of it so they fight, almost like Alucard is doing the opposite of everything Dracula does, like he’s the… inverse somehow, like he’s… Dracula backwards. So a year passes and the town’s having their big ‘fuck Dracula we’re still here’ party and it’s like maybe Alucard won and there won’t be damnation… then it starts raining blood and Dracula’s just like “MOTHERFUCKERS WHAT DID I SAY YOU HAD ONE JOB!” and proceeds to unleash a demonic storm of torment and rage upon a world that deserves it in the name of someone who would’ve wanted no part of it. Meanwhile we cut over to Goatfuck Nowhere and a bunch of drunks are like ‘Man fuck the Belmonts, they’re no lineage of video game protagonists I tellyawhat” right in front of Trevor Belmont.

Jujutsu Kaisen: So it turns out Cursed Energy does really just work like Nen and the more drawbacks you give the stronger the technique. The barrier keeping everyone out is actually being held up by two old fucks and a punk from outside because that makes the barrier stronger if they’re outside and even stronger if they’re more likely to be seen. That makes sense and all but I feel like they’ve never been able to really get through Veils unless Gojo shatterpoints one from the top so like was all of that necessary? Feel like you could’ve still been inside and used it as a stall tactic or maybe been outside but in a less conspicuous spot and it’d be strong enough but we’ve got plot to do I guess. But yeah turns out the old fucks are just bad because ‘wah Gojo’s All Might and now we can’t do heinous crimes anymore’ like it’s really dumb and I hope they die horribly, though I do find it funny the entire curse ecosystem literally revolves around Gojo like he’s a Mary Sue but like for canonical reasons that deliberately fuck the entire world over. So yeah Ino’s fighting the punk and the old lady and his power is doing that thing where you put your head in your jacket except his lets him summon demons, I don’t remember being able to do that, anyway the granny turns the punk into Megudad and he beats the shit out of Ino and rips off his demon face hood, I’m guessing her transfiguration doesn’t copy techniques so turning someone into this world’s Rock Lee is probably the best you can do. Meanwhile Megumi and Yuji are fighting the old man and I think they did this power in Medaka Box at some point because it turns out he blocks strong attacks and amplifies weak ones so ideally you send a mid-tier fighter after him and he’s a goner but Megumi and Yuji are able to basically just turn off their energy and beat the shit out of him which is satisfying but for as gruesome as I know this arc will get I was kind of hoping for more for such a piece of shit.

Zom 100: It’s finale time and Akira figures out a cool loophole to Higurashi’s ultimatum that I didn’t think of right away but figured out like a minute before the reveal which is kind of what you want in a reveal. They use the makeup artist who was working on the zombie movie to make Akira up like a zombie and fake Higurashi out so they can get his dad back, pretty good solution all things considered, like I said last time the moral is the best way to make your parents proud is by living well but I also didn’t think they were just gonna sit there and let Akira’s dad die. We get a quick rundown of Higurashi’s backstory and it’s appropriately sad before he gets turned into a zombie and gets some semblance of peace. The gang manages to break out of the village with the help of the treehouse guy from like five episodes/six months ago and they turn out to be great at helping rebuild the village. Akira’s dad’s gonna be fine he just needs some Preparation H but everyone gets to write down their own endgoal items for the bucket list as well as a bunch of random shit they wanna do along the way, like the barrel scene in One Piece but if it was told by a rambling person with ADHD. Akira’s planned to find a cure for the zombie virus… sort of, it’s basically just doing the shit he was already doing but with the vague idea of maybe finding a cure in the background. So yeah, the finale’s as dumb and silly as we’ve come to expect from this show and it made me cry a little and smile a lot so good stuff.

Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End: This one’s a little hard to describe because I think anyone who knows anything about this series already knows the premise because that’s its main selling point so I don’t want to spell it out and be repetitive. Frieren is the mage of your standard dot jpg RPG/D&D group and after they kill the demon king or whatever Frieren’s just like ‘alright I’m out, I’ll check in every few decades to make sure you’re not choking on water or however humans die’ and by the time she comes back her pseudo-love interest Himmel is like a week from death and all they can do is give him a last hurrah before he goes and Frieren realizes she’s wasted the entirety of a human lifetime not connecting with someone she really cared about. The strange thing is it’s implied they have a way to contact her because like she came back for Himmel’s funeral (either that or he died like RIGHT after the meteor shower idk) and they just… didn’t? Like they seem to be coordinated enough to all gather together when they need to but no one thought about calling her up in the last 50 years or maybe it’s just coincidence. I also quite like that they establish their journey itself took ten years, that’s a reasonable amount of time for an epic D&D campaign and it also means that they’re not just teenagers by the end like Himmel’s at least 20-30 something so him dying when he’s like 70-80 isn’t terribly outlandish even though he looks like the youngest of the group. Frieren takes a short sabbatical of like another ten years until their priest friend is almost dead, (she seems to have a habit of showing up right before someone’s ready to die) and he’s just like ‘okay I know I said I wasn’t a pussy scared of dying last time but being old really sucks so can you translate this tome of immortality and also look after my adoptive daughter, kthxbye’ and I’m just waiting for this tome to be an ancient jokebook or some shit or some horrendous fate worse than death, it’s definitely one of the two. We also get introduced to Fern who’s a little Kirito in training because she’s like eight and already overpowered as fuck. Frieren doesn’t wanna just yeet her into the world with her and get a tiny purple-haired Rika Furude lookin girl killed so she’s just gonna stay and train her while she’s around.

Vinland Saga: We continue the Saga of the Madness of Daddy Canute and turns out the country’s fucking broke because Canute needs a thousand dudes watching his back every second from a combination of general paranoia and being the dick that invaded England and let his own brother die. So Canute’s plan is to requisition farmland and basically just be like ‘this belongs to the king now, thanks’ and by sheer coincidence, Ketil’s farm is the first on his chopping block. Also by sheer coincidence, Ketil’s arrived to visit King Harald only he’s already fucking dead (second show in a row where the person shows up right around when the person they wanted to see dies) and unsurprisingly Olmar gets into a fucking fight with this guy named Thorfinn but we’re just gonna call him Bug-Eyes to not confuse him with regular Thorfinn. Turns out Bug-Eyes is Leif’s adopted son since he’s been traveling around adopting Thorfinns hoping that he finds the regular Thorfinn and just so happened to trip over the guy that currently owns him… man shit before long-range communication was wild you just had to globehop and hope you find the one guy out of millions you were looking for, I can’t even find my friends in a crowded convention hall without a phone. Anyway Leif may or may not be going to Ketil’s farm but in the meantime Ketil’s meeting with Canute and doesn’t know they’re about to jack his farm. Olmar gets up during the meeting and begs to go to war with Canute and does things with a sword that are so wildly wrong that even though I’ve never held a sword in my life it made me cringe. Still he’s lucky Canute’s currently in need of an idiot to hold hostage to make the transition to requisitioning Ketil’s farm go smoothly so yeah looks like Canute’s going straight to Evil King territory and we’re likely gonna see his and Thorfinn’s storylines converging real soon.

[runwithwolvcs]

You Know I'm No Good - forty

Congrats, Grad

Warnings: smuttish

Graduation day, Tallulah had been counting down the days ever since she arrived in La Push. But now, on that very day, she didn’t want to get out of bed. Graduating highschool was the first step of being forced into adulthood. Real adulthood. Not the pretend life she had created in her head, acting older than she was, wanting to be thought of as an adult without the consequences that came with it. 

She wasn’t ready for the real world like she tried to convince everyone she was.

Paul would understand, having been thrusted into immense responsibility by his genetics at such a young age. She didn’t want that, not yet, at least. She wanted fun, carefree living, where she could still make mistakes and not be chastised for them. While La Push had been the fresh start her parents had hoped for her, the idea of living a fast pace city still lingered in the back of her mind.

New York, lingered in the back of her mind. 

A knock on her bedroom door pulled her out of her thoughts, “Come in.”

Winona opened the door with a smile, a vase of orange tulips in her hands. Tallulah's eyes lit up at the gift, her favourite flower.

“These came for you.” she announced, placing the vase on her desk before leaving her daughter be.

She knew exactly who they were from.

He remembered the small tidbit of information she gave him, though that didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

She stood from her bed, the card stuck in the flowers beckoning her to read it.

In messy handwriting, the card read,

‘My Lu,

I won’t be able to see you until after the ceremony, but I just wanted to let you know that I wouldn't miss it for the world.

I’m so proud of you.

And I love you.

Your baby duck.’

The card set her mind at ease, something must have happened, which explained his absence from her bed that morning after Winona allowed him to stay the night. Tallulah had cited graduation jitters, though her mom knew it was more likely imprint codependency.

--

Looking into the crowded gymnasium, she couldn’t spot the one person she was looking for. August nudged her slightly, adding, “He’d be stupid to miss this.”

“He won’t miss it,” she defended her imprint. Though it didn’t stop her from pulling out her phone to send a quick message.

‘Where are you? I’m not doing this without you.’ she messaged him. And it was true, she wouldn’t be able to physically move her legs across the stage if she didn’t know he was there. Stage fright was a bitch.

‘Lobby.’ was all she got back.

It was enough to set her mind at ease as quickly walked through the halls to the front lobby. Ditching August who was heading back to where they were keeping all the graduates.

Noticing him standing there in a white button down and nice slacks, speaking with two teachers. She watched as one of  the teachers talked animatedly towards him.

Tallulah slowed her steps as she caught his eye and he excused himself from the conversation, walking towards her with a smile on his face

“Hey, beautiful.” Paul complimented as soon as he got close enough. Her cheeks flushed at the way he looked her up and down. The tight black dress stuck to her body like a second skin, the slit in the dress making her legs look longer than they actually were. Not to mention the heels that were no doubt going to blister her feet making her just a few inches shorter than him.

“Where's your cap and gown?” he teased, his arms going around her immediately.

“I took it off, it was too hot,” she sat wrapping her arms around his waist, “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is just fine, Lu.” he spoke quietly,  kissing the top of her head. She could feel his own uneasiness, the way he could probably feel the anxiety radiating through her. 

Everything was not fine.

“For now.” she mumbled into his neck, pressing a soft kiss. Was walking across the stage really necessary?  She could think of a million other things she could be doing on this day, including Paul unzipping her dress and bending her over. 

Paul pulled back to give her a questioning look, “Hm?”

“You’re beside my dad.” she scrunched up her nose, knowing the disdain the two men had for one another. She understood his side completely, though her dad had yet to explain why he refused to accept Paul. The age difference, sure, but neither of them could control that. Paul made her happy, imprint or not, there was something about him that made her want to be better, and maybe she has already dropped the self destructive nature she had inhabited in Seattle. But, the itch was still there, when her emotions became too much to the point she wanted to scream and run off to break all the rules that had been set for her. Paul soothed that, he let her emotions run their course before wrapping her up in his arms and telling her everything would be okay. Tallulah believed him every time.

“It’ll be fine.” he promised, smoothing out her freshly straightened hair that cascaded around her, “Todays about you, and only you.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught both of their attention, turning to look at Mrs. Saloso standing in the entrance of the foyer, “Miss. Forrester, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Come on now.”

“Sorry, sorry.” she said looking at the teacher, backing away from Paul with a grin.

“Mr. Lahote, even after graduating nearly ten years ago, you still manage to be a pain in my ass..”

He chuckled before apologising, “Sorry, Mrs. Saloso. Won’t happen again.”

--

“Where's Paul?” She asked her mom who was the first person she found after ditching her cap and gown. Locating her boyfriend seemed to be the theme of the day as he kept disappearing from her line of sight.

“He just went to take a phone call,” Tallulah heard her fathers voice from behind her.

A small stuffed bunny very similar to the one she had as a child in his hands, with a little sweater that said ‘congrats, grad’ on it.

“This is for you, Lula. I know we haven’t seen eye to eye on many things recently but, I’m proud of you.” he said tentatively as he handed her the stuffed animal, she smiled down at it.

“Thank you.” she said genuinely. He showed up for something important to her for once, she didn’t want to ruin it with her own transgressions.

“Any schools you’ve applied to?” He asked curiously.

“Parsons, in New York.”

“Just the one?”

She nodded, knowing that he didn’t approve of her career choice that she had dreamt of as a little kid.

“You know, Paul can’t--” he started but she was quick to interject,

“I know.”

She felt an arm wrap around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug, though it wasn’t the warm, muscular ones she was hoping for.

 “I am so jealous of you.” Lenna whispered to her

Tallulah laughed, “You have one more year.”

“Hey, Tal.” Josie said with a warm smile, and Tallulah nodded in acknowledgment. They haven’t spoken in months, more so from her own lack of trust in her younger sister than anything to do with their father.

“You must be excited to finally get out of here.” Josie joked light heartedly.

“A little bit.” She said, though she knew she would never really be leaving.

Lenna nudged her, garnering her attention, “You might want to go save Paul,”

Tallulah looked in the direction Lenna had nodded to. Her parents and Kira had Paul wrapped up in conversation, though from the looks of it, Paul and Joseph were doing most of the talking. 

“Now I’m jealous of you.” Josie spoke, “Though I’m not surprised you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her head turning to look at her sister.

“He came by a little while ago, to talk to dad. They spoke outside for almost two hours. I don’t know what about,  but it ended with dad threatening him if he ever hurts you. Judging by the way he’s looking at you right now, I doubt that will ever happen.” Josie explained.

He never told Tallulah this, nor was it like Paul to be the one to bow down first in a situation like this. After everything that had happened, all the things she had told him from childhood up until their last argument, he could barely contain his anger that he felt towards her father.

“He has never looked at Rachel like that.” Lenna mentioned.

Tallulah shrugged off the comment, “I’ll see you guys later.”

Walking over to her parents and Paul, all eyes were on her. The passive smiles she received were unsettling but the only thing she wanted to do, the only thing she did do, was wrap her arms around his waist. He was quick to wrap his arms around her, leaning down to whisper in her ear,  “Let's go outside and talk.”

She nodded, not even questioning him, as she let him lead her outside away from the people lingering.

“I like this dress,” he said as he thumbed at the spaghetti strap. An anxious tick of his.

“You should see what’s under it.” she teased, though he didn’t give her the reaction she was looking for. Something was definitely wrong. “What's wrong?”

He shook his head, “ I need you to stay on the rez tonight.”

“Okay?”

“With your dad. Your mom-”

“No.” she interjected, “Just because we can be civil in a room together doesn’t mean I want to stay with him.”

“Baby, please. I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t serious.” he begged, he didn’t like the idea either but at least he would know she was safe.

“I can just stay at your house, it wouldn't be the first time I've been alone there.” she reasoned. He’s left her there multiple times to go on patrol and now suddenly there's a problem?

“I don’t want you alone, Lu.” he stated firmly, his face hard. Clearly this was not up for debate.

She raised her eyebrow at him, “How bad is it?” 

“He crossed the treaty line.” he nearly growled out, prompting her to put a hand on his arm.

“What about my mom?” she asked, concerned.

“She's going to your aunts in Port Angeles. ”

“It’s just for the night?”

“Hopefully.”

“Paul.” she sighed, crossing her arms, “You can’t just say hopefully. You said that last time and--”

“I know.”

“I won't be able to sleep knowing you could..” she started, but her words got caught in her throat as she thought about what had happened last time. He grabbed her and held her tightly against his hardened chest, knowing there was nothing that could calm her anxiety about this particular topic.

“He can stay with us, when he’s not on patrol.” Joseph sounded from behind her. “With you.”

“Really?” she asked, turning to look at her father, unsure of his motives.

“Kira's idea, not mine.” He grumbled, looking from her daughter to Paul with a sigh.

---

Keeping her bedroom light on as she read a book she had left in her room at her fathers home, she regretted the choice about half way through. Reading the characters ruining each other in a sexually explicit way had her pressing her thighs together as a pool of wetness started to form, wanting nothing more than for Paul to walk through the door and ravage her the same way the male character had to his female counterpart.

Tossing the book on the floor to try and  clear her mind of the R rated images she had created in her head, with Paul as the focus.

She got up and opened the window, knowing he wouldn’t want to come through the front door, as usual when sneaking in. Though this didn't really count as sneaking him in considering her father knew he would be here at some point in the night.

Tallulah left her room to brush her teeth and wash her face as a distraction, taking her time. Even bothering to braid her long hair into two dutch braids before heading back to her room.

The muscular man of whom she had been naughtily thinking of over the past hour now standing by the window, clearly having just entered.

 As soon as his eyes locked with hers, Tallulah was pulling him towards her bed, the two of them stumbling over each other's feet as she pressed her lips to his feverishly, her fingers laced behind his neck. Paul let out a low groan, the impatience his imprint was displaying was not expected but he was happy to indulge her.

The moment her back hit the bed, she locked her legs around his waist to pull him even closer, desperately trying to feel the pressure of him against her core. And she did.

Paul's lips muffled her moans. His hands snaked under her shirt to fondle her breasts.

Tallulah used her feet to try and kick off his shorts, to no avail. 

“Someones worked up,” he whispered, grabbing her leg to keep her from teasing the waistline of his shorts.

She quietly whined in response, “I’ve been waiting all day for this.”

“All day?” he questioned, pressing his lips to the spot below her ear, working his way across her jaw.

“Mhm,” she nodded, before carding her fingers through his hair and whispering, “There was nothing under my dress.”

Her words elicited a low groan from him, looking in her eyes for any sort of teasing undertone to her statement. But she was serious. The comment she had made earlier replayed in his head over and over.

“Fuck, Lu.” he said apologetcially, pressing his hips into hers causing her to bite her lip at the feeling of his hardness.

 All for her.

“I’m sorry for making you wait so long.. Let me make it up to you.” he grinned, and she knew he would, multiple times if she let him.

 Pushing her top up to her chest, he kissed down her stomach. His fingers pinched and pulled her nipples, making sure no part of her body was left untouched. Her back arching towards him, wanting to feel more of his warmth against her skin. She felt like she was on fire, and the only way to put out the flames was for him to press his body against hers, calming her overwhelmed senses.

Paul moved his hands to  the waistband of her pyjama shorts, pulling them down slowly, along with her panties, tossing them on the floor.

“Smell so good for me, babygirl” He mumbled before lifting her leg over his shoulder as he peppered kisses down the inside of her thigh until he reached her moonchild tattoo, pressing a particularly delicate kiss to it. 

She could feel his smile against her skin.

 Ever since she explained the reason for the tattoo, Paul was always touching it in some way. Usually with his fingers grazing it, but the feeling of his lips against it was maddening.

The feeling of his lips moving across her mound, but not stopping had her wriggling beneath him in want. The teasing he was giving her sent her in a spiral knowing her dad was asleep down the hall and if Paul kept it up, she was going to scream in frustration.

 “Hey Tal, do you --”

Both imprints looked towards the door to see Lenna standing there like a deer in headlights, and Paul was quick to throw the blanket on her bed over Tallulah, covering her up. Though him being without a shirt, and the obvious position they were in led little to the imagination of what they were up to.

“Oh my god, sorry.” Lenna said, covering her eyes before backing out of Tallulah's room and shutting the door,

She looked towards Paul with narrowed eyes, “You didn’t hear her coming?”

“I was a bit distracted,” he said, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

She threw her head back on her bed, no longer in the mood. Too worried that the next person to walk through her bedroom door would be her dad, “Lay with me.”

He obliged as she pulled the blanket all the way up to her chest, before covering him with it as well, though she knew he would toss it at some point in the night after overheating.

Her phone pinged, alerting her of a message, and she checked to see that it was from Lenna, “Does he always eat you out?”

She laughs, and sends her a thumbs up emoji before placing her phone on the nightstand to charge for the night. Tallulah turned on her side to face Paul, the exhaustion clear on his face. Using her index finger to trace his jawline, “Please wake me before you go. I don’t like waking up alone.”

He nods his head, pressing a kiss to her thumb that she was now using to trace his lips. “Promise, Lu. Thank you for doing this.”

“You owe me, times two.” she said, mentioning, “ I can’t believe you blue balled me.”

He laughed, pulling her into him so her face was buried in his chest, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Kissing his collarbone, she noted, “I’m counting on that promise.”

Tag List: @cperry0516 , @bhasbhabiessss, @fuzzyfingersandcavier @valeriyakonovalov @alwayshave-faith @emmettcullenswife @kingniazx @sorrow-and-bliss@swidkid @smol-scream

[tssidesfics]

Requests: Analogince where they’re human and also single dads? And they all meet because their kids fought and got called to the principals office

Virgil's POV

Upsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you got to raise a beautiful, special boy with a sharp mind. You got to teach him all the coping mechanisms you'd painstakingly learned over the years to cope with his condition and watch as he lit up over the things that brought him joy. You got to watch as he zipped from topic to topic, brighter than the sun, mind racing at a million miles an hour. You got to be the first person to hear about his beautifully creative ideas. You got to have a reason for living, all yours and wonderful, that you didn't have to share with anyone else.

Downsides to being a single father to a child with ADHD: you had no one else to pass the buck to when he got in trouble at school.

"It'll be fine," I chanted to myself for the billionth time as I turned off the ignition and unbuckled myself, gripping the steering wheel and forcing deep, measured breaths. "It'll be fine. He probably won't get expelled for this. This is his first fight and you don't even know why he got into a fight. You didn't raise a bully, so he was probably defending himself or another kid." Terror clasped me around the throat and squeezed. "But what if you did raise a bully and you didn't realize it, and now you've sentenced your son to a life of crime trying to make up for the hole in his heart where his father should have loved him oh God I broke my son!"

Immediately, my therapist's voice spoke up in my mind. You're catastrophizing again, he said in that obnoxiously aware, gentle way of his. Calm down. Take it one step at a time.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the feeling of my stomach and then my chest expanding with air. I let it out through pursed lips, a quiet whistle in the exhale.

I'd played through scenarios like this a million times in my mind. The second Cassie told me, five months pregnant with tears streaming down her cheeks, that she didn't want the baby, I'd prepared myself for any possibility. I'd created contingency plans and contingency plans for my contingency plans, because I knew how much harsher the world would be on him. With a grandparent, his biological mother, and me all with ADHD, there hadn't been any doubt Drew would get it, too, and I'd prepared for that. I'd prepared for the possibility that poor grades and emotional dysregulation would put him on the back foot and even get him expelled. I'd taught him all the coping mechanisms I could. I'd tried to show him as much love and patience as I could muster, and I'd show him the same now. We'd get through this. We would make it through this.

I nodded, resolute, even as doubt and worry niggled at the back of my mind. I'd raised Drew alone, without any support from my parents or Cassie, working a call center job that barely paid enough to live off of. I'd demanded a child psychiatrist the second Drew started displaying symptoms and beat the system for the help he deserved. I'd beat the system for the help I deserved. I was a badass. I was a badass.

I got out of the car.

The two people at the front desk--a woman with strawberry blonde hair and a baby-faced guy--looked over, presumably torn from their conversation, when I walked through the door. The woman swiveled her chair to face me with a friendly smile. "Hello there," she said. "How may I help you?"

I forced myself to look her in the eyes and strained through a smile. If you act like a weirdo, it'll just make things worse for Drew. "Hey," I said. "I'm, uh...Drew Griffith's father. You called me and--"

"Oh!" She gestured to the side, at a door that read: PRINCIPAL MOROZOV. "He's in there."

I looked over and gulped, staring in fear at the door. "Say, uh..." I smiled at the woman as politely as I could. "You wouldn't happen to know the correct social etiquette for talking to the principal after your son gets into a fight at school, would you?"

She gave me a funny look. "Huh?"

"Never mind." I hung my head in defeat and commenced the walk of dread to the front door of the office. The wall facing me was all glass, which meant I could see inside. Two adults, one natural-haired in a polo shirt with his arm around one of the kids in the chair beside him and the other behind a desk, looking stern. I couldn't see the other two kids or any other adults.

And then Principal Morozov spotted me through the glass and shit, I was out of time.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. "Sorry it took me so long," I said, hoping that was the right thing to say. "It was hard getting off work."

"It's all right," Principal Morozov said. "We haven't even reached Mr. Accardo yet."

"Hey, Dad," came the halfhearted voice of Drew, hidden behind a chair too big for him, especially when he slumped in it like that.

I peered over the top and smiled at him softly. "What the heck, kid?" I asked.

"He called Patton a freak." Drew pointed at the kid in the middle, with a busted nose and--oh God.

He had scattered burn marks across the right side of his face, with two differently-colored eyes and a scowl.

"So of course you had to beat me up," the kid sneers. "Because that's a perfectly rational, healthy thing to do."

The third kid--Patton, I presumed--bounced in his seat, humming in distress. His father, a man wearing glasses and a polo shirt with a tie, rubbed his back.

"I don't see why my son has to be here," the other father said, looking at Principal Morozov. "He didn't do anything."

“Patton sits alone at lunch time and doesn’t have any friends,” the principal said. “We think if he tried to get along with his peers better, he’d have a happier time here.”

“Or, you know, you could make an effort to teach your students not to bully kids who are different from them,” I grumbled.

“What was that, Mr. Griffiths?”

I hesitated, glancing up at Principal Morozov, then back at Drew. On one hand, I wanted to lead by example: teach Drew that it was okay to stand up to authority for what he believed. On the other, sometimes, you had to pay lip-service to authority just to stay out of trouble. It was a lesson no child had the mental capacities to understand, but I supposed I’d have to do my best to teach him, because if I gave Principal Morozov cheek, he might expel Drew.

“Nothing, sir,” I said, feeling like a child cowering beneath the glare of my teachers again. I prepared to search for the bullshit in the story I was about to get fed and asked, “What happens now?”

"I'd prefer to wait for Mr. Accardo," the principal said.

"Roman teaches at a high school," the bully grumbled, slouched over with a glare fixated on the desk. "He's probably in the middle of class."

"Then you're going to have to stay after school to address this," Principal Morozov told him sternly.

"Whatever."

I had a very bad feeling about that kid. The scars on his face told a frightening story. He could just as easily be bullied for those as Drew got bullied for his ADHD and Patton for being a loner, which probably meant he turned that abuse outward and attacked others for their perceived differences in a never-ending cycle of abuse.

What? I could be bad at people and have a special interest in human psychology. Those two things were not mutually exclusive.

Suddenly, the door banged open. I jumped out of my skin, clamping a hand over my chest and struggling to breathe levelly, eyes crushed shut and body frozen. Then I heard the babbling.

"I'm sorry!" The principal's door opened. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. The kids were in the middle of rehearsal and--Janus, what happened? I'm so sorry, Mr. Morozov." A frazzled man with warm skin rushed inside and sat down next to the bully--Janus--hastily hugging him and turning his attention to the principal.

I frowned at the scene. I withheld judgment and looked at Principal Morozov as he said, "All right. Now that you're all here, there are going to be some serious consequences to what happened today."

********

"I can't believe you let him give me detention!" Drew whined. "Janus deserved to get punched!"

"And you deserve to die abandoned and unloved in a ditch, steeping in your own feces," Janus snapped.

"Janus," his father, Roman, said firmly, kneeling down and taking him by the shoulders. Janus tried to turn away from him, but Roman lightly shook him and made him meet his eyes. He softened. "I know how much you're hurting, but a hero never redirects his pain onto others. There are other ways."

"What if I don't want to be a hero?" Janus snapped. "What if I want to be the bad guy?"

"I don't believe that," Roman said gently, adjusting his bangs. "I don't think you do, either."

Janus turned from him sharply, crossing his arms and glaring at the asphalt. He sniffled.

Drew glanced up at me in confusion and I rubbed his back. "Sometimes," I said gently, "when people are hurting, they deal with that by hurting other people."

"That's stupid," Drew said with the blunt confidence of a ten-year-old.

"Maybe a little," I agreed, "but humans aren't always logical." Drew wrinkled his nose. "I know. It's so annoying, but it's true. You're not always logical, either. Remember when you burst out crying because your pencil broke?"

"Dad!" Drew turned bright red.

Roman chuckled. "So." He stood up and crossed his arms. "You're the little rascal who dared challenge Janus to a duel for--Patton, right?" He looked at Mr. Davis--or Logan, as he'd introduced himself--who nodded. "You're the rascal who challenged Janus to a duel for Patton's honor," Roman finished.

"He was being an asshole," Drew protested.

"I'd say it's not my fault he uses that language," I said through a wince, "but it's definitely my fault he uses that language."

"I'm the same way with Janus, don't worry." Roman chuckled--a low, rumbly sound. He turned back to Drew. "You're got a paladin's heart and a temper. I was a lot like you when I was a kid."

Drew snorted. "You think you're cute, don't you?"

"He's always like this," Janus said, shoving in front of Roman. "He thinks it's so inspiring to talk about heroes all the time, like fairy tales are the best thing ever."

"That's gotta be annoying," Drew said, wrinkling his nose.

"It is." Janus stopped and scowled. "Don't relate to me!"

"Ew! You're a jerk! Get away from me!"

I exchanged a fond, exasperated look with Roman, who chuckled and squeezed Janus' shoulder. "Hey," he said, "maybe, if you apologized, you could have a friend."

"I don't want to apologize."

"So you'd rather another kid think you're a horrible person!"

Janus hesitated a moment before straightened his back. "Yes."

"I don't believe that."

I glanced over at Logan and saw that he was busy talking to Patton, kneeling on the ground and smoothing his hands over his shoulders in measured strokes. It seemed to soothe Patton. I looked at Drew.

"You know how it sometimes hurts you when you think about your Aunt Cassie?" I said softly, pulling him into my side as the shadow washed over his face.

"He called Patton a freak, Dad," Drew argued. "He's not even really my friend, but he's not a freak. He's just...different. Like me."

"I know, kiddo," I said, squeezing him against my side. "You don't have to give him a chance. He hasn't asked forgiveness, and you wouldn't owe him one even if you did. I just know you don't like to see people struggling alone."

Drew hesitated.

I looked over at Logan. "How's Patton?"

Logan glanced back at me, then looked at Patton. "Do you want to answer?"

Patton hesitated.

"It's okay," I said, not looking at his face. Patton hadn't made eye contact with a single person, including his father, since I'd met him. He clearly had more trouble with it than I did, and I wasn't always a huge fan. "I'm autistic, too."

Patton immediately perked up. "Really?"

"Yeah." I smiled, looking over the top of his head. I looked at Drew. "Can I tell him about you?"

"I'm ADHD," Drew told him, turning to him. "I got diagnosed last year."

"Oh cool!" Patton flapped his hands at his sides and bounced eagerly. "I don't, I don't think, because I'm actually pretty good at focusing most of the time and I have a really good memory, but Dad says autism and ADHD are really close together. It's really nice to meet someone else! I don't have many friends."

"Well, I guess you have me," Drew said. "I didn't get in trouble defending you for nothing."

Patton squealed and continued stimming enthusiastically. Drew offered a hug, which Patton considered for a long moment before accepting.

Logan smiled softly at the exchange and looked over to me. "You've raised a very kind son."

"More than half of it is all him," I said. "I do the best I can, but...I'm just one person. He's probably gonna hate me once he's a teenager."

"Nuh-uh!" Drew objected, charging over to embrace me around the middle. I smiled and hugged him close, squeezing him as tight as was safe. He grunted.

I caught Janus staring at us. I couldn't read his expression. He was glaring, but I had a feeling it wasn't anger. But clearly, Roman did understand it, because he knelt down and hugged him close, even when he tried to push him away. He just held fast. I thought for sure Janus would react badly--he hadn't wanted to be held, what was wrong with Roman?--but then he slowly relaxed and leaned against him. I still couldn't read him very well, but that...didn't look particularly resigned.

"You know," Roman said, pulling back after a long while, "I bet Drew and Patton would be willing to forgive you if you really, really earnestly apologized."

Janus shoved away from him, crossing his arms and glaring at the ground. "I don't want to apologize."

Roman sighed heavily, and Drew whirled on him. "You're such a freaking jerk!" he screamed. "What's wrong with you? Why do you have to be a jerk to everyone? I tried to be your friend and you just spit on me!"

"I don't want your pity!"

"It wasn't pity!"

"It's always pity!" Janus screeched. "You think I don't know what these scars make me? You think I don't know I'm a freak? If the fire didn't teach me that, then my parents sure did! I'm nothing! The only reason anyone would be nice to me is pity and I don't want anyone's pity! I just want to be left alone!"

Janus turned and ran. Roman chased after him frantically, never sparing Logan or I a glance.

Drew and Patton stood stunned. Drew looked at Patton, who stared at his forehead. "Well..." he said. "What the heck am I supposed to do now?"

Patton ran in the direction of Janus.

At that point, about the only thing for Drew and I to do was chase after his new friend, hot on the heels of his father.

We found Patton with his backpack unzipped, standing beside Janus' car door, already buckled in with Roman partway into the driver's seat, holding out a picture of a flower.

"It's ivy," Patton said. "It means friendship."

Janus stared at him through the window, unmoving. Patton, to my shock, held his gaze for one, two moments and then averted his eyes. Logan hurried over to hold him, clearly expecting Janus to reject him again.

Janus opened the car door. "Why would you want to be my friend?"

"He didn't say he wanted to be your friend," Drew sneered. "He just said it meant friendship, dummy."

"Drew," I chided softly, and he recoiled into my side.

"Because it's nice to know I'm not the only one who can't make any friends," Patton said. "I like having other friends who are special."

"I'm not special," Janus snapped.

"Dad says that being different is always special, because different people have discovered some of the coolest, prettiest things ever."

"It's true," Logan said. "Albert Einstein, Hans Christian Anderson, and Michelangelo. were all autistic."

"See?" Patton bounced and beamed at Janus. "So maybe we can all be different and special together and do really cool things one day! Like the three Musketeers."

Janus considered strongly. "I'm Athos."

"You can be whoever you want to be!" Patton said earnestly. "Then we can all have lots of musketcheer."

Drew, Roman and I choked on a laugh. Logan shook his head fondly. "He watches one sitcom that likes puns and he suddenly won't stop," he said.

Even Janus cracked a small smile. He accepted the paper. "Fine," he said. "We can have musketcheer."

Drew pouted. "Does this mean I'm your friend now?"

"Yes," Patton said firmly, looking at him.

Drew jumped, looking fearfully at Patton, who somehow managed to look intimidating while also avoiding eye contact. He looked up at me. "What have I done?" he asked.

"Made friends." I rubbed his back. I looked around. "We should probably get all these guys home. They've had a long day, and school will be letting out soon."

"I guess now that all our kids are friends, I'll be seeing more of you," Roman said to both Logan and me.

Logan hummed. "I presume so. Patton does not own a phone of his own. I can give you my number if your children wish to contact him?"

"I hate to say it, but you should probably get him his own phone," I said. "It's dangerous not to have one. If I ever lost sight of Drew...I'd rather he have a phone."

Logan considered this. "I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, for the moment, you'll have to go through me to reach Patton."

"Don't have to ask me twice. Here." Roman accepted Logan's phone and typed in Janus' number, then passing it to Drew, who stared at it for a moment.

I recited his number to him and he punched it in. "Don't worry, kid," I said. "One day, you're going to have to tell so many doctors your number that it's going to be emblazoned on your brain."

After all numbers had been exchanged, I shook Logan's and Roman's hands goodbye and let Patton and Drew embrace again. Janus stayed stubbornly in his seat, refusing any sort of affection, which kind of concerned me, but then Roman whispered, "This is the most receptive he's been since I started fostering him."

I nodded and smiled, leading Drew back toward the car. He looked at me. "I guess I have friends now."

I glanced back toward Roman's car as it drove away and caught Logan's eye as he loaded into his own. He smiled at me.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I might have, too."

[solaeter]

Parenting - Satoru Gojou

I started these when I needed a distraction from my own thoughts lmao. Purely fluffy and light hearted, I hope you don’t mind the little emoticons and whatnot. I just wanted to try something different uwu.

Warning[s]: Pure fluff and possible errors I didn’t bother to check for.

❖ First of all, the moment Gojo hears the news that you're pregnant, he just kinda stares like he had shut down for a moment. Don’t take it the wrong way, his mind is just running in circles, processing the news and then the biggest, brightest smile breaks on his face and you're in his arms, being spun around. No one has probably ever seen him so happy, literally nothing could knock the smile off his face or the budding excitement and swell of love swirling in his chest.

❖ Definitely is the one to keep a copy of the first ultrasound to show off to his students, bragging that the little spec on the paper is his baby. He can't keep a secret like this, it's just too exciting so he has to let it out somehow.. If someone says they can't tell what they're looking at, Gojo will gladly point out his child. 

"Aren't they precious??" 

"You can barely see–"  

(╬ Ò ‸ Ó)

❖ If he wasn't already protective before, Gojo is now like a looming shadow whenever he's home from work. Which he will deliberately take more time off just to be with you. There's no point in arguing with him once his mind is set, he doesn't care if he pisses off the higher ups. You and his baby are the only thing that matters to him. He's always there for you, helping you out in any way in his typical manner. Often says the most random things while aiding you too, like it's quiet and then he's just like: 

"You know the longest pregnancy ever recorded was like 375 days?" 

Leave it to him to look up little interesting tidbits in his free time while you rest. The whole experience is fascinating to him, especially watching you grow and change.

❖ Gojo's hands don't know how to keep to themselves. He was already handsy, but with your growing belly..my word he just loves to rub it and touch it. He can't get over that the life he helped create is in there, his heart had never been so full. 

Also low key finds you even more sexy. Definitely loves spooning so he can hold your stomach gently and roam while he loves up on you. Ugh so tendy unless you want more of course. But he'll always put your comfort first over desire. 

❖ The more you progress and grow, the less you get to do. Gojo doesn't want you to put yourself at risk..for anything. You want something to drink? He'll get it. If he has to go somewhere, one of his students will be with you to aid you. He'll say it's training or some sort of excuse while you just..have to take it or face his pouting self. 

"You know I'm fully capable right?" 

"No you rest, we can't have anything happening to the baby." 

Don't argue, it won't work. But his concern and willingness to do just about anything for you under the sun is absolutely precious 🥺.

❖ On the day your baby comes into the world, Gojo probably cries more than you. It's those silent tears of awe, when his newborn is placed in his hands and that sudden realization that this little life he holds is so vulnerable and his to protect..his heart is already sealed and he's wrapped around their tiny fingers. 

❖ At home, dealing with the nightly duties of parenthood, Gojo really steps up considering he doesn't sleep that much. He isn't too fond of changing times but doesn't complain and really enjoys rocking his baby to sleep after they've been fed. It's so relaxing and he thrives on the tender bonding time.

What's even cuter is if you wake up and find them both; Gojo holding the baby on his chest while his head is leaned back, dozing lightly from the peacefulness. Truly wholesome and your heart melts truly 🥰.

❖ Gojo is definitely the type to always be taking photos of his child. He captures every possible milestone he can manage. He has videos from when they first sat up on their own, finally being able to hold their bottle and even when he thought they said their first word, which was just baby gibberish..but to him it counted and he just had to have it documented. Don't get him started about the day his baby learned to walk, he's never been more proud of them and thankful to finally get rid of the evil walker that rammed his legs more times than he could count.

He will also make sure to have you in most of the moments, even if you're glaring or telling him to stop because you're tired or busy, he just wants to capture memories dammit 😤🥺.

❖ Don't blame Gojo if your child really enjoys sweets. He'll let them try just about anything he buys, finding it humorous if their face twists in disgust or from something potentially sour. He gets a kick out of it but he's more happy when they enjoy the treat and will give it to them..when you're not watching. He has to be extra cautious if it's before dinner, if there's one thing that scares him..it's his beautiful, perfect, loving, wife. 

And yes, he will try to charm his way out of trouble with sweet words and handsy actions. There's just a 50% chance of it actually working hehe.

❖ He likes to say he's the lenient parent because it's true. If your child acts up, he will either encourage them or try his damndest to get them out of trouble. You have to deal with two children and one is unfortunately stuck in an adult's body. Gojo will probably teach your child one or several things that they shouldn't know at their age. Like climbing on something to jump off of or anything that raises immediate concern. While you're off having a panic attack from watching your child literally propel them off something, Gojo is just smiling like a fool.

"They're a natural babe!" 

"What if they get hurt?!?!" 

"You know I wouldn't let that happen."

(¬_¬)

Let's just say after a firm scolding and a promise to ban him to the couch permanently, Gojo will no longer encourage daredevil stunts to his child. Though he is a little sneaky when you're not around. He just has to pray his child doesn't let it slip when you come back or he's a dead man. 

❖ Gojo cannot say no for the life of him. If his child wants anything, consider it theirs. He pays attention to everything when he's out and about with his child. If they linger on a toy, ten to one it'll be in their hands within the hour. Now he knows what not to get them considering they're just a tiny little thing, so he can limit himself. But when he comes home to you, loaded with one too many toys and nothing that you listed, he can't help but give that sheepish smile and melt.

"You know I can't say no to them.."

"Did you get what I asked for?" 

(⌒_⌒;)

It's a good thing he's cute and already leaving to do what he needed to do in the first place. Which left you to go through every little toy, stuffy and whatever else he bought for your child. 

❖ Now when we talk about the first day of school, Gojo is more worked up than his own child. He can't wrap it around his head that his baby, the light of his life is finally leaving the house on a daily basis. It almost feels illegal and you're the one that reassures him that it'll be fine even though you're just as sad. 

Don't mind Gojo, he'll be back to his normal self after an hour after realizing that he has more alone time with you if he isn't busy 😏. 

❖ All in all, Gojo was taken back by the idea of parenthood but as time progressed he became more excited and embraced this beautiful new life. He's protective and light hearted, always making sure his child isn't put through any of the stress he dealt with growing up. And most importantly, he'll love his child unconditionally and make subtle hints about wanting more down the road 😉.

[bakugohoex]

I’ve seen the Jean x reader in Marley, and it was really good, so can you do a levi x reader in marely as well pls🥺🥺🥺

“i always notice you, y/n”

pairing: levi ackerman x female reader

cw: fluff, violence, kissing, language, season four spoilers

word count: 2700+

a/n: hopefully this shows up in the tags if it doesnt i dont know what imma do, but anyway hope you guys like it and enjoy this, this will be my last fic for this year, i hope you guys enjoy tonight and have a happy new year 

summary:  in which you and levi are undercover doing reconnaissance in marley, want turns to stalking different marleyans leads to feelings being brought out from the two of you

↞ back to attack on titan masterlist

The sound of Marleyans seemed to flow out through the streets, you had all separated from each other on arrival to Marley. Eren having wandered off himself and his arrival to Marley having shocked you all, making you all come to Marley yourself. Even after all these years with the new group of adults they were still the babies you remembered meeting with Levi.

You had been in Levi’s squad from the beginning, being his second in command so whilst the rest of your squad got massacred by the female titan you had been with Levi and Erwin. Levi wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad you had come with him that day, he was glad you didn’t die on the countless scouting expeditions that occurred.

The bustling of propaganda engulphed you, hearing Levi come through a door of where you were staying for this visit. To the outside world you and Levi were just a happy couple starting afresh in Marley, but you and him both knew how a downfall was evidently going to occur.

He chucked the newspaper on the bed that you both had been sharing, you had both learnt how to sleep beside each other without touching each other, the way you wouldn’t face each other when you fell asleep. A silence arising at night, you loved the man, of course you did but he loved being a scout more and you, you were always going to be his second in command and nothing more.

“More bullshit.” You mutter straightening out the dress, it was floral and disgusting to wear, you had been too a custom to the cream trousers and brown jacket that a dress felt unnatural. He wore a black suit and white shirt, the dress shoes looking even more older in the many years he had had it. He had disregarded his mother’s ascot many years ago, but you missed the look of it on him.

“You know what they’re like.” He spoke expressionless watching you put the necklace around your neck. “You ready for this hell.”

You nodded, his dull grey eyes skimmed up and down your body, the way the dress hugged your frame and made you look youthful and content. But he knew the truth, knew that behind those eyes of yours there was murder and deceit.

He watches you walk up to him putting your hand out, he grabs it without hesitance as you both walk down onto the streets. Hanje had told you both about the midday market where announcements were heard, you knew that a war was occurring with how Eren had easily been motivated to infiltrate Marley without your knowledge. He opened the door before you, the smell of chamomile hit your nose, the wind making your hair sweep in front of your face.

He saw you trying to get rid of the hair from your face, he doesn’t speak grabbing your hair and the elastic to keep your hair in place. He easily ties it, stray pieces framing your face, it was a shock that led to the red to brush across your cheeks and nose. “At least now you can see.”

“And I thought you just wanted to touch my hair.” You mock out.

He looks at you which makes you turn to not face him, “Your hairs nice.”

“Umm… thank you.” You felt your face redden even more, his gaze moving up and down your body again, you quickly spoke to leave this situation, “let’s go.”

He nodded before taking your hand again, you both walked past the Marleyans, you didn’t have the Eldian arm band making you look like them. But you really weren’t, the way you acted, walked it was something new and different. “This is the place Hanje said to go.”

You nod, looking to the floor, people barging past, clearly common courtesy was dead in this place. You stand with a crowd, all their faces meshed as if it was just you and Levi watching the one man speak.

“My Marleyan brothers and sisters, today marks the day our hero Helos saved us from the devils of the Eldians.” He continued spewing out bullshit, people cheering and happily listening along. The grip of your hand tightened around Levi’s.

“Stay calm Y/n.” Your name fell from his mouth with comfort, it was sweet and your whole demeanour changed.

“Yes sir.” You say, turning back to the fresh out of the cadet corps.

You remember meeting Levi on your first day in the survey corps, your fresh face and innocent eyes made everybody believe you were weak. You had been shouted at by one of the cadets who had trained with you, he knew you weren’t weak but was trying to impress the captains around him.

He went to grab your shirt, but with ease you kicked his stomach. He jolted backwards ready to throw the first punch, the captains not daring to make a move to see what was about to happen. You smirk sadistically, he went in for the punch, but you easily dodged and grabbed his arm putting pressure on it. He fell to the ground below you before you kicked him in his face making him fall to the ground.

A man twice the size of you, a man who had gotten 2nd spot had gotten defeated by you. The girl who had beat them all, the girl who achieved 1st easily. “Whose she?” Levi asked to Erwin who had come outside.

“That’s our new recruits, and our number one spot Y/n Y/l/n.” Hanje had instantly come over asking if you were some sort of god. You made friends with her quickly, but Levi had kept an eye on you after that moment. He knew as soon as he saw you kill three titans on your own that you were going to be in his squad, you would be his second in command.

You had grown closer to Levi over the years, he trusted you as much as he trusted Hanje, maybe even more. You heard his life story, talked to him about your problems and issues, your life and most of all. You both knew what the priorities were, and it was to kill titans. But here you were the years of loving a man who didn’t even glance at you twice.

The man kept speaking and rambling, Levi had lost concentration on the man. He looked at your facial features, the way your eyebrows knitted every time devil was brought up. Or how your y/e/c eyes had murder rushing through the pupils, he saw the years that had taken a toll on you. But all he could see was the girl who had broken the nose of a man twice her size. He smiled before looking down just as you looked at him.

His hair covered his smile and soft eyes he had just had for you, even after all these years you had stuck by him. You had been there through it all, every decision you had been with him to make. As long as you were alive then he knew you’d both win against the Marleyans who were the true enemies of the Eldians.

Loud roars made you both get out of your thoughts of each other, the speech had ended and you both had left. The whole point having been to listen in but instead you both had ignored it all. “Do you remember what it was about?” You question.

“I was thinking about other stuff.” He doesn’t continue not elaborating on the other stuff, most likely of a plan that he and Hanje would have to think up.

He takes you down an alleyway, the opposite direction of where you were staying, “are we not going back?”

He was in front dragging you along by the hand, he looked back to you, something different in his grey eyes. His mouth was almost in a smile as he continued to drag you along, in those second she had looked back to see you he had seen warmth.

“I overheard one of them say that another event was occurring.” Of course it was about the mission, you didn’t speak just following along.

The alley led way and you were in an open area; you saw the streets filled with merchants and businessmen. Noticing a tower you see it to be a watch tower, it looked beautiful, maybe there was some pretty stuff in this hell hole. Levi watched your eyes skim through ever intricate detail of the building. Seeing people go up and down it he took a note of where it was and how easily it would be to get inside after dark.

The event was another propaganda event, people cheered at the hatred of the Eldians, even throwing bottles of alcohol at some Marleyan children who had come back from war. You looked at them, they had something to them, one stared directly in your eyes. You dismisses the blond boy and his group of friends, listening to the speeches.

Hanje had told you and Levi to go to as many of these events as you could, just to hear the hatred. It felt like a stab in the neck listening to the many speeches, but both you and Levi had gotten distracted by each other.

Your soft fingers had been entangled in his own for hours now, your thumb occasionally rubbing up and down his finger. He hadn’t felt this type of love in years and it was coming from you, the only woman who could handle and stick by him.

You both were at the final event ready to hear the countless indoctrination to what felt like the one hundredth time today. You felt a wandering hand touch your other arm, it instantly made you flinch, making Levi look at you. He noticed the Marleyan man behind you, his hand moving closer and closer to your body.

You were at the back luckily if you started something nobody would notice. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go get a drink.”

His voice filled you with disgust, you were ready to knock him unconscious before you heard Levi speak, “she’s with me.” It was with an unamused tone and he didn’t give the man a second glance.

“What’s a pretty woman like you doing with a shortcake like him? I’ll show you what its like to be with a real man.” You gave the same look Levi had given, you had to give it to the man, the nickname was funny. You looked at Levi, waiting for a sign for you to kill the man.

“Let’s move this somewhere else.” Is all Levi said, taking your hand, the man followed stupidly. He took you to the alleyway, looking at you with no emotion.

“You want to give me and your girl some alone time.” You looked at disgust at how he was about to reach for your arm, just as he skimmed his touch against your bare skin. Levi stood between the two of you. “Move it.”

Levi didn’t speak, staying in the spot in front of you, “I said fucking move boy.”

“Let me do it.” You whined out knowing Levi was going to punch him.

Levi ignored your childish moan to have some action and instead punched him square in the nose. He really was humanity’s strongest solider, with that one punch the man was down. “He’s not dead, is he?” You question kicking the corpse.

“Come on, don’t touch it.” He says grabbing your hand, you oblige, rubbing circles around the bruises knuckles. He watched you bring comfort through the pain; the man had had such rough face that it felt like punching a titan.

He didn’t need to have punched him; he could have left you to do what you wanted. But he had touched you, he had tried to make a move on what was his. You may have not known it, but nobody touches what he owns. Nobody touches what was his.

The night had fallen, the stars dancing through the blues and blacks of the sky. You looked up seeing the beauty of the stars whilst Levi looked at you noticing the beauty that you had. You were about to walk in the direction of the street your accommodation was, but Levi stood still.

“Close your eyes.” You looked at him in confusion. “Just do it, you damn brat.”

You laughed at the word before closing your eyes, you felt his hand move to your shoulder and elbow. Directing you past the people, you could hear mumbling, but you trusted the man to not lead you into a wall or the river for that matter.

He let go feeling like it was your cue to open your eyes, he quickly put his hand around your face. He could feel your eyelashes brush against his palms, “I didn’t say you could open them.”

“Sorry Levi.” You mutter, he loved hearing the way you said his name, it was enchanting and almost seductive. He let go of your face, you missed his touch, as you stood with the wind blowing through you. You undid your hair tie letting your hair cascade onto you whilst you waited.

You heard something being broken almost like someone kicked it. He takes your hand whilst you keep a tight grip on and start walking you with him. Your hand brushed against the cold brick, Levi keeping a hold of you making sure you didn’t fall.

The air hit you again, it moved through your hair, Levi admired how beautiful you looked up in the air, the dark sky up for you both to see. “Can I open my eyes now?” You give a soft chuckle.

“Yeah.” He speaks, your eyes adjust to light coming from the moon.

Joy, happiness every emotion of love was felt through you, you turned to look around the watch tower you had been looking at a mere hours ago. “You noticed.” It was a whisper hesitant that he might have just liked it himself.

He leant against the cobble and brick, his gaze flicking between your face specially your eyes and to where you were looking. “I always notice you, Y/n.”

Your heart panged, he started to walk towards you, your back against the brick, the sky in your eyeline. “It’s amazing.” You whisper.

“You always did love the sky.” He mutters it, enforcing the idea that he had always paid attention to you. He knew everything about you even if you didn’t blatantly tell him.

“I…” You didn’t know what to say, instead trailing off, he had gotten closer to you, he undid the first couple of buttons to feel the air that blown through your hair.

You looked up to the sky, not meeting his ever-growing gaze, “look at me.”

“Yes sir.” The sir seemed ever more sexual than usual and you looked him dead in the eyes, his gaze flicking to your lips and eyes.

“Since the first day I met you, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” It was out of character for the emotionless captain, but your eyes had become soft at his confession.

“Re…really?”

He looks to meet your eyes directly, “I love you.”

It was the three words you needed to here to grab his hair, pulling him towards you. It was messy, lips smashing together, teeth to teeth, it was long awaited and needed. He grabbed your waist bringing you closer to his body, rubbing circles around your sides. A soft moan came from your mouth, it was heaven to his ears, you had imagined kissing Levi in every possible scenario. But this, this was something new and unexpected and here you were kissing the man who you had longed for.

The man who you had spent countless nights dreaming of the man who had saved you countless times. Who had held you in the air past the titans so you could leave the final blow.

His hair wrapped between your fingers, his tongue guiding your own. Soft moans and grunts coming from the tower, it was he start of something in a place that was filled with hell. But he had finally accepted that he didn’t just like you, he needed to protect you. Needed to make you know he loved you, make you know that after all these years the only person he had ever seen was you.

i’d really appreciate if you guys could leave a like, reblog or comment, thanks x

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[jjkpls]

set your world alight (m)

genre : fluff, smut, tiny lil bit of angst

pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

word count : 24k (eye-)

warnings/content : mentions of bruises, mature language, long haired jaykay, awkwardness & cutesy overload, clumsy frustrating idiot(s), bratty reader, explicit sexual content (fingering, handjob, protected penetrative sex), HARRYPOTTER!AU (i cant believe i forgot to precise that in the teasers), jeon as charlie weasley, pretty much.

Jeon Jungkook is a mystery. Master of dragons. Long dark locks hiding a face most have never seen. Skin covered in scars. A brave, unpenetrable, curious being that you don’t know much about for, the very few times you’ve seen him in your life, you didn’t dare talk to him. Of course, you’d have the fatest crush on him.

“If we add roses instead of eucalyptus, wouldn't it turn into a love potion?”

You could have predicted it. If you were to have spent your evening scribbling the course that this morning, with the introducing of a new potion to your year 6 class, would take, solely based on intuition and experience, you would have gotten it right. Down to who's asking the question. 

“No, it won’t.”

“Are you sure?”

Are you? After having spent your whole schooling career in Hogwarts, having studied the art of potion-making for five years filled with internships in the four corners of this Earth, in the greatest House of Potions there are, are you sure?

You could say all that. You could even tell to this annoying Gryffindor to shut the hell up because everyone, and you first, can’t stand to hear her voice anymore, interrupting constantly every lesson either with pointless questions or with obnoxious jabber.

But you don’t. Obviously, you don’t. 

“For now, let’s just focus on learning what the actual recipe is. We’ll worry about interchanging ingredients later.”

Which is almost a lie. You won’t ever do that with them. You have your tight program, with a limited amount of recipes, that you’re supposed to go through with them. And creating new potions, or adapting already existing one to discover new effects are not on the plan. Not with Mrs Umbridge watching closely over every Hogwarts teachers' shoulders. 

If they ever still find themselves obsessed with their dating life and enlarged pores once they'll be done with school, they will worry, on their very own, about creating the magic juices and ointments they need -given their lack of attention, investment and overall talent, you do sincerely hope they drop it because the results might lead to catastrophes but that's beside the point. 

Miss Gryffindor sighs loudly. Turning slightly on her chair to roll her eyes to her friends, who snicker along, they’re whispering Merlin knows what about you and you’re just left there, trying to find your way back to the lesson without losing too much of your composure. 

It doesn’t take you so much effort because unfortunately you are used to this. This class of Gryffindor is terrible. In your couple of years of teaching, you’ve never fallen upon a class filled with so many disinterested, awfully rude teenagers. Naively, when you just walked out of Hogwarts yourself almost ten years ago, when you were wondering with a certain dreadful desperation, what path to head for, you had finally chosen the teaching one, believing that by the time you’ll become a teacher, you’ll be old enough and teenagers would stop being scary by then, you might even grow a little fond of them, embodiment of a something long time gone, of nostalgia. 

You were wrong. At twenty-six, you still feel like a barely done with teenagehood human, hardly an adult yet. The weapons you thought you’d gather along the way didn’t appear in your robe’s pockets as you thought they would. 

Instead, you only have one, effective on an immediate use, but pretty useless on the long run: a monk’s patience. 

You can ignore them. When they’re being so aggravating, you consider sometimes taking a hundred points away from their house -but you don’t because you’ll have to justify to the very biased Head of Gryffindor and fucking Umbridge-, you can ignore them. It’s the most effective way to react as it doesn’t feed them much, they just get annoyed with your unresponsiveness and decide to contain their disruption between themselves. The thing is, the steam has to blow some way, somehow. It’s fine when you can wake up early and spend an hour or so meditating, to gather all of your monk's potential, or if you ever have a Draught of Peace laying around, that can help too. 

These days, it’s just harder to meditate, to try and keep your mind light, unbothered and calmly content.

So much harder that by the end of the class, only fifteen minutes left, you snap and end up taking off ten points from Gryffindors. 

There’s a lot of whining, of strident eruptions of indignation, however, you’re smart enough to do it the moment you’re dismissing your class and they have to leave, sulking and hating you with a passion, for their next lesson. 

“What have you done?” It’s Taehyung asking. He has a little alarmed look shading his abnormally handsome face, but a tiny little tremble of the corner of his mouth gives him away. 

“Ten points.” You state with a bored raised of your eyebrows. What a bunch of babies. 

“You suck. They’re going to hate me too, now.”

Which is not true. Immature profiles like them would tend to hate a teacher simply by association -it is to say that Taehyung is well known to be always stuck to your shoes, you grew up together anyway- but they would never Taehyung. He’s too handsome, has a voice way too sultry, too much charisma for anyone to hate him, especially his students. They can't stand his lessons though. He’s the worst option for a History of Magic teacher. He is passionate about his studies, really really passionate. Therefore his classes, in summarise, turn into him ranting non-stop, jumping from the main point to tiny insignificant streams made of pointless anecdotes that leave his students lost and confused, holes in their parchments, hands burning from their poor attempt at trying to take notes. His classes are Hell, made of boredom and confounding. The only upside being that he’s very nice to look at. He’s like an ancient mage stuck inside an elf body. 

“Do you know how many times this year I’ve had to tell them that ‘no, this potion that has nothing to do with a love potion can’t be turned into one’? Why do I have to deal with their hormones all the time, seriously?”

“You mean, on top of yours?” It freezes you on the spot You could have heard that coming, with the big old ton-heavy boots. You don’t bother looking up from your papers you are reorganising. It’s pointless because you already know what you’d see. The smart ass’s shit-eating grin, singularly square at the edges, with the mischievous squinted eyes and subjective dance of the eyebrows. 

“Shut up.”

“I can’t. I know you love talking about him since you don’t talk to him.”

The shame is burning the back of your neck. It’s climbing up your cheeks, taking over your ears in the process. If there’s one person who does wonders at not-making-you-feel-like-an-adult, it’s Kim Taehyung. Because of course he saw you grow up, and of course, he’s noticed that the timid, coward of a little Ravenclaw you used to be, hasn’t changed one bit.

“You’re so mean.”

“Am not too.” He giggles as he leaps from the front table he had been sitting on to your desk, where he takes a seat, not caring about your quill holder that he knocks down. “You’re never going to try?” 

“I don’t know, Tae.”

“He doesn’t look mean. A bit gruff but I guess that’s what living like a wild creature surrounded by the wildest creatures makes you look like.” 

You hum non-committally. You have come to the same conclusion already. But you hate the idea that you could be right because it gives you one less reason to not dare approach him. “He must be nice.”

“He must?” You cackle a bit. He doesn’t even sound so sure of this statement. Taehyung smiles along, shrugging with a tilt of his head. 

“Well, I don’t know. But you have to talk to him. Soon he’ll be portkeying back to his Transylvania-“

“Romania.”

“-you won’t see him ever again. And also, seriously, it’s been like, what, three months since he’s back?”

“Actually, it’s been barely a month.” The idiot is pretending, with a grandiloquent theatrical performance, that he doesn’t believe you, that somehow you’re trying to deceive him. And it’s ridiculous because no matter how dramatic he always aims to be, no matter how long indeed this whole pinning over the pretty guy without having the courage to act on your feelings has been lasting, it still has not been three months. It’s been three weeks and four days, not that you're counting. 

He arrived on a rainy Friday morning, you remember it well because the wet weather agitated the frogs an awful lot and you ended up spending your ten minutes of break between two classes, on all fours, crawling along the hallways of Hogwarts to try and retrieve three escapees. 

A real joy. 

Especially when he appeared at the end of the hallway. Soaked to the bones but not seemingly caring, as opposed to Mr Filch who seemed even angrier than he usually does. You barely recognised him, from so far, looking up from the ground, with the hood of his heavy coat low above his eyes, nothing peculiar in his appearance that would give him away, not a word uttered that could have helped. Until he turned the corner of the hallway, and the emblem of this foreign school of wizardry appeared. With the purple embroidery contouring the white seagull, it just clicked. You remembered the rumours spreading wildly, excitedly around the castle, that despite the very vindicative Mrs Umbridge's opinion, dragons would be introduced this year to the course of Care for the Magical Creatures and real dragons, seen by their master, would be flying to you and inhabit the grounds of Hogwarts for this semester.

And of course, it would be him. With his impressive resume, or that unauthorised biography written about him by that one stingy journalist singing his lauds that you could read anywhere -there was even a version, presented as fiction, that’s been published in the muggle world- and also, his first and last visit to Hogwarts, two years ago, for the Triwizard Tournament when he proved his talent and bravery in front of all by forcefully regaining control over a Horntail that was just about to chew a few students’ heads off after having eluded his chains -and conveniently, it's also the same time when you fell head over heels for the stranger. 

It was ridiculous because you never talked to the guy. But two years later, just his silhouette and the bouncing of his heavy head of curls you have to come to the shameful acknowledgement that your heart hasn’t gotten over the crush. 

It’s ridiculous. 

It precisely why you shouldn’t have talked about it to anyone. It’s just too hard to keep anything from Kim Taehyung though. Even if your life would have been so much easier if you’d only have to listen to your own nagging about this and not his. 

“You’re going to end up as a crazy old spinster if you keep acting like that.”

“And you’re going to be late for your class if you keep on bothering me.”

“I don’t have a class.” Taehyung stares, dubiously. Now that you don’t have to face head-on your shame, attention slightly steered away from your useless self, you can stare back, glare even, as you challenge him with a raised eyebrow. 

“You do.”

You relish in the sickly white suddenly brushing all over his face. He curses under his breath, grabbing his briefcase with one of his gigantic hands, before he’s flying out of your classroom. 

Quite frankly, you’re not sure if he does have a class at the moment. You do know for a fact that he doesn’t know either because strangely enough, for a teacher whose whole subject depends on memory and a good one at that, he’s never been able to memorise his planning. 

An easy escape you’ve come up with. 

Everyone needs those. 

Especially whoever’s having their ears talked off by the crazy old howl, Umbridge, down the corridor. You can hear her from your room, even with the door almost shut close. Her whole monologue is hard to decipher. You do hear that it has something to do with “her disapproval” and someone else's “irresponsibility” and “pure lunacy”.

By curiosity, you lean your head through the thin entrance your door is offering, picking discreetly to see who the victim is. 

It's the guy. Jeon Jungkook. Standing with his feet pointing away from Umbridge, hands tucked deep in the pockets of a thick winter vest, you can’t see half of his face because of his hair, as always sitting low down his forehead, but you can tell from the thin line of his mouth, his tensed shoulders and something else, maybe his aura, so loudly screeching annoyance, that he's not having a good time. 

It’s him. And for some reason, for the first time ever, you recall words Taehyung has said to you, loud and clear and pressing and inspiring. You don’t want to become a “crazy old spinster”. Therefore you decide to become a crazy something else you don’t bother to identify right this second.

“Oh, Mrs Umbridge!”

“Miss ___, as you can see, I am already-“

“Oh!” The loud gasp, hand clasping on your gaping mouth, wide eyes completing the look. You can’t find the courage to turn to him to reinforce -in case it wasn’t clear enough- that you just, now that she mentioned it, realise the man was here.

Mrs Umbridge has this quality to her. You find her so awfully ridiculous that you turn yourself in a clown, subtly mocking her -though you don’t think she fathoms it since you’ve always acted this way around her- each time you share any kind of conversation.

It can work and you can go along with your usual antics only if you forget the obnoxiously troubling presence of the dragon master.

“I am so deeply embarrassed, I didn’t realise. I’m not wearing my glasses, I’m an incorrigible mole without them.”

“Is that so?” From above the frame of her pink glasses, her beady eyes scrutinize. “You should wear them on your nose then, Miss ___. Now, if you will-“

“I’m sorry, I needed- It’s very important.” You cut her off with such speed and enthusiasm, you know she can't shut you off. “After discussing with my students about the program, I thought about something. Maybe I could introduce a new-“ “Miss ___!” She screeches, the triggering words -”introduce” and “new”- having hit perfectly right. “The program, as you owe to know, has been carefully crafted by the great Minister for Magic and doesn’t need for an airheaded little teacher like you to add any changes to it.”

“Oh yes, of course, how could I forget?”

“It is bad enough as it is that this foolish Hagrid has been able to convince my confreres of bringing a useless study on the most dangerous creatures there is-“ She pointedly glare from the corner of her eyes to the man who remains silent and immobile. His hands haven’t moved from the depth of his pockets, you can’t see his eyes even up close, because the curtain of dark curls hiding them is even thicker than it looked like from the other end of the hallway. He doesn’t seem particularly bothered. You wonder if he’s even listening. Barely swinging on his long legs, waiting for his presence to be dismissed it seems.

“Dragons are quite interesting creatures. I suppose that’s why they were added to the program. The Ministry for Magic must have thought so too since they voted...”

She gnarls at that. She tries to be discreet, conceals a bit of her spite but there’s no doubt in your mind that her mouth's just filled up with a distasteful repellent aftertaste.

Since the main goal was to distract her from him and free him from her claws, you start again with the suggestions for a revised scholar program. Her cheeks grow pinker than her jacket, her eyes start reflecting a fire alike the ones from Hell, her usually perfectly well-combed hair releases a few angry frizzes. She’s beyond herself and without letting you finish your little act, she’s going over all the things that are so wrong about you, about Hogwarts teachers in general, about young people and their disrespectful tendency to want to add their little spice to every tea.

You take the nagging like a champ. Because you’re used to it and to be perfectly fair, you’ve mastered a certain state of meditation whenever she’s coming your way with some complaining.

None of her words successfully reach you to stick around.

She holds strong for a good, fat fifteen minutes. At some point, you even worry that this time, her pit of nonsensical arguments won’t ever show a bottom. Until it does.

She looks all dishevelled from her heated argument. The hair worsened, with now drops of perspiration shining on her forehead. The mean beady eyes are dull, exhausted from the fight as she contemplates the void between you and the man. With a last dismissive wave of her hand, she leaves, stumbling on top of her lacquered Fuschia heels.

How can someone work themselves up so badly with so little provocation -and no further response too?

It leaves you alone with the dragon master and only now, even though you had plenty of time to take in this present, you realise how inconvenient for your coward self the predicament is. You are meant to talk to him now, aren’t you? Maybe the same question raises in his mind however he certainly doesn’t reach the same conclusion. Deeming it unnecessary, he turns his back to you and heads down the hall without much of a look spared to you. Maybe he did check, through or maybe under the impenetrable curtain of hair, for the identity of the idiot that thought he needed help to escape the annoying old owl but you wouldn’t know.

Watching in pure despair, your heart prickling uncomfortably in your bosom, you wonder if you somehow upset him. He did look irked from what you could tell. Anyone else, anyone less grumpy, anyone feeling anything but discomfort or discontent would have said something, wouldn’t they?

That’s what you explain to Kim Taehyung. Emphasising on the fact that you did try to approach the guy. You did. You created the situation, you faced him fully, you did miss the moment when you were probably supposed to say something to him but he left, too soon, and clearly is not interested in getting to know you, and whatever, you’re fine with that you just want your friend to note and remember for later reference that you did try this time.

Taehyung who’s never keen on trusting your words, no matter the fact that you’ve never lied to him -or maybe just a few times so he would leave you alone, but nothing major really- decides that you are wrong. That somehow you misinterpreted the whole thing and surely you need to hop back on the horse and try, again, maybe this time more vindictively.

It takes quite a couple of days for him to convince you. You’re not sure how. It might be from exhaustion, it might come from those three too many butterbeers you drank even though you didn’t remember ordering, back when you were gloomily celebrating your never-ending celibacy in Jjang Jjang -the magical bar held by your friend, Min Yoongi, in the far end of Hogsmead.

You promise that if an opportunity appears to be showing the very tip of its nose, if the universe is kind -and delusional- enough to gift you another chance, then you would try.

It’s funny how the laws of attraction work. Or rather, probably more accurately, it’s funny how Taehyung can be so shameless and volunteer when he has his mind set on something. He has no problem manipulating people and situations as if the universe is his and he decides whatever happens to the little pawns inhabiting it.

A week later, when he, the dragon master, is the curious apparition manifesting itself in front of you when you open the door to let your class free, it doesn’t fall into place right away.

It’s a strange coincidence. Maybe he messed up and meant to find another classroom, any other classroom but yours. He doesn’t budge when he sees you, doesn’t seem startled by your presence. He only takes a step to the side once he realises that a wave of hurried teenagers is about to swarm him in their way out.

“Miss, are we still going to study this potion next time or will we move to something more interesting?” It’s that same Gryffindor. The same as usual. She’s just made of attitudes, eye rolls, hand on the hip and all.

“Once you’ll be able to make it without cooking a hole in your cauldron, we’ll be starting with a new one.”

You’re snarkier than usual, there’s no denying that. It’s your fifth class of the day, everyone seems to have signed an agreement on messing with your patience and he’s here, hearing and seeing an umpteenth attempt to humiliate you from this kid and you’re not having it right now, not today. She grows red on the cheeks, eyebrows frowning dangerously low, they might fall from her face when she barks, “I told you the hole was already there!”

“I understand. Next time, I’ll lend you my old cauldron so there won’t be any issue, alright?”

The angry wands she owns for eyes shoot you a good dozen of curses and she departs, with her friends, as angry as ever.

There’s a heavy silence, setting around you both, engulfing you. The wood of the walls, dark and cold, make it old the more uncomfortable until you can not take it anymore. You’re about to mumble something, maybe point out the end of the hall and suggest he tries there, to find whatever or whoever he is looking for. He beats you to it. Having reached the very limit of handling this silence at the same time as you do.

“Good morning.” He starts, clearing his throat. A husky, quiet yet somehow soft voice that he doesn’t seem to have used quite often. “Here’s the stuff for your potions.”

He holds out a strong hand to you, all veiny and sparkled with tiny bruises, a dark bag made of linen held in his fist. If he can see you, he can undoubtedly take in your confusion. You have no idea what “the stuff” is. If it’s a badly expressed thought. If he meant to say, “some stuff” for your potions. Because you’ve never asked for anything from anyone for your potions -even though, the thought crossed your mind that he, with his magical pets, must have some fantastic ingredients for your searches. You don’t know if it just comes from him. If he thought you may need it and generously prepared this for you -you doubt that one highly. The other reason, way more evident, quite obnoxiously obvious actually, that doesn’t reach your brain which is only working at a quarter of its habitual capacity given his standing here, and his smelling like woods and smoky and something subtler, you can’t pinpoint but feel addicted to as soon as it reaches your nostrils, is that someone -Taehyung- must have put him up for it. He must have gone behind your back, mumble some basic potion ingredients knowledge he owns to him and asked him to bring it to you.

“I put my Norvegian Ridgeback's scales in a separate bag because they’re very sharp -and poisonous too- so be careful when you open it.” He’s done talking, he clears his throat again, this time you’re pretty sure it’s out of discomfort as your gaping silently like a dumb fish must not be the easiest response to receive. A little inviting shake of his fist brings you to your senses, and you reach forward to grab the present. Your arm drops down from the surprising weight of the thing, fortunately, as if he expected it, he catches you before you topple over, a hand on your shoulder and the other encasing yours holding the bag, squeezing around your own as he lifts some of the weight up.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this heavy.” because you carried it like it was filled with dragons feathers instead -you mean to add.

“It’s fine.” He simply mumbles. You add your free hand to cup the underside of the thing, pressing the whole to your bosom and he lets go there, letting you step inside your room to find a place on a shelf to put it away. You probably take a second to long, your back facing him, as you stand staring at your new possession. It’s the heat remaining on the back of your hand that troubles you. As if not only have his pets decorated the top of his skin with scratches and bruises, they’ve sighed enough fire in his palms for them to forever feel this warm. And he touched you so naturally so. Pressing his large hand around yours that seemed so tiny in comparison. Probably without even acknowledging it while you are shook to your core.

This added to your confusion born from his surprise apparition, are the reasons why, as I said, your brain doesn’t reach its full capacity. Still, the idea that Taehyung is behind it all, that it can’t solely come from this man here, just won’t do in your idiotic head.

You’re enamoured, even more than before, just by a touch and by the gentleness his words hold under the tougher surface. And you decide, that if you turn around and he’s still standing there you’ll ask him out.

You do so, spiralling in slow motion, filled with apprehension. He’s here. His hands back inside the pockets of his jacket, the shadow of a sparkle coming from his eyes, under the heavy protection he’s wearing in front of them.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He’s startled at the call of his name, the top of his mop of hair bouncing slightly and you just find it adorable. Maybe he didn’t expect you to know his name, he must not even know yours. Of course, he could not have expected that you had spent way too long, two years ago, back when he came to Hogwarts for the first time and you had heard his name amid a conversation, trying it out for yourself. Not to wear it out but repeating his name to yourself, appreciating the way the syllabus formed, how they felt so well chosen for each other’s, for him, and the feeling, light heading, that it gave you to pronounce it.

“Would you like to have a drink with me? On Fridays, I like to go to my friend's bar in Hogsmead and I was wondering, maybe you’d like to come?”

More clearing of the throat. It’s stalling the delivery of his answer, you hate it and almost jump to your cooking station to sort out a quick remedy for it. Your heart is beating so furiously, you might pass out and he’s just taking his sweet time to answer. You feel the awkwardness. You don’t see it. You can’t see anything, the bottom of his face not telling any secrets on his feelings. You must look terrifying, red anywhere it’s possible for you to blush, sweating and fidgety like you’re on a Girding Potion bad trip. And he doesn’t show anything. You’d rip the hair out of his eyes if only you could. 

There’s only one telling sign that manifests in the form of his hand, slipping out of his pocket to reach for the back of his neck where it scratches for a bit. 

It’s no. It must be a “no, I’m absolutely not interested and this moment is very awkward”. 

“I have my dragons to exercise. Sorry.” 

“Oh. It’s ok.” It is not. 

You hope, with all your might, that he doesn’t notice how upset you are. Through your prickling eyes, through the trembling pout you try to hide behind a casual smile.

It is terribly not ok but fortunately, he doesn’t stick around. That’s probably the thing you’re the most thankful for at this moment, his laconic tendencies. Anyone else may have tried to say something else to make you feel better, to make you feel like the rejection isn't worth throwing you off one of Hogwarts high tour. Instead, he just quits, swiftly. Leaving you alone to compose yourself back enough to handle your very last class of the day. You manage to feel fine, sort of numbed out for long enough until you don’t have to pretend anymore and you can let all the emotions out. 

Bent over on the wooden tabletop of Yoongi’s bar, you’re crying out your whole soul, face laid in a pool of your own tears, a gentle hand petting awkwardly the top of your head. 

“I hate you Taehyung!” It hardly comes out, half mumbled, half coughed out. The hand on your hair still in the air for a second so he must have got the jest of it until it resumes to its previous activity. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d reject you.” He sighs deeply. “I didn’t even think you’d ask him out!” 

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” You rise from the depth of your despair, hidden in the centre of your crossed arms. Yoongi looks extremely distraught. Your face looks awful, you know. But seeing him this shaken upsets you even more. You feel mad and vengeful and you’d like to flood his shitty bar with your tears to teach him a lesson -you’re not sure which, maybe: don’t look so disgusted when your friends look indeed disgusting, that’s mean- but the realisation downs on you that you cried so much you don’t have any tears left. Just the rashness around your eyes and nose, no snot left because Yoongi had maternally cleaned it for you, tiny pathetic sniffling around nothing but heartbreak now. 

“He sent him to me!” You bark, punching Taehyung in the shoulder, not caring the least that half of his drink gets spilt everywhere. 

“You didn’t have to just ask him out! You could have just, I don’t know (he pretends to think deeply, the tip of his fingers tapping lightly his chin), talk to him! Like a normal person that’s never spoken to him would have done.”

You gasp, eyes burning with fire. “Yoongi, he called me a freak!”

“When have I ever-“

“Normal people, my ass!” You continue, sort of having a lone conversation parallel to theirs. “What do you know about normal people, you fucking Grindylow.” You swallow down your fourth butterbeer, one furious finger indicating Yoongi that you need another one. Taehyung is just rolling his eyes, not taking offence of the nonsensical insult. “I hate you so much, Merlin, how am I supposed to face him again?”

“You do like everyone else’s does. Just start hating him until you don’t care anymore.”

“People do that?” Yoongi asks curiously. He’s slid you a new pint, filled to the brim. 

“I know I do.” You slap the back of his arm there, without giving him any explanation, just because you’re sure he’s bullshitting you -the guy surely never has been rejected. 

“Doesn’t matter. How could I ever hate him anyway?” A lone survivor tear falls from your lashes into the calm, quiet amber lake topping your glass. It doesn’t hit you there that there’s no foam. Yoongi watches you carefully, one of his hand is patting your forearm. 

“Is he really that great?” Taehyung just shrugs. He’s such a dimwit. You nod, heart growing big with sadness before it breathes it out, turning into a tiny, squeezed on itself pained creature. You leave the conversation then. Simply trying to rest with your hurting bosom. It needs nurturing and a benevolent yet firm healing hand to tell it to rest for a bit, and stop overreacting. 

[“What's he like?” Yoongi asks directly to Taehyung as he can see, clearly, that you’re not here anymore, for now.

“He’s... uh...” Taehyung starts with very flimsy conviction. “He’s into dragons.” More shrugging.]

Honestly, you might be exaggerating. You do not know much about him. Most of what you believe to know, assumed by what little you do know about him. You believe he is nice and sensible, from the way he treats his animals and the way they treat him. 

[“Oh. Holy Dumbledore!”

“Stop saying that! I told you it’s fucking disrespectful.”]

You’ve seen how much respect and trust lay between them. It’s blatant. And to create this kind of relationship with some of the fiercest creatures in the magical world, he must be something else, something exceptional. 

[“It’s him. It’s fucking him!”]

And you read about him, a lot, the two books he wrote solely about his creatures. They don’t directly tell much about him but indirectly, they hint his humility and humbleness. It’s not like that stupid Gilderoy Lockhart and his autobiographies on magical creatures. And there are the numerous articles that were written about him and his exploits and alleged character.

[“You’re lying.”

“I’m not!”

Sharp short nails are jabbing annoyingly in the skin of your forearm. It’s Taehyung, of course, he never stops bugging you. It’s his second passion after the soporific subject he’s decided to teach. You close your eyes, frowning a bit because he won’t stop, trying to annihilate him from your existence, to annihilate yourself from it too.]

Simple, humble, smart and strong. Passionate, sensible and a beautiful set of thick dark locks you want to slip your fingers through as the cherry on top. 

“It’s apple juice!” You screech in disgust, pushing your fake butterbeer far away from you. The hocus-pocus, if it irritates you, at least brings you back to earth, and back to the noisy bar. Min Yoongi mouths something about you having drunk enough but his attention is elsewhere, along with Taehyung's. 

“Oh, Merlin's beard.”

Of course, he would be there. He’s been back to Hogwarts for over a month now, you’ve never seen him around here, but of course, the day he rejects you, he has to come to your retreat, and witness the mess he's made of you. What kind of sick joke from the stars is that?

“Holy shit. Isn’t he a bit much for you?”

You know exactly what the barman means. It makes you blush slightly under the tipsy flushing already adorning your cheeks. 

If Jeon Jungkook may or may not be made of all the qualities you’ve named for him -with or without reasons-, he has some very visible, very obnoxious other qualities to him. Qualities that you’re not proud of pining over because it makes you feel shallow and superficial. The expression on Yoongi's face makes it feel better though. Justified. As if, well, here they are, you can’t deny it. And since you like his imaginary personality, you might as well like the body imaginarily hosting it. 

Jeon Jungkook is tall as a tree and as strong as one. It’s hard to tell, from here, with the layers of clothes he’s wearing on his back to protect himself from the cold, to what extent he fills them but it’s obvious he’s broad, wide. He walks with strong determined steps, with his fists tight to his sides, as tight as his jaw, square, sharp. 

He’s big. Both in appearance and aura and you can understand how Yoongi wonders if he’s not “a bit much” for you. 

“Don’t call him over!” You whisper-yell, digging your nails in the tender skin of Taehyung’s forearm. He whines, curses and tries to let himself free while telling you that of course, he’s not that dumb, he won’t. He doesn’t need to, anyway, because the guy, after seemingly exploring with his gaze the bar, sets his aim on your table, slowly starting to make his way towards you. 

“He’s coming.” Taehyung mumbles, bewildered. 

You are too. Could it be you misunderstood earlier when he said he couldn’t come because he’d be “exercising his dragons”? It can’t possibly be true. You don’t even know what the heck is up with this excuse. Because it can’t have been anything more than an excuse. Since when do dragons need to be exercised and by a wizard at that?

And now he is here. 

Literally, he’s standing right in front of your table, a hand reaching for the back of the empty chair, next to yours, but stops mid-track and backs away to his side. 

“Hi. Do you mind if I sit here ?”

You can feel, physically, the two heavy heads of your friends, turning slowly on their necks towards you, like an idiotic audience, not wanting to miss one beat of the drama playing for them. 

There’s a little snappy answer that rises to the back of your throat. Something inspired by what Taehyung said earlier, about hating him. You almost tell him aloud that he can do whatever he wants, that you don’t own this fucking chair.

Jeon Jungkook is still raspy but soft voice. With his bruised hand with the fingers red from the cold, not assertive and confident enough to dare grab the chair yet and you can’t do much but nod your head, swiftly sliding your own chair to the side to draw a little distance between you. 

It takes forever for the initial tension to drop a little bit. You can’t say anything, Taehyung the chatterbox can’t either, Jungkook probably feels too awkward by your behaviours to find a casual way to start the conversation. It’s Yoongi who realises the successful start. By doing what he does best, serving your new guest the best butterbeer there is in Hogsmead (Yoongi would say that it’s the best in the world, both magical and muggle, but given he hasn’t stepped two feet outside of this village for the past two decades, you wouldn’t give him that).

“My name’s Jungkook, by the way.” He starts quietly, in the direction of Yoongi. The latter nods and smiles a bit too eagerly. He tries to be natural, you can tell. And fail miserably, you must add. 

“I’m Min Yoongi. Welcome to Jjang Jjang!” Taehyung cringes visibly. Yoongi leans further, towards yours and Jungkooks side of the table, wanting to ignore at best the unhelpful clown beside him. “You must already know...” With a vague hand gesture, he points Taehyung and you. It makes you want to die, the idea that he knows your name, he knows you. You’re unsure what’s going on. Why he’s here, where this will lead. But it would all feel infinitely better if you knew that somehow, he didn’t know anything about you. It’s hard to remember people without their name. It’s the first thing you learn about someone, really, like a tag they’re wearing on their foreheads and when recalling about them, ever, consciously or not, the name comes always. He knows yours so he won't forget you.

It takes all of you a short eternity to warm up to each other. The bar is still noisy, with its occasional rough burst of laughter from the tough-looking wizards, maybe missionaries, the high giggles of a group of Hogwarts 7th year students hidden in a corner. You’re all nurturing your drinks, even you with your stupid apple juice and the unease is even louder, the silence deafening in the middle of the concert of voices and shatters of glasses. 

Until Taehyung says something weird, “So you like dragons, uh?” You don't understand why he persists on making it sound weird, like he's romantically interested in them. 

You hit him under the table, a good kick to the kneecap but it’s clear to everyone that his yelp comes from you. That makes Jungkook laughs. 

He pretty much giggles, sounding like a boy, head tilted down forward with his locks sadly hiding his smile. 

“Yeah, you could say that.” He finally answers, clearing his throat, words coming out sweet and sheepish-like, as if he’s embarrassed from having been caught laughing.

“Oh, that explains this.” Yoongi says, pointing at his skin and the numerous bruises orning it. You’ve never hit Min Yoongi because 1) he’s older than you, 2) he’s a tiny little thing that you’re scared to hurt but you are this close, the width of a hair away, from throwing your foot up again and hit him in the junk. For a second, Jungkook seems awkward. Staring himself at his hands, one sliding over the other, the tip of his thumb grazing with insistence on a deep scar. Until he raises his head again, you assume to let his eyes go over your faces, studying them silently and something he sees there, maybe innocent benevolence -even if Yoongi's comment was lowkey inappropriate, he didn’t mean any ill- and something else, childish excitement probably suffice to relax him. Letting his hands be, one wrap around his pint, the other flat on the tabletop, tip of his fingers drumming quietly every now and then, out in the open for anyone who'd like to to see. 

“They tend to be a bit playful.” He says this with a sly smile raising the corner of his mouth. Something ridiculously sexy that makes you choke on your fake beer and back away from him even more. You shouldn’t raise an arm to plant your elbow into the table, as a sort of shield between you two, because it’s rude and lame, but you do it anyway. Because it’s all a lot. 

He's a lot.

Yoongi, probably, knows you better than you could ever imagine. Seeing right through you, added to the statement he raised earlier -and maybe he was right, maybe he's a whole lot, and a whole lot too much for you-, he reconsiders forbidding you from consuming any more alcohol. Kindly, he manifests a glass of sparkling juice, right in front of you. It's a light peach colour, from the first sniff of the aroma, you can tell it won't knock you unconscious any time soon. It's more sugar than alcohol but at least, it succeeds to soothe the harsh edges of your nerves. Because your nerves are on the verge of a fucking spontaneous combustion.

"Hey! Why does she get another one?" Since earlier, Taehyung, too, has been switched to a strictly non-alcoholic beverages diet. He's not happy about it but you understand easily Yoongi's train of thought. You need to relax so you deserve a little something -especially given the fact that Jeon Jungkook's appearance had you almost entirely sobered up-, while Taehyung's stupid mouth is way too loose and needs to be fed something soft and safe.

"Because he likes me and he hates you." You mutter, not daring to look up from your glass by fear of coming across your neighbour's attention. Your comment is well received though. You allow yourself to joke like that because everyone, Taehyung included, knows that Kim Taehyung is everyone's favourite. No matter the competition. No one can hate him, even when he's boring as hell, even when he's too loud, too nosy, dumb or annoying. He knows it as well as you do and each time you throw one of these snarky taunts, a glint of amusement sparkles his almond eyes and he loves to act all hurt and offended. 

He turns all gasps and bombastic hand movements, claiming unfairness, misery. You start nagging back at him, adding more about how dumb he sounds and stupid he looks, while he counteracts with more dramatic appalled cries, as Yoongi just shrinks onto himself, shaking his head in disconcertment -even though, he's too used to your antics to be any surprised nor confused. 

You're so caught up in your childish bickerings that slowly, only you two, and the amusement you're trying to contain in your stomach, matter and exist. Jeon Jungkook disappearing entirely. It has your voice turn louder, mimicking Taehyung's, your insults getting bolder, your face raises as you squint your eyes menacingly at your friend.

It's once Taehyung grabs the wand from his pocket and aims it at you, threatening to turn you into a pile of ghoul's shit if you won't shut up, that he's reminded to you.

The giggles, like earlier. Boyish and rusty, uncommon, that can only be his, ring and bless your right ear. It has you shut up instantly. Startled, you stare at him, only for a soft smile to grow on your lips, fond as you are to see him laugh like that, because of you. 

You must look stupid as your eyes jump to Taehyung, silently begging him to acknowledge the wonder taking place just next to you, too giddy, too excited, too blushy to be part of it. He just grins back at you, nods his head even though you're not exactly sure at what, one of his elbows poking Yoongi's side.

"How long have you two been friends ?" He asks once he's managed to calm down his fit with a bite on his lower lip. Your heart is running a marathon and you're not sure for how long it'll keep holding up, you might need to focus all of your energy on the course, on not breaking a leg or pass out in the middle of the run, but you refuse, because he's talked to you again, because your best friends are accessorily here to help out, ease a bit of the burden of having to face the terrifying idea of being rejected (again), of failing at being good enough, somehow, to a guy you don't know much but like a lot.

Therefore you answer, aiming a joking dark glare at Taehyung because it helps to look at him, "Too long." Jungkook sniggers at the answer as Taehyung slips his ugly tongue out to you.

Somehow the tension diffuses itself. As if now that all of you had placed a word in the conversation, played somehow a role in it, it feels better, the ice has been melted and you can all, finally, relax.

Without even realising, your elbow slips from the tabletop, you're still wary, still very much aware of him sitting so close to you but you're fine with it.

As the drinks, more or less loaded, flow, Jungkook's cheeks fill up with mountains upon mountains of the fried wonders Jjang Jjang's beloved house-elf, Seokjin, has to offer, the discussion runs smoothly, tongues untied and excited.

It starts with Taehyung telling a very inaccurate version of your first meeting and blooming of this decades-old friendship (you add now and then, when the exaggerations and blatant lies get too much, little modifications to the tale that have Jungkook snigger and nod his head discreetly to you in secret confidence). It continues with Jungkook, pressured by a very adamant audience (which you are not part of, even if you are probably the most interested in the topic, in any topic that would have him speak a bit more, you don't want to bother him with your curiosity which Taehyung and Yoongi do not seem the least disturbed about) telling about the couple of last years he'd spent all around the world, in the most secluded corners of Earth, where only dangerous creatures like his beloved pets live and where only the foolhardiest or most suicidal wizards dare to adventure. As you expected, he's quite humble about it. He doesn't insist on details that make your heads spin in bewilderment, shrugging his shoulders lightly when you're the one whisper-yelling that "but you could've died?!". After a lot of cooing, from all angles of the table, tiny whispers repeating some of his words like a strange echo as you all try to handle the admiration -and intoxication-, he starts feeling himself, a tiny, discreet but visible smile, slyly redrawing the corner of his mouth. He shrugs a little less, nods his head firmly a little more, voice louder and more confident, shaping in the full form it's able to take.

He sounds lovely when he doesn't care anymore. When he feels unrestrained, comfortable and easy-going. He laughs a lot, you notice. It colours almost every single one of yours and your friends' comments, and maybe the fact that you're all a bit dumbed by shock and interest and starstruck and tipsiness makes it so that they're pretty ridiculous, hence him laughing so much. It's not so much that you're all hilarious, rather than you all being pretty stupid but it doesn't matter. You note how easy his laughter, that you couldn't even picture before hearing it for yourself, can come out. How open he is to meddle with you.

He fits so well in your bubble. This personal place only Taehyung and Yoongi have ever been authorized to inhabit. He matches perfectly. It fills your heart and mind with so much content, you feel your cheeks hurt from smiling constantly without meaning too. It's what he does, you suppose, making you smile. And when you notice the pink tint colouring his cheeks, rounded out lovingly so by a grin, you assume he's feeling the same, enjoying his time with all of you, your heart dips in the warmest bath. 

"Dude!" For the umpteenth time, he's trying to wave himself some air with a hand. Taehyung has had enough and just slammed his fist to the table, making everything on it knock against each other, Yoongi's eyes this close to falling out of their sockets. Jungkook just giggles some more, he might be a bit tipsy. "Just tie your hair up, you're making me sweat just looking at your mop!"

"I don't even have-" Taehyung's already up from his chair, he bumps his leg in the process but pay it no attention, marching over his future victim with a little hair-tie that seemed to appear from thin air -probably did too. Jungkook is so lenient with your best friend, too lenient you'd say, you wouldn't even have it in you. When he excitedly reaches forward, his long fingers parting the dark locks in two, he's trying to tie one end into a little side ponytail. Before he's even done with the first one, you roll your eyes, knowing what he's aiming for. Of course, he wouldn't just give him a regular manbun or something.

For the first time, you meet one of Jungkook's eyes, the one uncovered thanks to Taehyung's shenanigan. It's round, dark but warm like rich chocolate, sparkling with exhilaration but concerned.

"What's he doing?" He asks you, unbeknownst to the fact that meeting half of his face for the first time, the endearing pretty thing, stole every single little last word from you. With two fists hold to the side of your head, you attempt to show him the cute girly hairstyle Taehyung has in mind. He winces at that, nose scrunching into itself so high, the round thing turns into something adorable, shaking his head to try to free himself from your friend's prying hands, a grin still on his lips.

"Stop being such a baby!" Taehyung growls, trying for a little while to keep ongoing, his hand desperately holding onto the second bunch of hair. He's soon forced to stop as the victim turns to be too unwilling. "Ok fine! You do it then!" 

It's you he is barking to. If the hair tie thrown straight in your eye is any teller. It renders you blind for a second. Until you can blink the stingy discomfort away and you’re greeted by Jungkook and his endearing face with the oh so adorable tiny tail hanging from the side of his head, observing you with great attention, single eye blinking worrisome. He looks cute, half dolled up like a girl, fearful and curious to discover how you’ll treat him. For a second, you are tempted to follow your friend's design. Because how cute would this man look with two ponytails hanging on top of his head, with maybe even tiny hair clips to perfect it all.

He’d be pissed though and wouldn’t keep it probably so what’s the point.

The real point is that you have a hair tie in your hand, fingers itching on instinct to play with the shiny raven locks and the owner of said pretty locks, silently permitting you to do just that.

Maybe Taehyung is not as dumb and as useless as you thought him to be. Your prior reflex would be to assume he didn’t even mean to create this opportunity for you. He’s just invading as a person, touchy-feely and very comfortable with anyone entering his vicinity. You do owe him more credits and you willingly give them to him for this time. Because if he didn’t intend to put your foot on the stirrup, he surely did anyway, with a natural and a smoothness you couldn’t imagine coming from him. 

Standing behind Jungkook's chair, hands hovering centimetres away, you feel so blessed, you’d jump over to Taehyung's side to snug him to your fervent heart if you didn’t have better at hand -and if the idea of actually having him this close to you did not fill you with an immense cringe.

Taehyung is watching, over the rim of his glass, with an obnoxious, kid like excited sparks burning you uncomfortably. You curse him out, soundlessly but with such great articulation, he can’t possibly miss the words.

Yoongi who watches all of it notices and understands it all as he always does even when he pretends he doesn’t, starts talking then. Something about Brazil where Jungkook had spent nine months, living alone in the wild forest of Amazonia, and about the curious plants and fruits he heard that could be found there. It’s a nice distraction. Soon Jungkook is on it again, Taehyung partakes a role in it too, leaving you alone to handle the grandiose yet terrifying fantasy that is touching and messing with Jungkook's hair.

The first ponytail comes undone easily, the hair tie simply slipping off with just the tip of your fingers to guide it.

When you timidly start, reaching with two hands to grab all of the hair from him, you feel a rush of blood to your cheeks, heart skipping beats and perspiration bubbling at your temple. Your fingers just have to graze slightly the skin of his neck, all warm and soft, you have to do it a few times even because his pretty locks are rebellious and your fingers too willing to let them run in between them, silky as they are. 

There’s a strand refusing your gentle taming, slipping from your grasp and falling in front of his eye. You go to catch it back, meeting hot fingers on his temples. Yours surrender immediately. Jungkook from the corner of his eye, over his shoulder, throw you a glance and a smile. A small one, small but fond. 

"Doesn't it get lonely?" Yoongi asks as Jungkook tucks the strand behind his ear.

"Not really. I'm used to it." He shrugs. You take your sweet, sweet time to finish the half-bun, half-tail hairdo you're working on. Somehow something lovely has settled. Something comfortable, domestic. He's not wary of your touch, letting you mess with his hair, not even flinching when, tentatively, just taking a chance, just once, the pad of your thumb stroke the hot skin of his neck. "Dragons can be very affectionate-" That makes Taehyung cackles as Yoongi gasps in disbelief. You have a hard time picturing those creatures as affectionate. Jungkook is different anyway. You need to be different to go after the path he's chosen for himself. "I swear!" Taehyung rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

"Have you considered all this time spent away from civilization turned you mad?"

The bun is done, sadly. You made it last for as long as you could but eventually, as every perfect moment, it has to come to an end. You don't even bother to hide your dread as you let your ass drop to your chair, puffing.

"Leave him alone, moron." A few peanuts to his stupid head and Taehyung stops messing with Jungkook, stops acting like he's insane and starts telling about something no one cares about -so much so, Yoongi leaves to go chat up an old goblin who's just entered the bar.

Jungkook turns to you, leaning a bit. Smiling quietly, gently. As if he doesn't realise the face he owns once his hair isn't hiding the majority of it anymore. 

It must be a joke. He must know. He must have noticed how his straight, dark eyebrows, with the cut splitting the right one in half, gives an irresistible, dark, mature shape to the roundest, sparkliest set of eyes the world has ever seen. He must know his face is a wonderful work of art, with the tiny little details, here and there, adding charms and depth and uniqueness, that only the greatest, only a special artist would know to use -like this faint scar linking a mole under his lip to the corner of his mouth, or the one craving in the top of his cheek. His colours are splendid too. While you'd always seen him with black everything, black hair, black clothes, quiet sombre aura and a tiny bit of red, you'd catch sometimes, where he'd hurt his hands. Never would have you thought, he's more harlequin than monochromatic. Golden scopes, tipsy patches of red matching the tiny pout he owns for a mouth, eyes not dark but the richest shade of chocolate.

"You," Jungkook starts in a whisper, now so close you have a whiff of his smell, torturous scent of pinewood, of soot, and something else, more natural, sweat most definitely but turns out to be the better element of the mixture, suave, awfully addictive. "you believe me, don't you?" You need a full minute to get your brain's vessels to connect. A full minute during which you have no idea what the hell he's talking about, what words are and how to use them, and all you can focus on is not dying from a heart attack -and also, not show that you are having one.

You shake your head up and down, still unsure to what you're agreeing to. It does not matter that much because he's smiling the way he does. The adorable smile another wonderful novelty, shaped like a bunny one, eating up his upper lip into the thinnest cupid bow. The sparks in his eyes, on his cheeks, from excitement, mirth. He's really here with you, warmer than you've ever thought him able to be, and somehow, different than what you had expected, but thousand times more endearing. Having developed a crush on him previously makes more and more sense by the second.

"Thank you for the invitation." He says quietly. You don't miss a single word, nor the least flinch in his intonation (soothing, genuine), even in the loudness of the bar, because, for some reason, he's never leaned back. He remains there, hardly a dozen of centimetres away from you.

"No problem." You lie, effortlessly after a few gulps of liquid courage. If you're enchanted by the evening, the unexpected turns of events, he still made you go through a short misery for this. He must see your awkwardness, he must notice how you're sweating bullets and swallowing with difficulty. How your eyes keep battling between wanting to bath in his and avoid them at all cost. Jungkook doesn't budge though and it almost gets annoying, almost upset you how he doesn't care -or maybe simply doesn't realise- the effect he's having on you. "I thought you couldn't-" You start, meaning to sting him a bit because he deserves it.

"I finished early, and um-"

"Was it even real?" You ask, genuinely curious to have him clear this out for you. It's not like you're mad anymore. On your face, you only feel a tingle at the apple of your cheeks from how many smiles and waves of laughter you've shared, the desperate tears from earlier long dried and gone. "The excuse, I mean."

"It wasn't an excuse..." Jungkook turns his face away from you then. Biting hard on his bottom lip, a traitorous grin hardly contained. The tip of his ears are flushed, you wonder from what, until you see his hand raising to the top of his head where it flats down hair that doesn't need it. "I- I just-" Maybe it's seeing him this abashed that pushes you forward, literally, scraping your chair to the wooden floor, thigh meeting his in the process. "I was startled when you- asked. When you said my name even, I wasn't- like- expecting it and I'm not used to-" He cuts himself off, a hand vaguely motioning the room.

"To what?" You insist, mimicking his murmuring tone, terrified as you are to pop out the little bubble now only he and you dwell. 

"Going out with people or just- hang out, I don't know." He looks inherently embarrassed now. Possibly even a bit saddened, you note. Still, his face remains open, kind, the ever-boyish smile teasing at least the corner of his lips. You don't mean to be so sappy but you wish, consciously, right this second, for this very moment to last an eternity or at least, for your memory to take a picture realistic enough, as in-depth and detailed as possible so that you'll be able to recall and relive it for years to come. 

"Oh. Dragons don't like to go clubbing?" He bumps your thigh with his knee, chortling at your words but shaking his head nonetheless. As you stare at his thigh, covered by a cheap black cloth stretched to the very limit, stuck to yours, almost supported by yours, sending a continuous channel of heat from there to the pit of your stomach, it seems like you've reached a determining point. A definite phase where you can handle him (more or less). Enough not to liquefy on the spot at his every glance, while remaining way too aware of him, his smell, his warmth, every sound coming out of his mouth, his lovely, lovely charms. 

You really like him.

"My head hurts." Taehyung's half-dead on the table. You're not too worried because as his head lies flat, his hair marinating in a pool of spilt beer, he can mumble with a lot of coherence about how heavy his head feels, and how it will probably weigh this much until Monday. Jungkook grabs a bunch of tissues to try to slip under Taehyung's head as an absorbing pillow, it's no use though, because Taehyung, strangely enough, feels too comfortable in this position to let himself be disturbed. Jungkook seems concerned, a bit bothered even -way more than you are because you are very much used to this depiction of lame- until Yoongi passes by, observing with deep disapproval written all over his face. He kicks on purpose one of Taehyung's chair legs, making him groan, and leaves.

Greediness turns you bold. Knocking Jungkook's leg the same way he did earlier, you call back his attention on you. For some reason, he stares at your legs, touching. You wonder for a second if you shouldn't have. It's not that much, he did it earlier, but maybe you shouldn't have. He's too pensive. Doesn't budge a muscle. In deep reflection. You hit him again, a tiny little push, and a few others to follow, like an annoying bratty kid trying to steal someone's attention. His hand finds its way to your knee then, enclasps it entirely, thumb pressing and you have no idea if any of this means anything, but it does send a rush of jolt straight between your legs. Surely he doesn't mean this use of firmness to turn you on, does he? How could he even guess it having this effect? You didn't even know it yourself.

It does work though. You stop acting like a feisty little brat, patiently waiting for him to be ready to listen to you. He pretends, mean as he is, that the hand won't stay, letting it slide slightly away from your knee. It doesn't go far though. Somehow it's comfortable a bit higher on your thigh. Not very high. It's awfully PG, awfully casual and platonic, but it serves to drive you a little breathless.

With the wide glassy eyes, the small smile that keeps finding its seat on his lips each time he turns to face you, he's all ears, all eyes, just for you. It's infuriating. Galvanizing. You lavish in it.

"You said it doesn't get lonely?" You blurp out, putting all efforts on focusing on the question you are sincerely curious about. If you didn't have it blinking loud and bright in your brain for the past ten minutes, you would have had it long lost and forgotten. He's messing with your head. But you owe to ask. The curious sadness, that you may have imagined for all you know, you saw briefly earlier needs to be addressed.

If it ever were there, it's gone anyway. As he stares into your eyes, seemingly pondering his next words around in his head, there's a gleam shining to you personally there.

"It doesn't when you don't know what you're missing."

"I don't feel too good, puffskein." Taehyung burps out. Thanks to some miracle, he doesn't end up vomiting all over the table but it's obvious he's this close to it and needs to be taken home. It takes all the goodness of your soul, all of it, to control your urge to grab your wand and throw a forbidden curse on his stupid ass.

The asshole makes you out to be an ungrateful friend, appreciation long gone, aggravation deeply grounded. It was going so well.

"Sorry about Taehyung." You start, wincing a bit. Your back leaned against the door of your room, it's late, quiet and badly lit up in Hogwarts' hallways. Taehyung is sound asleep in his bed, fully clothed and wrenching of a burp who turned down to be vomit. You've managed to use your wand on him, something to make sure he'll have a long and safe night and a rather gentler awakening tomorrow.

Jungkook pretty much carried him on his back, all the way to his bed, without much of a complaint, only a growl or two when Taehyung showed himself difficult in the capricious stairs hall -because it's the best and safest place to try and stumble, blindly, drunk out of your mind. 

"It's fine. I had a great time."

"Dragging Tae's drunk ass all the way here was fun to you?" You tease, squinting at him. You know what he means. You know that he knows what you mean. You're only trying to earn time. Just a little bit more time. It's late, he's about to leave you for his room, you assume, and you're not just ready for it yet.

"Maybe not this part."

You don't know what to say to make him stay. It's not like you could possibly invite him inside, is it?

Yoongi would say it's way too soon. Another version of you, maybe a twenty-four-hour younger version of you, the one that didn't know him from this close yet, that didn't get to talk and undergo the full experience that is Jeon Jungkook, to feel his hand on your thigh, his pretty eyes -Merlin, there is a time when you didn't even suspect he hid those wonders right here- would agree. It's not your kind, to have hook-ups. You wouldn't even know how to.

That being said, it's not like you often meet Jeon Jungkooks.

You're not that greedy. You're sure of it. When he's leaning himself against the wall, shoulder pressed against it to support himself, head slightly tilted, watching you soundly, the corner of his lips always curled upward. His eyes say it all. Completely black in the shadow, hooded, tempting. Sending heat to your core, shudders along your spine, tingles to the tip of your fingers.

If he says something, if he suggests anything, you'll say yes. He just has to say it. You've been courageous enough already. Asking him out, talking to him, and everything else. You just can't. You can't imagine admitting out loud what you wish to happen now, exposing yourself to him again by asking him if he'd like to stay the night.

And it's too soon, isn't it?

But Hell, you still have the lucid memory of his hair, running in between your fingers and it's become undeniable how bad you'd like to have it again except this time, you could be less delicate.

"I should probably go."

The disappointment is the language you speak because you're too tired to filter the vexation in your voice, "What, your dragons need to be tucked in?"

"Uh?" He chortles. All teeth out, eyes a bit wide, he regards your face, evidently amused. "Is there anything on your mind you'd like to share, maybe?"

"Absolutely not." You're bratty. It's the tiredness and maybe the butterbeer too. Undoubtedly the frustration. Arms crossed, looking away, pouting because somehow you are unable to relax your mouth and need to be so obvious about it all.

"Are you mad at my dragons?" Jungkook asks lightly. If you don't dare look at his face right now, you can guess it. He must have that smirk you've seen a glimpse of a few times tonight. From your peripheral vision, you can tell he's mocking you. Standing away from the wall, a step closer to you, chest puffed out and arms crossed on it.

"Why would I be?" You mumble, ever so vexed. 

"Exactly." He's holding back a laugh, you can hear it louder than if he were to let it out.

Continuing, same tone, same pout, squinting harder at the void that is the end of the hall, "They sound awesome, I have no reason-"

"They are. You should meet them."

Startled, you look up to him, eyes wide with both fear and interest. "Should I?"

"Yeah." His tongue swipes swiftly over his bottom lip before he bites on it for a second, pondering. "Go to bed now so that you're in good shape tomorrow and I'll introduce you then."

Of course, he'd be so casual about it but the idea kind of blows your mind. "Really?" You've seen dragons from afar a very few times, during competitions or this one time, with Taehyung at that circus in Wales. But never have you approached one. Like most wizards, at least all wizards holding the basic amount of worth necessary to their life, it's not something you want to do: approach a dragon. You know that for the Care of Magical Creatures class, Jungkook only brings one dragon at a time. The class with their professor standing on one end of a wasteland, and Jungkook, at least a hundred feet away, presents them the animal. 

"Yeah," Jungkook says again, bobbing his head along. You're dazzled by the light the grin adorning his face brought. He really wants to show you his dragons. "But early. Like super early. They're tired in the morning so they won't be too... agitated."

"Is this supposed to reassure me?" He shrugs with the same cheerful beaming. 

"Did you hurt yourself with Taehyung?" For the third time tonight, you've seen him reach a hand over his shoulder, messily massaging the muscle with a tiny grimace on his face. He hasn't mentioned it so you did not bring it up but the thought that maybe it's your dumbass of a best friend who's responsible awakes your guilt.

"No, it's not Taehyung." He scoffs. Almost offended that you could imply he hurt himself that way. "I had a bad fall."

"On your back? How do you fall on your back?" There are, actually, a lot of ways for someone to fall on their back but somehow, you can only imagine Quidditch players to have the occasion to do so. You haven't fallen to the ground since you were twelve and finally mastered the skill of flying on a cheap broomstick. But Jungkook is different, right?

"Tina. You'll meet her tomorrow."

Tina. One of his dragons. Of course. He sounds so excited to introduce you to a mythical creature who manifestly attacked him, you start to wonder if that's not the thing that is wrong about him. Because everything is too sweet and lovely and perfect about him, something must be wrong -or else, it's not fair. And maybe his thing is that he is batshit crazy.

"Anyway," A clearing of the throat -you almost missed those, "go to bed. Sleep tight. Tomorrow, I want you-" Your heart stops in your bosom. There's the tongue winking at you again, through his pink lips, it's indecent, makes you forget it all about his alleged insanity, "alive and kicking."

You roll your eyes, raising your eyebrows, bewildered by his choice of words. He laughs, again. The boyish one but quieter, as if he's scared to wake the castle or just a grumpy painting possibly hanging somewhere in the dark. It's lovely. "Thanks for walking me to my room. And for Tae." You say, sincerely, turning to your door to open it.

"You're very welcome." Before you disappear in your suite, you glance his way. It's sappy-you again, needing to take a mental picture of his face, with the hair still pushed back, the rebellious strand from earlier curling against his cheek, his handsome everything, his soft expression and charming smile. He doesn't seem to mind. If anything he's doing the same, not hinting to a departure until you take it upon yourself that maybe, it's enough staring at each other wordlessly for tonight and you wave him goodnight, closing the door behind you.

By Merlin's beard, what the hell happened today?

And what the fuck is going on, now?

Your ass down on the hard ground, head dizzy, with a little warm tingling sensation in the crook of your neck. 

Jungkook is standing, looking like he’s a thousand feet tall with his long legs, chest puffed out and leaning upward. He’s facing Tina, the infamous Tina, about his height if you put aside the long tail laying flat to the ground in between her legs. She's a bright degraded of a deep purple and a fire red, covered in scales, sharp and standing upwards every few seconds as if they're breathing along with her lungs.

He has a forearm blocking her jaws open, glaring with the most severe set of eyes you could never have imagined on him boring holes in her flamboyant ones. He’s growling things in a language you think you recognise as Romanian, barking in her face as he forces his arm deeper, gagging her, not caring about the sharp teeth digging in his skin. 

After a while of the strangest and scariest staring contest you’ve ever witnessed, the tail lying between her legs flap once and she whines a heartbreaking mewl.

His face softens at that, slightly, he frees her from his arm, taking a step back while keeping an attentive eye on her. 

Tina snivels more, as soon as her master’s attention hints at leaving her, rubbing the tip of her gigantic snot against his shoulder blade. 

“Not now.” He says, sending her away with a pat to the side of her neck. 

This is the weirdest thing you’ve ever experienced. 

You simply remain there, staring, gaping, trying to process it all. 

You’ve been jumped by a dragon and Jeon Jungkook is-

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry.” He still has his hair pushed back in a messier bun than the one you made for him yesterday as if he knows that you like him a lot like that. Therefore nothing is hiding the most pitiful look you've ever seen on anyone's face when he looks down to you. Eyebrows dropping low above shiny wide pearls, his two hands reaching for you, munching nervously on his lip. 

-Terrible. You just had the biggest fright of your entire life -and probably, hopefully, the last one of the kind- and all you can think about, is how wet you got from Jungkook growling like an animal, and somehow intimidating the fiercest animal there is to submission. 

“She doesn’t- I didn’t think she’d be that excited, I’m sorry, ___.” He mumbles, guilt laced in every syllabus he pronounces. You accept one of his hand, sliding yours against his palm, hot and calloused, sending warm all over your body as he squeezes around your fingers. “It’s my fault. She’s used to playing rough with me and she doesn’t control her strength very well yet-“ 

He bends over, catching your second hand in his and lifts you, a bit too strongly given how you are entirely made of mush right now. You hit his chest in the process, he has to steady you once you’re up on your wobbly legs. He holds you with a hand to your upper arm, still hot, still firm, it has the blood to your face boil even more. What kind of experience would it be to bathe entirely in this warmth, to have not the least stupid barrier in between yours and his skin, to feel his firm hold grabbing you, his whole body covering you and pressing you down?

You need to focus on the pets. 

Tina seems upset, a few meters away, her tail slapping the ground impatiently but her head held low. There are three others, different sizes and spices, quietly laying above the trees forming the forest glade. They’re watching inquisitively, quiet, as cats would, you had no idea they could behave like that but then again, they were raised by this fucking guy. 

The guy still holding you close, breathing hard over your forehead, who’s most definitely searching for your eyes you are deliberately not allowing him to meet. You’re not mad. A bit shook still maybe. You’re just soaked, head filled with inappropriate thoughts you're terrified he might hear from how loud they are. And the oblivious idiot keeps apologising and asking if you’re fine because you should not be, you should probably be more traumatised, certainly not aroused as you are, especially when he’s feeling this guilty. You catch a wobble in one of his words and wonder if he could even cry from a guilty conscious. 

Therefore you grant him a glance. 

“I’m fine, Jungkook. Really.”

He must see something there, hear the subtle tilt your voice, too soft, has taken because he nods, visibly relaxing. His hand departs slowly, fingers grazing your skin. 

“Jungkook, I have something for you.” You say it like you know where it’ll lead. Frankly, you have no idea. You can hope, wish very loud and clear in your mind, but you can’t bet on it. “For your back.” You fish out of your shoulder bag a tiny flask. With its shimmery blue content, the tag on it with his name and a short note consisting of wishes of healing you’re somehow embarrassed to show him. “I made it before coming. It should fix your back in no time.”

“That’s very kind of you, ___. Thank you.” He grabs your hand along with the bottle as if he couldn’t take it on its own, and now you’re sure he knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t be innocently stealing all of these touches from you without knowing how intensely pleasing it feels all over.

“Don’t thank me yet, you might not like the... process.” He raises an eyebrow, head slanting to the side. “It’s a bit uncomfortable for like... 30 seconds and then it gets better.” 

“How uncomfortable?” 

“Well... Nothing too bad. I’m sure you handled way worse.” He can see you’re not completely honest with him. For your defence, looking at all the scars scattered on the very few skin your eyes have access too, he must be used to some kind of pain. It’s not painful per se. It is uncomfortable. Like dipping a firstly warmed up skin in a cryogenic liquid for half a minute kind of uncomfortable. He senses it. Watching the strange liquid carefully, suspiciously, he’s not certain he’ll use it. 

“Is it dangerous?”

You scoff, hands raising to your sides, “No, I mean- Not if you apply it correctly, it’s fine.”

“If I-“ He worries at his lip, frowning, mentally debating the subject as if it’s that much of a big deal. Honestly, the risk, is, not that tragic. An over-application can cause a curious discolouration that will, later on, turn into a marble-like blue patch -it might be definite but you’re not sure-, you can potentially burn your skin too but usually, it only happens -and it’s the case with any magical ointment really- if it’s mixed with another ingredient it shouldn’t come in contact with or on a body that’s already under certain charms -which is not his case, you assume-, and of course, an ointment made for local application should in no circumstances be ingested. It’s not that complicated. He doesn’t need to look so scared and suspicious. 

“For Merlin’s sake, Jungkook! Don’t use it if-“ You aim to snap it out of his hand but he’s quicker, holding up where you can’t reach, the corner of his eyes crinkling cutely. 

“No I want to but- can you do it for me? You worried me.”

“You really are a big baby, aren’t you?” He shrugs, doesn’t deny it. He looks cute like that. Dancing on his two feet, munching on his lip, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “Fine.” You say without meaning it. You wouldn’t say that you’re fine or that you’ll be fine. 

When he walks you to his cabin, twenty meters away from the dragons' playground, your heart starts beating hard and fast, more furiously at every step. It might not mean much more than a nurse job. At the same time, would it make any sense for you to not take the opportunity to take a step and make it more than that? Kim Taehyung would turn you into some kind of pile of whatever gross creature's shit if he were to hear that.

The cabin is super tiny, rustic and barely equipped. Wooden floor, wooden walls, wooden furniture -if you can call them that. Mentally, you curse at Mrs Umbridge. If she didn’t plan this on purpose just because she despises the guy and his pets. You can tell he sleeps in it because of the shitty mattress sitting on a pile of wooden boxes, with the sheets unmade. Discarded used clothes in a corner, a little tower made of books that all seem to be about travelling, magical creatures and travellers’ autobiographies. It’s dark, smells like soot with a tint of something sweet, as if the remnants of a pastry made of cinnamon is hiding somewhere.

Jungkook excuses himself for the mess, even if it’s not much compared to the poor condition he must have received the cabin as, jumping to the only window to tear open the dusty curtain.

It brings a bit of light inside, a subdued but warm yellow-ray coming straight from the barely awakening Sun.

It feels a bit stuffy in here. With him taking over the whole space, and your lungs struggling to pump normally. It feels too intimate, to be standing a few steps away from the place he sleeps in at night. Too intimate because you're not used to it, and two days ago, or even fucking yesterday morning, you would have never thought you'd ever be standing here.

"It's cosy."

You comment, humming to yourself, at the same time as he asks, "Should I take off my shirt?"

You almost choke, tilting your head, watching him with misplaced shock. He's already holding the hem of his black shirt higher on his stomach, exposing smooth golden skin, tight on a thin, sculpted waist, a trail of teasing black hair under his belly button, yet looking at you with his wide round eyes, unsure, quite innocent somehow.

"I don't think you need to- the whole thing." Coward-you hurries to answer, trying to divert your attention to anything but him.

Jungkook turns around, giving you his back and raising his hands to the back neck of his shirt, wincing silently, as he lifts the cloth. The back is almost worst than the front. The thin waist you had a glimpse of, the smooth skin with the golden highlights, the cute dimples at the bottom of his back, the developed, beautifully drawn muscles. A dizzying hot flush takes over your head.

This guy is a mystery. Under his thick, oversized clothes, you knew he was well built, but never would you have expected that. It's not like you care about it usually but with him standing in front of you, smelling so wonderful, with this thing, intense and unique, linking and running in between you two, you can't ignore it all. You can't ignore nor deny how attracted you are and giddy and greedy at the idea of seeing it, of touching it all -when most people don't even get close enough to him to suppose what he's hiding.

It's easy to get back to Earth and the present moment with the large, blue hematoma marking his right scapula. It looks painful as hell, so much so you wonder how he's been handling it so far, how he hasn't visited the infirmary yet, how often it happens and if he always simply tighten his jaws and take the pain until it just leaves.

He turns you cheesy again. You'd like to lean forward and press a kiss to make it better. You wouldn't dare though, and you know, for a fact, that the ointment you prepared for him would be an infinite amount of times more effective to heal him.

He shudders at some point. Probably because you're taking a short eternity to do anything, or just say anything, silently contemplating instead.

Gulping hard, you start, "Bear with me, ok? It'll be better in no time." He grumbles something to himself, way too quiet for you to hear over the loud popping of your potion's bottle and the even louder rummaging of your heart in your bosom.

The first drops seem to be fine. He's not squirming under the gentle touch of your fingertips, handling the strange sensation that the potion causes at first, instantly warming up at the contact with skin. He even relaxes, letting you spread evenly all over the bruise, calm and still as the perfect patient. Until he squeals.

"Fuck, what- ah!"

On reflex, he tries to bend and twist, attempting desperately to avoid the inhumanly freezing discomfort burning his skin. You try to hold him still, hands clasped to his shoulders but he wouldn't stop wriggling, whining like a hurt puppy.

For a tough guy, he can't handle much, you decide. It's amusing but concerning as you see him move around so much, you can imagine how he's stimulating the pain coming directly from his injury rather than the ointment.

"Jungkook, stop!" He manages to knock the pile of his books down with a blind kick. "It'll last just a few seconds, calm down!" Your hands fully pressed against his bruise, the heat coming from your overly agitated heart helping, it releases some of the cold. Somehow your tiny hands on his broad back are enough and he sighs in contentment, just a tiny whimper uttered as a remnant of his short but intense torment.

"Are you ok?" You ask after a few minutes. His breathing has quieted down too. His shoulders hanging low, his head relaxed, ease and comfort have taken over his body and mind.

"Yeah. But-" Tentatively, he tests out his right shoulder, rolling it up and down a few times, a tiny impressed 'wow' escapes him and you grin to yourself, enchanted to see him acknowledge your talent. "When you said discomfort-"

"Sorry about that. I thought you wouldn't want to try but it's worth it, isn't it?"

"It is." He has a sudden burst of laughter when he turns around, flashing you a relieved smile. You can read in his eyes that he's a bit surprised, a bit confused himself about what's so funny, probably settling on the little fright the experience gave him. You won't mention that the potion, if it's so effective and this, so quickly, is because it has very highly active ingredients that mess with the organism as soon as it penetrates the skin and his insides might be a tiny bit all over the place for a few moments.

Suddenly, a big whooshing sound comes from outside, seemingly knocking against the front wall of the cabin and making it shake on its hinges. It just makes him chuckle some more, not worried the least and beyond amused by your reflex to step towards him, hands raised, this close to grabbing a hold of his shirt.

"It's just Tina getting impatient, don't worry."

"Don't worry?" You scoff. The mention of her name brings back the memory from earlier. For some reasons, Jungkook's presence now and inside that memory, make it all seem rather mundane but you're sure, you're positive that you should feel traumatized by what happened. A dragon fucking attacked you. Jungkook shoots you a crooked smile you can't say you recognise. With a little bite on the corner of his bottom lip, dark eyes squinted yet shinning mischief.

"You're safe with me." He says, voice low, teasing, as one of his hand reaches for his index and thumb to pinch lightly at your waist.

"Because they're scared of you somehow?" He laughs again, hand now encompassing your side, staring down at you. He looks so inhumanly attractive. You're confused where this intensity comes from. If it's simple lust, coming from a genuine natural place, the same as yours. Or if the potion is not still messing with him, and his hormones, possibly. It shouldn't. It's been a good ten minutes and his build wouldn't entail this long of a repercussion.

"They're not scared. They just know who's the alpha." He explains with the cockiest shit-eating grin you've ever seen. Even greasy Gilderoy Lockhart doesn't have those. You'd find him gross if he was a hundred per cent committing to the act. There's a lurch though, in the way chocolate marbles shine in childish amusement, the tendentious beam turning into a boyish one, biting back something you know would sound like a giggle if he let it escape. You chuckle yourself, hitting him on the chest -because now that he's healed, he can take it. He doesn't budge an inch, doesn't back the slightest away from you. If anything, the hand holding you slide a bit further behind your back, keeping you close. "I'm just kidding." He whispers, voice as soothing as his attentive gaze as turned. So attentive you feel your face burn with shame. As a poor attempt to deflect your focus on this, your hand raises to his chest again, fingers scrapping at a tiny default in his shirt.

"You're not." He snickers. "I still don't understand how you're not scared of them..." The question somehow was never brought up. The whole night, the day before, your friends and you spend your time praising him and asking so many questions about his life and dragons in general, the things he's seen, the things he's done, the reasons that push him to take this orientation -something about adventure and wanting to see where the world ends was the answer however you could tell it wasn't entirely the real one- but you never actually asked how come he's not terrified of these deadly creatures.

"Honestly, your students are way scarier to me than they are." Your eyes grow big with surprise as you simper. You naturally lean a bit back as you laugh, and he follows you, for some reasons, eyes fixed on you, a tiny smile shaping his mouth. "That one girl the other day, the way she looked at you."

"Yeah, they can be real brats sometimes."

"My dragons, on the other hand, are super playful and soft." He sounds like a little boy, trying to brag about his alleged better pet. Of course, he'd be lethally sexy a second and undeniably adorable the next.

"You're a bit weird, Jeon." Jungkook shrugs, not sure what to say to that because he knows you're right. He can also hear in your voice that you don't mind and he's not sure how to say that he's glad you don't. Because he doesn't say anything you force yourself to look up, study his handsome face to read him. His expression is precisely what you expect yours to look like. Content yet expecting for something more, enamoured.

It's just hard to take the first step. Impossible to overcome.

Only now, from so close he can probably feel your breath hitting his neck, you notice he has a thin beard decorating his jaw. There's a patch missing on the left. You press the tip of your index to the tender skin, noting he's probably got burnt.

"That's what happens when a baby with a cold refuses to leave your shoulder." "It sneezed on you?" He nods, grinning. "I could make something for that. And for your eyebrow too." You stare, your finger caressing the soft skin, cheating a bit and slipping to the side of his jaw where there's nothing except a barely unshaven skin. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

"Would you?"

"If you want me too. You'd be losing charm points for sure but-"

"Oh, I have those?"

For some reasons, it’s this moment your memory chooses to recycle your friend’s words. The ones about him being that great. With the pretty gold glimmer coming from his peculiar round eyes, you do not doubt that he is. “As if.” You roll your eyes, jaded by his certain lie.

And the ones about him possibly being a lot, being too much to handle follow quickly behind. He is a whole lot, from head to toes, to the very essence of his character. The thing is he’s dipped in a thick pool of sweet honey, rounding his edges into something so much more accessible, too easy to swallow, how could you not try. “Let’s not fix it then,” He starts, one of his hand roughly rubbing at his short beard. “you already have too many ahead of me.” You give him a doubtful “oh really?” look he greets with an amused grin. He’s pretty smooth for a guy that hardly ever interacts with women and humans in general. You almost ask if his pets give him dating advice but you decide to keep it for later. The cat and mouse game is getting hard to endure. You’re not bored of it but you know you’re both ready for it to turn a little less playful and a little more decisive -also you don’t know exactly what time it is, however, you do know you have a class in the morning. It (whatever it is) won’t happen with you bullying him restlessly. Maybe one of you will get tired of watching so closely the other's face, you both know the details by heart by now, are probably even able to draw them with your eyes closed, and act. There’s a subtle frown messing up his handsome face. A tiny dip of the starting lines of his eyebrows and a pout reshaping his lips. “I’m really sorry about that.” He mutters, shame dripping from his words. The pad of his thumb raises to your neck, grazing ever so lightly the skin surrounding the tiny cut Tina gave you earlier. It’s not that bad. Doesn’t even hurt anymore. When your heart is beating so fast, when your cheeks are burning so high, when your core is quivering so much, you barely remember about the cut on your neck ever hurting. He seems so sorry though. And then he’s leaning towards you, dubious eyes not leaving yours until he’s hidden in the crook of your neck and can’t see you anymore, and softly, presses his lips to the bruise. It feels like a seizure in your heart. It shouldn’t be much but it is, the softest touch, most delicate, also a beautiful promise for more to come.

You relax under him, his arm naturally sliding further behind you, pulling you flush against him. You tend your neck, expecting more, demanding more. He instead breathes in, nose buried in your hair, humming to himself as if the scent pleases him before he’s kissing your neck again, this time a more resolute kiss, with a tough pressure, a louder smack.

You can’t help but giggle, he sniffed you like an animal would, like a dragon would. The giggle turns into an embarrassing fit of laughter, the tension wearing you out probably helping a lot.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook asks, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with curiosity and a smile translating his bemusement. He backs away for a second, just to see your face.

“Sorry-“ More giggles, he pinches your side, you barely manage to bite your laughter back in your throat. “Sorry but you’re really- I just didn’t realise to what extent you’ve been raised by dragons.”

He’s confused you can tell, frowning in deep thought yet not looking the least vexed. It makes you smile. Seeing him looking so adorable, a little lost, a little embarrassed. You kiss the palm of his hand, the one that’s sitting where it fits perfectly, tucked in the crook of your neck, his eyes grow big for a split second. “Cause I smelled you? Was it weird? I’m sorry, I’m just used to- like- smells are imp-“

He made it so easy for you to press your lips to his. Everything about him, from his smell to his warmth, to his smiles both from his pretty flushed lips and from the wonders he owns for eyes, his voice soothing, welcoming, words always gentle, always soft. He’s both the unknown and at the same time, the most comfortable aura you’ve ever wanted to dip in.

It’s hesitant at first, or more precisely sheepish, like testing the waters. Figuring out where you’re stepping in, noticing you’re barely keeping your nose up and afloat. It’s scary, new and exciting. Requires a little bit of practice, some intended nibbles, some timid lingering.

You’re both unsure, trying until you’re not anymore. Like a button blooming into a rose, suddenly turned bright bloody red, intense and passionate, with fierce thorns digging and scratching at the skin.

You sigh into him, he’s humming as in agreement. There’s a little agitation coming from outside. As if they know what you two are doing, how you’re feeling. As if impatient Tina can tell you’re stealing her human right under her snoot.

He is so willing to get stolen though. Chasing after your mouth when you worry for a second about the ruckus going on just behind the wall, arm tightening around you, hugging you as close as he can, his body melting with yours whenever your fingers dig in his skin.

You’re the first one to slip your fingers underclothes to just have a little sample of naked skin. It’s just past the hem of his sweatshirt, the soft and burning skin of his waist. It spurs him on. As if he was just waiting for you to give him permission, his hands find a home under your shirt. Flat on your skin, so large, so hearty, raw skin from someone who’s worked with those hands a lot, feeling so nice on you, feel like he’s holding you captive in between the palms.

The hand against your back slides up, stopping an instant where your bra is sealed, toying with it as if he’s wondering if he can. Deeming that he can’t, for some unknown reason, he goes further to grip the back of your neck. You’re too busy with his tongue teasing yours, with the growing stiffness digging in your stomach to notice. Have your brain been less occupied, you would probably have the fingers playing with the ends of his hair, pulling a little harsher than they already are. He’s loving it, it seems. Moaning each time you do, groaning each time your nails slip through the hair to scrap at his skin.

Everything is too good. Everything feels made to be, bodies made to meet and make up. It feels like this could be enough. Highly satisfying, more delicious than any make-out session has ever felt because none of those boys before were Jeon Jungkook and never have you liked someone as much as you like him.

But Jeon Jungkook can’t be perfect. You don’t know if he means to be to tease or if it’s just him holding onto some doubts, some insecurities, not wanting to go too far without you explicitly telling him that it’s what you want -because, clearly, it’s not evident enough, the way you’re hanging off of his mouth, limp in his arms, subjectively grinding against his cock can’t be telling enough.

His second hand, the one closest to all the places you want him to invade, won’t give in. Set on your stomach, his thumb retracing the underline of your bra, this hand is the very incarnation of a tormentor. You don’t last long, grousing in your mind, losing your shit and your patience, giving him chances after chances to finally get to it but of course he never does.

Your frustration reaches its limits when you back away from him, hitting his chest with your fist, breathless and frowning.

He’s too dazed, hooded eyes barely seeing anything but your swollen mouth, to comprehend. Until you bark his name, punching him again.

Jungkook takes in your mad eyes, scrunched eyebrows and impatient tapping of your foot on the cabin's floor.

“Touch me.” You whine more than you demand. His light chuckles fill the suffocating air, diffusing a little bit of the tension and maybe it’s not for the worst.

“Is that all?” He asks, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your pouty mouth. “You scared me.”

“I don’t care.” He is so gentle on your lips. The sweetest touch you’ve ever received there. Your heart is growing exponentially, threatens to burst in your chest and you’re loving every single second of it.

“You’re a bit mean when you’re frustrated, you know that?” He can hardly contain his amused grin long enough to kiss you. Explicitly telling you, he doesn’t care much for your moody outbursts. “And,” Another kiss right in the centre of your awaiting lips. “I was touching you.”

“Not enough.”

“What’s enough, lil’ brat?” He mumbles against the skin of your neck, biting a little at it, definitely grinning to himself there. You almost cum there.

“Touch me here.”

You can sense his cockiness drops to the ground when you grab his hands and press them to your clothed breasts. He just gapes, too shocked to act, as if it’s the first pair he’s coming in contact with. You have to do everything on his behalf and really, thankfully for him, you like him that much you don’t hold it against him. Tearing the cups of your bra down and under your breasts, guiding his long fingers to your tender mounds, he takes in a shaky breath, his curious eyes borne into yours.

Tentatively, he wraps his hands around them, weighing them, the pad of his thumb caressing the skin, enjoying taking extra time on the nipple.  You can tell he wants it, he’s too willing to touch you, yet his mouth, the stupid thing, starts to stutter, “B-but, I don’t think righ-“

“Please.” And if this isn’t enough, you’re giving up. You’ve tried so hard. Asking, moving his hands for him, pleading with your boobs out and your shirt bunched up over them. If this isn’t enough, you’re giving up and probably kicking him in the dick in your way out.

His puppy eyes fall from your eyes down to your breast, almost reluctantly. He leaves out a tiny whimper of pain. As if he’s the one hurting. As if it’s not you, the one suffering, the one tortured, because he’s been messing with you, shaking your insides upside down, baiting and lightening up sparkles but refusing to feed you accordingly the way you need to. As if he’s not the only one inflicting himself the torment, refusing to give in for reasons you don’t understand.

Until something clicks in his brain, finally, common sense meeting desires, his mouth fall from your neck and straight to your nipple, kissing hungrily. Licking and sucking and nibbling, moaning almost as much as you do. Once both your nipples are swollen and a pretty flush, he senses your sensitivity, deciding to drop from the buds, meaning to cover the whole supple surface of your tits with lovely kisses and infuriating grazing of the teeth.

The position is awkward. Him bent in half, you on your tiptoes, trying to ease the access for him while simultaneously ordering your wobbly legs to keep on supporting you. The task is not easy, so poorly executed he gets tired of it in seconds, big hands seizing you to pick you up, holding you close, your legs wrap around his waist, so comfortable, so natural, somehow more convenient for him, he doesn’t seem to be in the least amount of effort as he feasts gladly on your chest. His hands stay on your ass, fingers digging, occasionally dragging you up and down his front where you can feel him hot and hard against your centre, a few times squeezing and tearing your cheeks apart. If this is not what paradise tastes like, then you don’t know what is.

It’s perfect pleasure, pure satisfaction.

But of course, you’re human.

Soon, it’s not enough, anymore. And more and more you want and you need. You can feel your cunt clench around nothing, drops of honey dripping from the side hems of your panties crotch. He’s so good to you, lavishing and ravishing your breast like it’s the only job he’s ever wanted but you want more. Maybe you’ll let him worship you another day. Place the kisses and paint the marks he wants on every inch of your body.

Right now you need release. Any kind. He’s pent you up to a point, you can’t handle the idea of not letting any steam out.

You’re about to get bitchy again. Getting saltier and saltier at every empty-handed clench of your cunt. If you don’t take a step now, make him take the step, you’ll turn into a sex-deprived gremlin again, this time worse than earlier, and it’s not a good look you wish for him to see -again.

“Jungkook?” You can sense him perk up at the call of your name, even though he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He hums against your nipple, held tight in between his wet lips. “Fuck, Guk- just- uh- your bed.” No reaction. You suspect he didn’t even listen. “Take me to your bed, Jungkook!” It’s the harsh pull on his hair that’s made him look up and pay attention to your words. Like an obedient puppy with unmatching dark eyes, he nods, swirling around to head for his bed, carrying you effortlessly like you're not a full-grown adult hanging from his neck.

You’re about to meet his sheets. You’re about to get ravished and treated so, so right. You can tell from all the promises his hooded gaze has no shame sharing. Anticipation is killing you. The tenderness and affection along with the evident intense lust you read in him are killing you. Your back is just about to meet his sheets when it just doesn’t. He’s holding you centimètres away from it, eyebrows frowned, preoccupation taking over his face and covering everything sexy that fitted it so prettily.

“I can’t have you on this bed.”

“Wha- why?!” Maybe you yelled a bit. He winces. You don’t know what you look like right now, lust turned into pure fury, you just hope if you feel and talk like a gremlin, you still don’t look like one.

“Have you seen it? It’s not even a bed, it’s just a pile of dirty rags probably a thousand years old-“ It’s sweet and annoying, infuriating beyond belief. He’s blushing too. One foot hitting with spite the pile of rags he was given to use as a bed.

You want to cry.

“Why are you so fucking difficult, Jungkook?” You spit his name with venom, forehead hitting his shoulder, defeated as you feel. He’s hugging you closer, hands less sexual and just warm tenderness as they slide along your spine, pressing you closer if it’s even possible. Feels nice. But your panties, the soaked ruined cloth that is uncomfortably sticking to your cunt are reminding you you’re hating this moment.

“I don’t mean to. I- you deserve better than-“

“But you sleep on it!”

“I can sleep anywhere, it doesn’t matter but you’re too pretty to be laying on this.” You huff at that. Too frustrated to just take the compliment and let it shake your belly with the butterflies in it like a kid would a Christmas snow globe. “I’m sorry.”

“Should apologise to yourself, why you’re sleeping in it if it’s shit? Don’t you deserve better?”

He can tell how you feel. You’re kind enough to let everything clear as day, written in a language he mastered in so little time, an intimate one he’s only allowed to see. He sees the disappointment. Also the ease you’re feeling. The lust that’s not left. The despair and frustration tinted by dark shades of anger. You look cute as hell. All pouty and mushy in his arms. Whining and complaining and so angry yet fingers gently caressing the nape of his neck. He can tell you’re bitchy, feel like arguing but probably want something else even more.

“Wouldn’t it be better to use your bed instead? I saw it yesterday, looks nice.” He suggests, kissing your jaw to relax you.

“It is, it’s a troll size.” You lean your head back, giving more space for his mouth, mumbled words hardly falling from your pout.

“I saw that.” He says, amusement teasing the corner of his eyes.

“Professor Jeon!” The amusement completely annihilates from his eyes, his pretty rosy lips falling in a shocked o, along with all colours leaving his face. You gasp silently, wide eyes matching his.

There’s a terrifying succession of thuds shaking the little cabin, the call of his name again. Slowly, he releases you from his arms, making sure you meet the ground without emitting the least noise.

“I told you I had a class-“ he mimes with his mouth rather than speak.

“You never told me that?”

“I mean- I tried to but you wouldn’t- you wouldn’t list-“

“Professor Jeon?” More knocking on the door. You both hear the man outside mumbling to himself, a little commotion and you can tell, he’s trying to find a way to reach the window to have a look through it. Jungkook jumps on it, tearing the curtain in front of the blurry glass.

“Yes- uhm-“

“Are you okay? The class is ready for today’s demonstration! We’re all excited about that Opaleye you’ve talked ab-“

“Hagrid, I- I need to- finish get ready so- if you and the class could wait- f-five seconds?”

You are fuming. Glaring at him with the meanest eyes you own. Smoke probably coming out of every orifice, desperately trying to leave out some steam or else you’ll be spitting fire better than his fucking pets do. Tucking your boobs back in your bra, tearing your teeshirt back down, probably looking as miserable as you feel.

He’s apologetic though. One hand holding yours between gentle fingers, massaging kindly the palm of your hand. Looking guilty as hell, pouty with the watery eyes, a sweetheart.

And you like him. The realisation hits you once again, full force, you like him a whole lot. Frustration fading into compliance, leaving you helpless, about to forgive him wholeheartedly and suggest to come back later when his schedule sees it more fitting.

“Alrighty! I’ll show them that cute baby dragon I see over there-“

Jungkook winces visibly. Even you can tell it’s not a good idea to leave Hagrid alone with kids and dragons unsupervised, his reputation precedes him, unfortunately. He doesn’t hint a gesture towards the door though. Observing you with attentive eyes, the same from earlier, as if he’s trying to memorise your traits with utter accuracy, knowing he won’t be seeing it for at least the whole day ahead. You should suggest he takes a picture, it’ll last longer. But you’re overwhelmed with a vague wave of sadness, suddenly, so close to the parting from him and so unready for it.

You don’t know if he sees it, senses it, if when he kisses you hard on the mouth it’s to make himself feel better or if it’s just for you. It works in any case. Your heart filled up as it’d been, with lust and affection and something that can’t be but is so akin to love.

“I wish you didn’t have a class-“

“Do you want me?” He asks in a breathless whisper. The question is ridiculous, the answer being so fucking evident, you’d hit him to the side of the head if you didn’t like so much how intimate, how sexy he sounds murmuring against your lips.

You nod. Realising as you try and fail that he’s stolen all air from you -and probably a few other things like your heart and sanity along the way.

“Can you be quiet?” His hands have already dropped from your face, attached to the hem of your pants, hurried fingers proceeding to open them up. The situation in its entirety with the environment, with the people outside at most a dozens of meters away, the awkwardness, the everything can’t hit you, can’t take a sensible shape. No information able to be treated because of him, his everything, the whole lot that he is, infuriating, dizzying, shattering, moving. All you know is that you can be quiet, you can be whatever he wants you to be right this instant.

“I’m sorry for being so terrible at all that-“ He starts, sincere but light, amused, comfortable with you -and that’s the nicest look you’ve seen on him. “I’ll make it up to you until later when I- can really make it up to you.”

It’s funny to see the two facades of his personality clash like that. He’s apologising, red in the cheeks, but also a mouth, reshaped by a confident fatal crooked smirk, stating promises as facts.

How does he know he’ll make it up to you? How does he know he’ll make you feel good enough you’ll forgive his clumsiness?

“I’ll need more than five seconds, Jeon.” That makes him chuckle silently, shaking his head and squinting in defiance.

“You’ll need hardly more than that.” He says, dragging your pants and your panties at once, down a few centimetres.

Heat burns your face as air hits your centre. It feels shockingly exposing even if he can't see much from up there, with your shirt down, with little to no light coming from the curtained window and his large hand, that doesn’t wait for a second, slipping in between your thighs, covering your mound instantly as his mouth covers yours.

He’s right. This fucker.

You don’t time but you know he makes you come incredibly fast.

First starting by sliding a lone finger in your heat to quickly realise that you are soaking wet, sloppy to be exact, perfectly able to fit at least two and probably a third one easily. And he obliges so, filling the torturous void, fucking you with them slowly, dragging the pad of his rough fingers along your walls, teasing your sensitive entrance with lovely, lovely strokes. The sound -and he has to slow down to keep it quiet enough- is obscene. You don’t remember the last time you’ve been so fucking turned on. Dripping down your legs and unto his hand.

He spends only a few minutes on that, on fucking you nice and open when you both know he won’t even be able to fill you as you both wish he would until, well, some undefined time. It should be revolting, that thought, sort of a quick, immediate satisfaction for a long term painful wait.

But then his fingers leave your hole to migrate to your clit, as engorged as ever, as it’s not been for a long, long time, all of this for this stupid crush, from this stupid man, from his kisses and his scent, and his purposefully neglecting to give it attention. A few strokes only, fast and hard, messy and desperate with a sweet pet name he’s never used but fits so nice from his lips press to your ear and you’re coming, hole kissing emptiness, it sucks but you're invaded with so much content, legs shaking, heart beating fast, remnants of the orgasm reshaping the whole stance of your body, feels like you've just moved in an entirely new one, and head dizzy, feeling in love.

“Told you.” He’s chuckling to himself. Full of himself as he wipes you clean with a teeshirt he just picked up from an open travelling bag.

“Shut up, Jungkook.” You groan. One hand holding onto his bicep while his owns diligently tie back your pants, fixing you like nothing happened. The orgasm has been so good, it devoided you of all strength and energy you may have had.

You need to leave. Or more precisely, he needs to leave and meet the class, take them away probably in the forest so that you can escape and flee back to the castle. It’s inevitable.

You close your eyes for a second. Trying to empty your head, focus on breathing properly again, hiding how upset you feel. It’s not that dramatic. Surely, you’ll catch him again, today probably, later, tonight, but you feel so upset. Like a little girl. You don’t want to leave him yet.

Jungkook calls your name softly. You open your eyes, biting on your lip to contain all the emotions wanting to spill out right under his nose.

“Do you like me?” This time you have to throw a punch to his side -it hurts your knuckles more than it does him- because how dare he ask and look so unsure of the answer. “Well, I don’t know- I don’t- you never know with women and- and like- I- you never said-“

“I’ve liked you for two years, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Two...?”

You see the gears rolling, slowly, unsettled by big knots of confusion. You’re sweet, you’re generous and you just came in his hand, literally, so you have no issue admitting -with only a slight blush on the apple of your cheeks, “When you first came for the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t-“ Again with the apologies. With the looking so pitiful, with the guilt, with the him being so lovely of a man, especially when he’s so big and covered in all those warlike scars.

“Well you had this in your eyes anyway, would have been hard to notice me.” You joke, stealing one of the locks hiding behind his ear and tickling his eyelids with it. He scoffs, smiling before he slips it back where it was.

“Thanks to Taehyung, I have a hair tie now. So that I can see you better.” He’s beaming, staring at you fondly, it’s insufferable and you look away, embarrassed as ever because those big eyes being just yours, admiring you -for what too?- are hard to handle. You need practice.

“Is it your dragons teaching you all this cheesy garbage-“ He cackles at that, not even letting you finish and you’re loving the idea that it’s you causing that. “You need better wingpets.” He laughs even harder, you’re grinning even harder until a screech, ear-splitting, resonates through the whole surrounding forest. For a second you wonder if it’s not just Tina throwing a fit because she heard how her master is having so much fun with someone else than her but there’s a commotion following and what sounds like a seventeen-year-old Slytherin boy losing his shit, yelling and crying, and alarm takes over Jungkook's face.

“Can I see you tonight?” He asks in a hurry and you nod. “I’ll meet you in your room after I trained-“ A big smooch to your lips. “Actually maybe before, I don’t know, I-“

“Just go, Jungkook.” His eyes say something his mouth can’t, you can read the trepidation, as he sprints to the door, gaze not leaving you.

You can’t be sure a hundred per cent but you’re almost certain he just told you that he really likes you too and suddenly, you don’t feel as upset as you did, knowing you will find him back later.

« Thanks for earlier. »

For a second, you don’t know what he’s referring to. Until he points a finger towards his crotch, a little flush showing on his cheeks, where his hair doesn’t reach. 

That makes you laugh. You shrug your shoulders, waving his thank away because of course, you wouldn’t let him run in the middle of a class full of teenagers with a rock hard cock showing through his pants. 

Too focused on the possible catastrophe happening in his front yard, he didn’t seem to realise, if any discomfort or pain ever existed he couldn’t acknowledge it but you surely did. 

After having it pressed to your crotch, having felt its hardness and its heat, there’s no way you’d be able to just stop thinking about it. Then in the cabin, with your tingling cunt and sticky panties, and the whole day ahead, no matter how far away from him you were, physically and supposedly mentally, it’s just all you could think about. 

Blushing incessantly at the least stimulating moments. Gagging back giggles whenever a word, a touch, a smile of his recalled itself to you, and this in front of confused and suspicious eyes.

The whole day was a pain. It simply wouldn’t roll fast enough. 

Now here you are, standing in front of him, not recognising him fully. He’s hiding behind his hair again. He’s quiet and awkward like he too forgot how to talk to you. 

Maybe that’s what you get for meddling with him so quickly. Suppose you get separated for a short dozen of hours, he becomes a stranger again. 

It’s an awful feeling. Seems like maybe you made it all up. The comfort, the noncommittal love and adoration, the ease, the lust, the warmth. Maybe all of it was just a hazy dream. Made up yesterday evening by alcohol and this early morning by fatigue. 

Here you are sober and empty of any other commitment and you can’t picture how you could have gotten to that special place and how to find it back if it ever existed.

“You’ve let your hair down.” You simply say. Maybe it’s your way to point out aloud how you feel like you’ve been thrown a thousand steps back. He’s hiding behind his hair, being unreachable again. 

“Yeah, I just- they were all staring so I felt awkward-“ You mean to interrupt, let him know because you’re sure that he doesn’t (the boy from the bar yesterday didn’t know) that if they were staring it’s because he is that beautiful and certainly no one has expected that. “I wanted to tie it back for now but I lost the little thingy.” You take a step forward, closing some of the distance between him standing against the wall and you in the middle of your room. The more you hear his soft voice, the more you recognise him. “I hope Taehyung won’t be mad, I can buy a new one for him.” You could probably point out that Jungkook probably did not lose anything. That probably Taehyung used a charm and like any of those, the object you didn’t pay for, that materialised itself from thin air, simply disappeared after some time. Maybe you’ll tell him later. Right now you’re close to him again, so close you can catch a glimpse of an eye under the pretty locks. Your ears recognise him, your nose too, and you’re impatient to see if your fingers would too. 

You reach up, catching his fringe in between your fingertips and dragging them behind his ears, opening the silky curtain and smiling to yourself, eyes almost blurry with emotion, when you see his handsome face now on display. With the pretty brown eyes, the rosy lips, the cut eyebrow and that scar on his cheek, just above his timid dimple that shows up only when it wants. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” He squeaks out, flushing. “I must look ridiculous-“ He gestures you his hair your holding hostage behind his ears, taking advantage to caress his soft skin with the pad of your thumbs. 

“You look cute.” He does. He looks a bit awkward, like a boy who just finds himself with too much hair and tries to do something about it. “Very cute.” You add, beaming when you see his embarrassment grow. 

“Liar.”

He catches one of your wrists in his hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss the thin skin of the inner part. Lips soft, eyes soft, voice tender. “I thought about you a lot today...” Somehow he found you back too. He feels comfortable saying this while you’re sure he’s not used to it. Therefore even if you hate it, you can’t help but admit it. That you too, obviously, could only think about him the whole day. “I’m not here to stay forever, ___.” 

Your airy smile flatters until it disappears completely. 

Way to ruin the mood. 

He senses it. Press the hand leaving his face back against his cheek, pressing the second one to his mouth again as if he could bring you back to him and forget all about what he just implied. 

Obviously. 

Obviously, his life is not here, in Hogwarts. He’s not a professor, he doesn’t want to become one, he’s here for a project that has a defined limited time - Mrs Umbridge made sure of it. He’s an adventurer anyway. He only knows forest and lands and mountains and mythical creatures, extreme weathers and dangerous places. 

Obviously, you two only properly met a few days ago, only started to get to know each other less than 24 hours ago, it’s too soon to be in love, too soon to be so attached that a separation would feel that devastating. But even if you’re not, you feel in love. You feel wonderful in his arms, under his gaze, with his pretty smiles lighting on you and his sweet voice rocking your heart. 

It’s so upsetting to think about. You don’t want to. Just him hardly bringing it up makes you so upset you could cry. 

“But I- I know that you know that already. Maybe it’s clear for you that- we can’t-“ The more he talks the less sense he makes. Every syllabus seems dragged out of his mouth. He struggles so bad, your hand distractingly playing with the neck of his shirt, only because his hand wouldn’t let it go, you can feel his beating heart through the thick vein of his neck. “What I mean to say is- I don’t know what this- could mean to you. If it means anything or it’s just- like- fun,” Your eyebrow ticks at that. How dare he? “either way I don’t mind-“ He’s quick to add. “Really! Whatever you want is fine. I just mean to say that we can’t- I mean- at some point, I’ll be very very far away so-“

“Does it matter now, Jungkook?” 

The whole dilemma is not that hard to solve, on your part anyway. There’s nothing you can do about his future departing, is it? All that’s under your control is either you decide to indulge in him, have him the way you crave to, feed in this lovely thing that’s started blooming yesterday evening between you two and later on, deal with the heartbreak you’ll surely have once he leaves. Or will you deny yourself this, still get the heartbreak but way earlier on and have to nurture it for probably less long but in this peculiar case, through a thick coat of regrets. 

You hate to think about it all. You hate to think about a time when he’s not going to be around, not even only appearing at the end of a hallway, not even noticing you, not doing anything special except existing and breathing the same air as yours. 

It’s clear for you. He’s right here, right now, literally right under your hands, there’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to consume as much as him as you possibly can, if only he’ll let you. 

He looks worried, concerned. Not on the same page as you maybe. Guilty too. While it’s not his fault. It’s your own stupid, unpractical dumbass’s fault for falling for the only guy that lives like a fucking wild animal and is probably inept to leave his wild savage life for more than a couple of months at a time. 

An attempt nibble to his bottom lip. Your eyes shut close slowly as to not squeeze a droplet menacing to fall from your eye. He sighs deeply, leaning into your mouth for a moment. 

“I guess it doesn’t have to matter now.” He decides, pressing a new kiss to the relieved smile growing on you. 

"Cause you had a few things to show me, I believe..." It's subtle. Sort of. The words may be but the eyes you give him are not, demanding, minxy. Your intentions are no secret to him and you can tell in the way he smirks, kissing you again, this time his warm palms holding your cheeks still. He's made up his mind too.

It's all you needed to wash it all behind. Everything that could be too heavy for your shoulders or your heart to carry right now. Anything that could affect this moment, tarnish it, make it lesser than it could be.

It just has to be good. Only good and nothing else. His hands everywhere, on your ass, squeezing, on your breast, fondling. He seems to have remembered what you like. He's not withholding, he's not overly gentle. He's still awfully tender, awfully sweet because it's just the essence of his person, you feel it in every breath you steal from him. The way he carries you so softly, sitting you down on his lap as careful as ever as to not have you tip over and fall off of the bed.

When you're so greedy and almost rude in comparison, lavishing in the position he just offered you, groaning when you feel his thick thighs stretching yours wide, grinding already, sliding forward to feel his hardness anew against you. You touch him everywhere because his body feels surreal. Hard and taut and skin boiling even through his clothes. Your hands disorganized, impatient, start by unbuckling his belt to then jump to the hem of his shirt, dragging the cloth up and off of him.

You hardly catch a glimpse of fair honey skin before the light is shut off suddenly. There's the very recognizable thud of a wand hitting the wooden floor that hints at you that he's the one who did turn it off and you want to whine and complain and maybe even argue a little, and maybe more, enough for him to turn it back on but his wet mouth is sucking at your collarbone, the indignant scold dies into an insignificant, trembling whimper.

He lets you undress him. Even if you're missing the visual, you decide you'll enjoy the touch. His skin is so soft, too soft in a few spots where you guess he's been hurt, uneven, little bumpy traits, here and there, like the trace of a road on a map, scattered all over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He feels wonderful under your fingers. Hot and soft. He smells heavenly, encaging you as he does, you're bathing in his scent, earthy, smoky, masculine.

You have the push him away, a hand on his jaw, another on his chest to have him quit mouthing at your skin and lay his back down on the mattress. In the very dim light, you catch his shiny eyes, wide and intense as they observe you in the dark. You lean over, pressing kisses you hope as loving as his on his skin, starting from his cheek, you feel moving under your lips from him smiling, descending to his hard belly without missing a spot.

Your mouth turns extra delicate when your lips meet uneven skin, as if you could hurt him, as if he hasn't been long healed and your lips aren't the last thing that could ever hurt him, it makes him gasps and sighs though, each time, you feel his abs tighten under you, his thighs stiffen.

"Am I hurting you?" You ask quietly, even if you doubt it.

"Yeah-" He sighs and you freeze. "I mean no! No, no, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" You insist and he groans in defeat. You might be palming his cock through his pants, which you should be patient enough to wait until he answers properly if you'd honestly like an answer. But the rock hard member has been poking your thigh for too long and you can't help it. He's so responsive too, concealing poorly his groans and his moans, his whole body and cock twitchy under you.

You're close to giving him more. To give him fully what he came for. Nails grazing with intent the line where the hem of his underwears lay but not moving down further, hinting at something more but not giving in yet.

It's exhilarating to have him so docile under you, waiting, hardly patiently, for you to give him what he wants and you can tell, from how hard he is, that he really does want it. He sucks his breath in one more time, loudly, and you snickers above him, excited as you are.

Until he decides it's enough. Raising one thigh fast and hard, pushing at your ass, making you tip over with a squeal. He catches you with the cheeky chuckle you've grown to adore, rolling you unto your back so he can hover over you. You feel so tiny under him, with his strong thick arms encasing you, the line of his wide shoulders barely decipherable in the dark. Your hand follows the line, appreciating him to be so willing to be touched, always leaning onto your fingers. When it stops at his chest, your fingers mean to play a little but you're stopped in your track by the thudding hitting your palm. It takes you a hot second to realise it's his heart, being so loud and agitated, so expressive from where it's hidden. Of course, someone as reserved as him would have a heart that vocal.

"Your heart's beating so hard." You comment quietly. You don't mean to embarrass him. You don't even mean to reverse the power button hanging between the both of you. Yours in your own chest has to be causing a similar ruckus. But it's his that matters right now. You can't get over the fact that it's for you.

"Stop teasing me." He grumbles. He's not even vexed. He's embarrassed, but you hear the slim smile in his voice, a sheepish one.

"I'm not. You should feel mine." He hums against your mouth, then backs away laughing a bit.

"Smooth."

"It wasn't-" You sigh in defeat. It was not a subtle attempt to have him take care of your tits. Seriously. He's too glad to comply though, you're not one to complain.

You only have a vague notion of time passing, of things progressing. Somehow a second he's suckling on your nipples through the thin material of your top and the next, both of you are naked, panting in each other's face. Your nipples erect and still wet, occasionally rubbing against his chest, two of his thick fingers pumping in between your folds, a third one occasionally teasing the entrance, hinting at a stretch you're so greedy to feel even though you're not sure you can take; your hands wrapped around his shaft, pumping furiously, squeezing hard to have him hiss and curse against your lips, with your thumb teasing the slit of the tender slick head.

His free hand is at your neck, resting there, fingertips pressing in your skin, his thumb toying with your swollen bottom lip whenever he's biting too hard on his own to kiss you properly.

"I'm close..." You whimper, nibbling on the flesh of his thumb. He smiles vaguely at you, hooded eyes unfocused, eyebrows scrunched from pleasure. "I want you, Jungkook."

"Like now?" Fuck. You really have to like the guy a lot. He dares stop fucking you too, all attention now driven to your face. You don't say anything, your eyes telling enough. He nods to himself. "Okay, now. But uh-"

"Jungkook, sometimes you're half-useless." You try not to be mean but you can't help some snarkiness to escape. You have patience. You have a lot of it. But he just makes everything so difficult. How can you be sin and temptation embodied and at the same time, be so fucking clueless? He's like the cure but also the disease.

You roll over on your bed, grabbing a condom from your bedside table that a certain friend I don't need to name provided you with, to then face him again, brandishing the foil packet in his face.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to-" He seems confused for a second, struggling to get the thing open and you wonder if it's been as long as it's been for you since the last time he's been with someone like that, or if it's been even longer. "but-" Growing even more impatient, you jump on your knees, kneeling next to him, taking the thing from him and tearing it open for him. "You're, like, a lot."

You stay silent for probably too long, frozen, hit by his words probably too intensely.

"In a good way! In a- in a, you're- I like you a lot and it makes me all-" He's talking too much you decide. Stuttering the sweetest things you have a hard time hearing while you're both naked in your bed, so near to get even closer, even more intimate to each other in a way you're too excited about to handle any extra pandering -especially given, you know exactly what he meant. Who would have thought? Jeon Jungkook talking so much you'd have to kiss him quiet.

"How do you like it?" He asks in a whisper, kissing your jaw in a way that makes you shudder. He's making you lightheaded, so dizzy, with the stupid jumps between his sexy lust-filled self and the adorable clueless dude he can also be.

"Just- however you'll have me." You answer, ignoring blatantly that it doesn't mean much.

So he decides. Laying you down on your back, hovering you. The thought that maybe you are made for each other hits you full face then, because that's exactly how you'd like him to have you. Just like earlier, so close, so intimate, sort of intimidating, dominating too. All yours and you, even more, his, with his soft locks caressing your forehead, lips so close you hardly have to make any effort to reach, not that he lets you have your mouth for your own for too long anyway, every few seconds, claiming it with lingering kisses tasting of greed. You know you're in trouble as soon as the very tip of his cock squeezes in. It's somehow a tight fit, even with his earlier ministrations, even with the ones from this morning that made you feel loose all fucking day. Jungkook only fucks you with the head of his shaft for a while, feeling you so tight around him, savouring the sensation but also worried he'd hurt you if he were to go further.

You're on edge. On edge of a devastating orgasm, already too fucking close, and even if you could blame it on the foreplay, on your hormones or whatever else, he'd know. He'd know it's because of him, because of how much you like him, of how good he makes you feel, how much he turns you on.

You don't really care. He's already panting in your ear, groaning and moaning with tight jaws about how good you feel and how pretty you are, when he's only half of the way inside and that's more than enough. It's kind of too much. Kind of impossible to handle.

It's a mewl to the shell of his ear and the digging of your nails in his firm ass that push him further and balls deep inside you. It feels like discovering new places within yourself, places you haven't reach before alone or with someone else, brings a rush of excitement to your whole body that translates in a vice tight clench around him.

He fucks you so good, it feels so nice, his cock was made for you. His rhythm steady, rather slow but powerful, sending you a tiny bit higher on the bed at each thrust, with one arm slid behind your back, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck to hold you still enough. It's little to no effect but it drives you crazy, having him own you like that. From all those places, his dick, his thigh pressing yours higher, his hands, his mouth, his words. Bewitching, he is. Everything feels and sounds and touches him, the air you breath tastes like him.

You wish it'd last forever but it can't. Like everything that tastes that wondrous.

"Jungkook, I think- uh- gonna come." You lie because you don't think, you know you're about to come even if it's been a couple of minutes since he's started. Conveniently, the moon chooses this very moment to come out of wherever she was hiding, shining right through the only window of your suite and hitting him right in the face to bring clear light to him and to his grin, the smug grin you've only caught glimpses of. Your nails dig deeper in his flesh, he gasps lightly and bites on his lip but the smirk doesn't leave, even though it looks ridiculous with his heavy droopy gaze, his red cheeks and his heaving. He's as affected as you are. And that's that precise revelation that throws you over the edge. You mewl aloud, turned euphoric with how incredible it feels to have him keep fucking you through your orgasm, with his cock dragging along your tight, sensitive entrance with his movements.

Soon he follows. You don't exactly catch the moment, too lost in your own euphoria to decipher when his begins, but you feel the change in his thrusts, sloppy and harsher, skin slapping louder in the quiet room and once you've both bathed fully in the pleasure, came back to the now calmer, quieter Earth, you realise your ear rings with the ghost of a raw, low scream that certainly was his.

Fuck, you need to hear this again but this time with your full, undivided attention.

But another time.

Right now, you're half dead. Your hearts have just started coming down from their high. With him laying almost entirely on you. The most of his weight he safely pressed to your side but he's clinging to you, the round tip of his nose buried in your neck, hands holding you tight against him and legs intertwined with yours. Your hand has found its way to his hair, the ungodly mess, fingers gently massaging his scalp, rolling the curls in between.

"So warm..." He hums against your skin, almost purrs. You smile lazily. "Never wanna leave."

"You don't have to." It's the exhaustion that renders your filter ineffective. You know you shouldn't have said that. You know even more so when he doesn't say anything back. "For now, I mean." You don't even know how much of this is a lie. If you really were only thinking about this moment, this night or if the future you both know too well, ugly but very real just waiting its moment to play out, was also on your mind. You're too tired and concretely, fucked out, to even think properly.

"I still have four months." It's a poor consolation. You don't mean to spoil it all. After having spent such a precious, wondrous time with him, you don't want to fuck it all up but you can't help your heart from squeezing painfully in your chest, your throat from struggling to swallow down the heavy ball that's lodged up there. Jungkook senses it. You know he does by the way he holds you tighter, pressing one of those kisses, the most tender ones, at the corner of your lips. "We'll figure something out." He says with an assertion you didn't expect and don't know the origins of. Yet, you trust him and the lump in your throat decides to leave for now.

Somehow, persuaded that you and your heart are safe with him.

A/N: i can’t believe i finished this fucking monster. i need sleep. i’m sorry if it’s not super well edited, i did the 33 pages in one go and yeah. also it’s been so long since i wrote actual explicit smut, i have no idea how it turned out. 😳 let me know :)

to anyone who’s made it this far, thank you so, so, so much. you have my infinite gratefulness and i sincerely hope you enjoyed it.

i’m off to sleep, i hope you are having a wonderful day. stay safe, lots of lots of love 💜

[youn9racha]

Don’t Test Me

Requested by: @crzy-devil

Pairing: Jinyoungxmasc!reader (with a vag tho)

Words: 3.1 k

Warning: dom!reader, sub!jinyoung, consent being explicitly discussed, implied masturbation, mentions of pornography, implied dacryphilia, weapon play (fake gun), pegging, mentions of butt plugs, jinyoung in a short skirt, dirty talk, overstimulation

Extra Notes: wheewww finally my first got7 request ʅ（◞‿◟）ʃ don’t get me wrong, i‘ve been enjoying writing skz chan and changbin smut but i’ve been meaning to write some got7 but i wouldn’t think anyone would read it :( but yay finally i got something. i pray i don’t fuck this up, and i hope this is okay everything you want 😔

photo edit is not mine

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This is no way representative of the way Got7 act. They’re nothing but references of character, and in no shape or form is this how they act. And I am in no way romanticizing or glamorizing any toxic behavior exhibited, they’re just stories that is meant to be read. Readers discretion is advised.

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You and Jinyoung have an interesting relationship to say the least. Jinyoung is always thought to be that dominant guy who’s always protective of the people whom he cares about, especially towards his partner. While that is true that he is protective and caring, however no one knows who the real Jinyoung Park except you, or at least who he is in your bedroom.

It was no secret that you two are very open about your sexual needs to each other, and it may come to the surprise to anyone to know that a man like Jinyoung is more submissive than anyone would think. But you however didn’t think so.

Prior to meeting him, you may follow what everyone says about Jinyoung, but five months into your relationship with your boyfriend, you were shocked, yet pleased, to see him one day in adorning nothing but a skirt, a butt plug, and a leash, innocently yet seductively telling you to touch him. And ever since then, you’ve been the one Jinyoung looked up to and waiting for to ruin him.

Every sexual encounter with him were exciting and fun, but there was one incident that took the title of the most amazing sexual roleplay you both have took in and neither of you had any sense of regret. Even if you guys would have broken up—knocking on wood—, it’ll probably not top anything but that moment.

~~

”(y/n!)” Jinyoung exclaimed in a sing song-y way as he walked into the apartment door with something hidden behind his back. He spotted you laying onto the couch, legs lazily splayed open as you looked up to the ceiling with half eyes open. It was clear that you were tired and wanted to rest, but Jinyoung didn’t care, “I’ve got something to show you..”

You looked up at him with a furrowed eyebrows, “what is it Jiny—ah!”

You felt wide awake when you saw Jinyoung unexpectedly pulled a gun straight into your face and pretended to shoot by making certain movements and sounds.

“Jinyoung, what the fuck?!” You exclaimed with your eyes popping out your socket with fear, leaning far away from him, only for him to get closer to you. Jinyoung saw the fear in your eyes, which made him laugh at my state. “I’m being for real, put the gun down!” Your heart was rightfully pounding, fearing not only for your life but at Jinyoung’s sickening laugh.

”Oh, relax, big baby, its a fake gun,” Jinyoung said with an eye roll.

You looked at the man on top of you with a baffled expression, he flipped the gun around and shoved it to you, “see, carry it.”

You looked at the gun, then at the man, then back at the silver object with a gulp. You took the gun out of his hand, and to your relief it was indeed fake, with it being very lightweight and looking at it up close. Props to whoever made this gun look really realistic, at least at a distance.

Jinyoung laughed at your relieved expression, “did you really think I’d bring an actual gun?”

You shrugged at him, “I wouldn’t be surprised to be honest,” you jokingly replied to which Jinyoung opens his mouth agape. Now it was your turn to laugh, “I’m joking, baby,” you patted his cheeks and he pouted in response, “you’re fucked up, (y/n).” He says that as he laid on top of you.

There was a moment of silence until you began questioning why he had the toy gun. Jinyoung fidgeted with his fingers, sort of hesitating with the words he wants to say. “Baby?” Your calling for him sounded more dragging rather than a questioning call, as your hold on him got tighter. “I kinda wanted you to use it on me,” He blurted, not baring to look at you, while you looked at him with a confused expression.

He didn’t see you but he can sense your confusion, “I want you to use it on your dumb whore..” and thats where your eyes widened. You knew exactly what he wanted.

You would lie if you said you didn’t have the thought of the idea, but that does not mean that you’re feeling one hundred percent sure about all of this. You both are experimental people, and enjoy trying new things at least one, and pain on both ends goes right up your and Jinyoung’s alley. But you wouldn’t go as far as bringing weapon into this, albeit fake, but still.

You thought of how weak he would look over you though, how he tries so hard to fight back but it fails miserably and pathetically. You easily find yourself slowly warming up but then caught yourself as you uncertainty was still in habiting your consciousness.

Your ears met with his gentle voice with him saying, “baby, if you don’t want to do this, I understand,“ Jinyoung held onto your arm in comfort.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just what if I’m gonna hurt you with the gun?” You held Jinyoung, which endearingly smiled at you. He admires how no matter how hard you go on him, he still can see how you’re very loving and caring towards him. The last thing you wanted to do is to harm your baby Jinyoung.

”baby, you won’t hurt me, you’ve held the gun. It’s fake and it won’t do anything,” Jinyoung rubbed your arms, reassuringly, “besides, we have a safe word, and if you did anything uncomfortable, I’ll just say the word.” You looked back at his eyes. His eyes were entrancing to you, its a contrasting blend of assertiveness, plead and child-like. You have no idea how can one have the capability to withhold such power like this, but knowing Jinyoung, you can see how it works.

You smiled back at him with a gentle caress in the cheek, “I’ll think about it.”

~~

You’ve given yourself sometime to think about it. Jinyoung made it absolutely clear that he won’t do anything that would make you uncomfortable. For a typical submissive person, he still values your comfort, but that is regardless whether he is submissive or dominant, verbal and emotional consent holds a great value in your relationship.

You’ve scrolled through the internet and went on certain adult website to see what got Jinyoung that excited about all this. You did see the hype, but you were still unsure about it, so you just wanted to give sometime where the ice of uncertainty is melted.

While browsing, you saw a distinctive video. The thumbnail caught your eye, as it had a pretty boy in a pink skirt laid on the bed with his leg spread and what looks to be someone pegging him. The video was of the type you’ve looked it up but it was different because it seems to be more of a point of view type of video.

Your mouse hovered over the thumbnail, almost clicking it. You turned to check if Jinyoung was still in the house. It’s not that he cared about you watching porn, he knows that no amount of videos will match up with you taking him on the spot. But you didn’t want him to see you researching, as you wanted to surprise him in case you enjoyed it.

You’ve not seen his presence and you decided to text him, to make sure if everything’s clear and that he’s not close to your proximity whatsoever.

(y/n): hey babe !!

(y/n): where are you ??

Jinyoung immediately saw your message. The bubble and dots of his began showing up until his message was sent.

Baby boy <3: heyy !!

Baby boy <3: oh i’m hanging out with Jaebeom rn i’m also gonna spend the night at his place if thats not a problem with you :)

Baby boy <3: y ??? u need anything ??

you sighed with relief to not only see him respond back, but also that he won’t come back later. Never would you have thought to say this, considering that you’re overtly obsessed with the man.

(y/n): no !! i was just checking up on u !!

(y/n): its fine by me :)) have fun and tell jaebeom i said hi

Baby boy <3: will do ^_^ see you tomorrow baby

Baby boy <3: i’ll miss you <3333

(y/n): i miss you too darling xx

Once the coast was clear, you’ve turned off your phone, turned back to your computer screen and turned on the video.

The video startes off with the boy, who eerily reminded you so much of your boyfriend with his mannerisms and body type, calling out to the presumed viewer. He only wore a skirt, a choker, and what looks to be a jeweled butt plug. To say that the scenery wasn’t a turn on would an absolute lie. You almost moaned at the scenery as you‘ve suddenly started to see, instead of the actor‘s face, Jinyoung.

His pleading eyes were captivating you as you felt yourself getting wet at the way the man is looking at you. Suddenly a pink gun was put into the face of the boy and hearing him yelp in fear did something to you. You felt your organ began twitching at the way the boy looked up to the gun. Seeing how the gun was shoved into his mouth as he began making lewd movements and noises while getting his pretty dick stroked, it did all wonders for you.

You felt your hands going down your pants as you carried on watching the video. This may have awakened something in you, and you can’t wait to showcase to Jinyoung when he gets back.

~~

You sat back in your couch waiting for Jinyoung. It was the next day, and you didn't have much to plan, but you decided to keep the fake gun near you for the sake of your role. It was almost nighttime and the clock kept ticking as you anticpated your boyfriend's arrival.

Jinyoung didn't know about the whole ordeal, he probably thought that you were gonna be out running errands, hanging out with your friends, or even just sleep. But what he won't expect is you sitting on the couch, lust blown in your whole system and hiding the gun he brought in. He never would have thought to see you with it, up until this moment.

While you wait for him to show up, you scrolled through your phone, mindlessly liking any posts that comes in your way. You didn't care on whatever is on your screen, all you wanted was Jinyoung bending over, ready for you. You smirked at the dirty thought, until you heard keys clashing against each other then one inserted into the locked door. In comes the prettiest boy you have ever laid your eyes on, he came in with a bag in his shoulder and adorned a baggy pink sweatshirt and skinny jeans. He smiled when he saw you on the couch, waiting for him.

Normally you would feel soft and warm over his appearance, however the sinister thoughts inhabiting you was clouding every other thought. Jinyoung extended his arm up to stretch after putting down his bag, as he came in and sat down next to you, eventually attacking with kisses as a greeting. Typically, you would laugh at his typically private yet adorable affections, but you could only look at him with semi blank stare.

He noticed the stare in your face, his face shifted into a worried frown, “whats wrong? you’ve been acting weird since yesterday.” You looked at Jinyoung with your hands in his face. You couldn’t help but smile at the clueless boy in front of you, “Jinyoung, have I ever mentioned you’re gorgeous?”

Jinyoung’s confusion starts to get even bigger as his eyebrows furrowed. Not knowing what to say, he just went along with, “yeah?” It was clear evident confusion and you weren’t dumb. You knew he‘d be confused, thats the point, you want him to be clueless and confused about the whole ordeal.

“What if I told you that you’re all I think about?” You whispered, as you began caressing his face. His face was still grimacing in confusion, however he would lie if he said that the thought of you thinking about him nonstop makes him feel good and excited. “I love you so much…”

“(y/n), cut the bullshit, whats goin—” Jinyoung has had enough with your suspicious act and decided to confront you, up until he felt something on his jaw, which he ended up cutting his words with a gasp. It felt something cold against his pulse, his eyes were dragged to the source only to see something he wasn’t expected to see, yet is pleased. It was the toy gun he handed to you. His mouth was open agape, and you said, “I thought much through about it, and I decided why not,” you had a loving and evil smirk on your face, and he simply just smiled back at you, “and besides,” you leaned closer to his ear.

”The thought of you begging for mercy does things to me, you do not understand your powers you have on me, Park Jinyoung,” Jinyoung shuddered at you whispering out his full name at him. He could already feel himself getting hard at your words, and the thought of the gun digging into his skin makes the process faster. You knew that he was getting aroused without you looking down at his crouch, so you opted to use your other hand and held his member, to which he let out a closed mouth moan.

“You know what to do..” you said after pulling your face out of his ear and staring straight into his face. He looked like a puppy with his eyes innocently sparkling at you. You slapped his thigh to get up to do what he’s doing, which you took him out of his trance, nodded at you and got up.

“I’ll give you five minutes,” you said loud enough where he can still hear as he walks, more like wobbling, into your shared bedroom, while you smirked at his adorable weak state. You looked at the gun and you knew were gonna have fun with your boy toy.

~~ Five minutes have passed, and you decided to walk into the bedroom where Jinyoung is at at a painfully slow pace. You felt like a lion going after a deer, ready to devour it on the spot, with Jinyoung being the deer in this situation. You dragged the gun against the wall as you got closer to your bedroom. You can already sense Jinyoung getting weaker and weaker without even looking at him. You hear heavy breathing coming from out of your bedroom, and you felt your lust is started to mix fury with it as you knew exactly what he was doing.

However you kept your composure and still have the smirk drawn into your face. You reached the door, and you opened the door to see a sight that both angered and aroused you. Jinyoung was dressed in a pink short skirt and a crop top along side with thigh highs, his whole cock was out as he was stroking himself as he was looking at himself in the mirror. Still in his lust world, he didn’t notice your presence up until you spoke.

“Who told you you can touch yourself?” You questioned with a crossed arm and a lean into the door sill. Jinyoung gasped his eyes wide open, his hand stopped stroking as he was looking at you with pleading eyes, “I-I’m sorry,” he gulped as you got closer to him, looking at him with a scowl. Despite him being slightly taller by a few centimeters, he still looks and feels smaller than you, especially at this moment.

“I couldn’t help it, I j-j—“ You cut his pathetic talk by putting the gun into his cheek. His mouth was wide shut as he fearfully looked at the gun then back at you. You glided the gun across the face as his breath hitches, you stopped the gun at his mouth. “Open your mouth,” you growled at him, which he didn’t respond at first as he was too aroused to function. You shoved the weapon not too harsh that it could hurt him, but not too light, to wake him up to, which he just moaned.

”I didn’t even touch you, and yet you’re already fucked up,” you commented as you tugged his bottom lip with the gun making him whimper. You tapped his face and commanded again, “open.”

This time he complied and he stuck his tongue out, you lightly inserted the weapon into his mouth as he wrapped his mouth around it.

To say that the scenery was pornographic was an understatement. A man in his short skirt down on his knees sucking on a weapon as his superior is tugging on his hair, it was hot to look at, you and Jinyoung would agree. It was typical that Jinyoung is going dumb just for you, he’s willing to drop everything just to satisfy your needs. He loves you too much. And to see you enjoying his idea makes him feel really good.

~~~ ”Thats what you fucking get for being a dumb slut,” You thrusted your strap on onto your pretty boy’s hole as he grips into the sheets underneath him. His legs placed on your shoulder while your hips were moving in and out of him.

“I-I-I’m s-sorry! I’m not gonna do it again!” Jinyoung was a mess under you, he’s practically crying as he feels his hole getting stretched with pleasure. Tears rolling down his face as he feels his orgasm get closer. You can see that based on his face twist that he was getting closer so you stopped thrusting for the nth time, which caused him to whine and sob louder.

“Bad sluts like you don’t deserve to cum,” You leaned over, his leg still on your shoulder and squished his cheeks. His nose was tinted pink due to blissed out cry and the amount of times you’d edge him, and the fact you still resisted giving him what he want made him blush even more. You both love it, especially Jinyoung, who may love this more than you do. He loves getting edged and getting all this punishment. He was a walking masochist, and because he is what he is, you ended up loving it and use it for your advantage.

Despite his “apologies,” he always misbehaves just so he can get punished by his superior. He is a brat in disguise, and you love it. You love giving him the punishment that he ever so deserves, as much as you love degrading him and you absolutely love seeing him being at your mercy.

He simply looked up at you with teary eyes and says softly, “I’m a bad slut, but I’m your bad slut,” to which you smirked back at his claim.

Your Bad Slut. That’s exactly what he is.

[kanene-yaaay]

Yellow, Black, Blue and Warmth

Kanene’s note: I am very proud of this sdfghjqswerty.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic. ^w^)b

* This is Lee!Toshinori with Ler!Hizashi + Ler!Aizawa. Platonic or Romantic. Around 4.500 words.

* This has mouth tickles (raspberries, nibbles, tickly kisses...), teasy nicknames, use of the spotlight system (green, yellow and red) and baby talk. If there is anything that needs to be tagged just lemme know! 

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Tell someone that makes you feel safe how much they matter to you. If you want, no words are needed. Sometimes just an emoji or ‘this reminds of you’ is needed. Don’t forget you’re especial to someone, as well. <33

[~*~]

“W-wait!”

 His arms twitched on their position above his head and, not for the first time, he felt himself starting to lower them in a desperate urge to hide his flaming face adorned by a soft, uncontrollable kind of smile that only a few people in the world could claim the happiness of seeing.

 A warm hand rested on the right side of his ribcage and nails positioned themselves under his toes, two playful gazes looking at him, warningly.

 “Let’s-” a quiet gasp escaped from his lips when he tried to make a placating gesture with his hands and lowered them further, making the nimbly fingers start to wiggle restlessly on his spots. “I aham sure we can think another solution for this p-problem!”

 Goosebumps ran freely across his body in a wave of warm and excitement as the concentrated, evil black eyes blinked lazily at him, their owner not dignifying himself with an answer before he shoved his face back on the right side of his stomach, nuzzling and humming calmly, his nose exploring, drawing shapes on the ticklish skin, the adult being extremely careful and attentive enough so every vibration seemed to buzz on every and any of his so, so sensitive nerves, leading his back to arch with the unbearable sensation and the “attacker” to smirk in his quietness.

 “I-I beg f-for you to reconside-eek!” He squirmed harder as a low ‘oh’ was pronounced, trying - with not nearly all his strength, if he was being honest, but no one needed to know that - to dislodge the other adult from the newly found sweet spot right next to his hip, which was currently being rustless attacked with soft, barely there kisses that, no matter how much he buckled, refused to move. “Please, please. Yohou don’t have to d-do this!”

 His barriers were starting to crumble, quiet sounds beginning to find their way out of his firmly pressed lips, red growing more on his face as an awed cooing researched his ears and the long, awfully long nails lightly scratched the arch of his feet, making themselves known. They prodded, scribbled and danced skillfully across his sole, circling the weak spots that, for the way the blonde’s grin widened every time he stumbled in a new one, wouldn’t be forgotten that easily.

 And then Toshinori giggled. 

 That was when he realized he was doomed.

“Aw, but I do think we do! Who wouldn’t want to hear more of that cute laughter of yours, my dear squeaky listener?”

 “Hi-hizashi-san!”

 “Yes, my wiggly wiggley bear? What is the matter? You seem rather smiley today. ~” Hizashi sing-sang, an only one finger focusing at that lovely spot right under the ball of his feet that made him squeal in a poorly hidden delight, his laughter starting to overcome his titters. Especially as Shouta decided to be a little more hands-on and weak, almost maddening touches were spidered on Yagi’s right side, not helping at all the flow of high pitched squeaks escaping from his mouth. “Does that tickle? Huh? Does that tickle tickle tickle you so much that it makes you want to give us all that amazing squealing squeals and cute yelps? Aw, isn’t that so kind of him, Shou?”

 “You think that after so much hero work the Symbol of Peace would have gotten at least a bit of a resistance.” Aizawa pointed, not bothering to lift his head so his words wouldn’t be muffled as they hit directly Toshinori’s tummy, not even a drop of remorse on his tune as his act made the aforementioned to crackle, kicking as a series of ‘nonono’s filled the room. “Don’t you agree, Toshinori? Just a few well placed tickles here and there and then All Might would be begging for mercy in a few seconds. Tsk. So ticklish, so helpless, so cute.”

 Aizawa didn’t call them cute often. He did, however, reconsider his choice when his gaze quickly locked on Yagi, a nice feeling bubbling in his chest with the other’s half whine, half giggle, his wobbly, happy smile almost disappearing under all the blush that consumed his features.

  “Right!” Yamada experimentally squeezed his calf, beaming when a guffaw answered him, the leg tugging halfheartedly on his grip, arms hugging himself to not push them away. “But that is no problem! We are teachers, after all. Teachers very capable of teaching him how to increase his endurance, and I think I have the perfect idea of a lesson to help him.”

 Yagi was dying. Part of himself wanted to flee away from all the attention, all the warm, caring touches and compliments and that absurdly insufferable sensation that still tingled his body even now, when Shouta and Hizashi stopped to loom over his form with matching evil smirks, making it almost impossible for him to not hide his face and curl in a silly, rather giggly ball.

 The words of the previous finally sank in his mind and he fiercely shook his head, not trusting his own mouth and trying to not let the amusement he felt blooming on him to drip on his move.

 “Awesome! Thank you for agreeing, tickly listener. It’s amazing to know you’re also as eager for this just as we are!”

 “But I did not-” A true shriek cut his words as Aizawa dug his fingers on his armpits, resulting in a sea of wild giggles to overtake him. The tickles being mean enough to be able to completely dissolve his protests, although also the right amount of light so Yamada’s teasy words would still be able to be heard above him.

 “So!” The Voice Hero clapped joyfully, getting even more excited at the other's reactions. “The best way to be prepared for any situation is to train! Practice! You need to be prepared to all resist to any and every trickys tickly tickle technique that exists, which means scribbles, scratches, squeezes, kneads, nibbles, nuzzles, kisses, spidering, nursery rhymes, and ooooh, of course, raspberries!” Hizashi nodded once, determined.

 “I can’t!” Yagi threw his attempts of forming entire, coherent sentences out of the window, his brain basically short-circuiting on Hizashi’s first examples. “Please, please, I swear! I cahahan’t!”

 “Oh, don’t worry my dear sweet, squirmy listener, it’s really a lot of work to do... But! You will not be doing it alone! Me and Shouta will be here cheering and helping you for hours and hours and hours until you master the whooole lesson. And," the blonde got closer, lowering his tune until his words were just a breath on Yagi's ears, teasing the sensitive spot no matter how much he shrugged and shook his head. "If you get something wrong all we need to do it's just start aaaall over and over again, right, Shou?!”

 “Oh gohod.”

 “Of course, I don’t waste my time with someone who doesn’t have potential.”

 Aizawa’s predator smirk and tone maybe would be scarier if it wasn't broken by Yamada’s loud cooing, the taller coming back to his previous position as he rested a quick squeeze on Shouta's hip, fishing a surprised snort and a warningly glance from the black haired man, who, on his turn received an innocent whistling as an answer. Toshinori chuckled in amusement at the scene, gratefully taking the breather.

 “Better be careful,” Yagi’s tune was innocent, with a titter dropping here and there, still, a dangerous shine gleamed intensely on his blue eyes, “so that lesson won’t backfire on you in the future.”

 Aizawa stared at him, the tip of his lips curling in a barely there grin that heavily contrasted and complemented Yamada’s dramatic gasp in betrayal.

 “Very well.” Eraserhead said, positioning himself on top of his legs, successfully pining him on the mattress. "Let's take care of any riot that might happen right now, then."

 Suddenly, All Might senses all the confidence he felt not a few seconds ago to transform in butterflies flying in despair on his stomach. Shouta’s shadow stood above him, the usual bored expression plastered on his features as his face lowered closer and closer of the blonde, stopping just a few centimeters from his ear.

  Toshinori held his breath in anticipation.

 “Green?”

 Something… something he couldn’t really nominate melted in his heart and for a moment he forgot how words worked.

 He really loved them both so much.

 “Green.”

 Shouta chuckled.

 "Good." He adjusted himself, resting their foreheads together and capturing those blue eyes to himself. "Giggles, titters, whines… every sound you make I will be able to hear clearly so be very, very careful and don't laugh.”

 Toshinori gasped when the feeling of skilled hands, scratching and kneading his side shoot through him. The offending fingers danced slowly, taking their time on each weak spots before switching to another one, a bit too close of his stomach or his spine, completely oblivious to how Toshinori's chest already shook with trapped sounds. Toshinori realized, maybe too late, how their new position prevented him to perceive where Aizawa would attack next, every time the black-haired hero changed his target to an unexpected spot adding a tear in his barriers, the squeaks and crackles getting stronger and harder to contain.

 “So, sweetpea, how would you rate your ticklish experience from one to ten, so far?” Yagi couldn’t help the way his body twitched and squirmed involuntarily at Yamada’s voice, his imagination unhelpfully whispering that, at any moment, any moment now, Hizashi would give up from his purely verbal teases and be touchier. “One being ‘That Is All You Can Do?’ and ten being ‘This Is Everything I ever Dreamed About Please Don’t ever Stop?’” 

 “P-p-lease!”

 “That is not a number.” Aizawa observed, jumping in his friend’s teasing at the same time he stopped, thinking about something until his eyes shone. His voice was velvety, almost as a purring. “But that can be helped. Here, I will refresh your memory.” A finger pressed on the lowest rib on his right and the blonde’s eyes widened, a snort flying from his lips, his head shaking from one side to other, a pleading gaze.

 “Wait! Aizawa, please, wait! I will do anything!”

 “What.” Suddenly the finger was replaced by the whole hand shaped as a claw, the spot where it touched tingled in anticipation. “Did you call me?”

 Aizawa was adamant about very few things, actually.

 Hizashi chuckled darkly, free of any pity, next to him. “I think he is asking for it, Shou.”

 Do not mess with his cats. Do not mess with his kids. Do not wake him up. Do not eat his jelly porches and, of course, if he gave you the permission to call him by his first name, use it.

 “No, no, no! I meant! I meheheant Shouta!”

 Of course, except for the first two, he didn’t actually care that much for when the others were ignored by his close friends, but - he curled his fingers, watching as Yagi continued to squirm and snicker at every twitch of his fingers - that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have his fun with this slip. 

 “And also,” again, Yamada pipped in, “he just giggled, didn’t you just said him to not laugh?”

 “I did.” 

 “Please! Anything! Anything you want! Just name it! I will givehe you anythihihihing.”

 Aizawa adjusted himself so his lips would rest on Yagi’s neck, he sighed deeply, relaxed. 

 “Then give me your laughter.”

 And he started.

 The fingers dug on his spot, prodding and scribbling in attacks which danced in a perfect synchrony with the fast nibbles assaulting all the sensitive skin he could reach, expertly dodging from all the trashing, the attacks seemingly to only be fueled by his shrieks.

 “An autograph!” loud, booming laughter exploded, snorts and an intelligible mix of half English and half Japanese painting his words stumbling and falling nonstop from his mouth. Yagi lost track of what he was saying the moment a raspberry was placed right under his chin and the hand tased his side, vibrating and vibrating and vibrating there for what seemed an entire eternity. “Rare merchandise! My house! Anything, I swear, anything but this!”

 “Oh my god.” Hizashi braced himself on the wall, his conflicted heart torn between cooing and teasing the other for how much adorable he was being and giggling in joy with his funny reactions. “Oh my god. Shouta, please, don’t ever stop tickling him, this is the most precious scene I witnessed in my whole life.”

 Shouta felt tempted to agree, however, after a couple of minutes, he stopped, shoving his face on the other’s shoulder to hide his own soft chuckles, being accompanied by the residual, bubbling giggles. They waited until his breath became steadier before the one with black, deep eyes stared at the watery, gleaming blue ones.

 “Shoutahaha…”

 “Just one more spot, okay?”

 Toshinori closed his eyes, nodding before trying to hide his expression under his hands, being stopped by Yamada, who took each one of them gently and gave a kiss on his knuckles, lacing their fingers, knowing very well Yagi wouldn’t attempt to pry them away like this. 

 “No hiding your beautiful face, remember?” Yagi wanted to huff in annoyance at the unprompted tease, but it was being said with such lovely care that he couldn’t help but melt under it, especially when Shouta began to bombard the place behind his ear with kisses and small raspberries, descending him in quiet titters and silent laughter sprinkled with sporadic guffaws.

 After a few more of kisses, tickles and fast, inaudible giggles he ceased his attack, giving a last nibble on his ear before getting up from him, letting the Symbol of Peace recompose himself between his blush and gigantic smile, offering a cup of water when his laughter stopped to fly across the room, all of them enjoying the silence as Toshinori drank the liquid, thanking Shouta.

 “Green?” Hizashi asked, stepping a little closer, a shy grin on his lips.

 “Oh my… Why do you have to make me say that?” Toshinori squeezed their hands, huffing and deviating his gaze. “Green.”

 The blinding smile that was sent in his way seemed to have enough shine to light up the whole house. “Let’s jam!”

 The Voice Hero tried to untwine their hands kindly, blinking in surprise when the other only held them more fiercely. He tried again, same result. Behind them Shouta snorted, amused.

 “Giggly bear, my sweetpea, you will have to let go of my hands.”

 “Absolutely not, you will attack me.”

 Yagi stared at him with a challenge in his face, daring the hero to do something about that.

 “Well…” Hizashi winked playfully. “I always have my mouth, and, you know? That wiggly wiggley yummy tummy of yours seems to be asking for a couple or maybe a dozen of raspberries… ~”

 “Wait, no!” Toshinori squirmed, instinctively sucking his belly. “Don’t!”

 “Aw, but that is such a pity! I was thinking about being a bit merciful today, you know? Maybe some skittering under your knees, being sure to give enough attention to every inch of both of them, I mean, we don’t want anyone feeling left out of the fun, of course! Then I would give one or two squeezes on them, a swift under your wiggly wiggley toes, a few scratches on your squirmy feet and voilá! A happy, silly, giggly Yagi ready to go. But, well, now I believe I don’t have another choice except place all the mean raspberries aaaall over your unprotected stomach and sides and ribs and sides and neck and ribs and-”

 “Stop, stop!” Toshinori let go of his hands in order to hug his tingling torso, curling in a defense ball, trying to stop the feeling of the imaginary tickles. “J-just get over it!”

 “Aw,” Hizashi placed a kiss on his temple, smiling softly for a piece of moment before letting it turn into an evil grin. “Your wish is an order, my adorably ticklish bear.”

 He positioned his hands in each leg, grazing his nails from the bottom of his calves and lightly scribbling their way up to the wonderfully sensitive spot under his knee, taking his time to draw spirals and rivers on the skin, being very content to feel the other squirm under his touches, huffs of laughter puffing from his lips. “Hey, Toshi, can I ask a question?”

 “Fuck,” he squeaked when an unexpected pinch was placed on his hip before Hizashi innocently continued his previous attack. “Y-you may.”

 “Right! But, first of all, let me take care of this two...” Yamada smiled, completely unfazed as he sat on the bed, holding both ankles and lifting before resting them on his shoulders. “There you go, squirmy toy! All comfy and unable to wiggle away from my curious, tickly fingers!”

 “He is going to kick you.” Aizawa rolled his eyes, getting closer until he could get a firm, yet gentle, grip on Yagi’s ankles, truly preventing him from moving them. “Here. Now ask your question.”

 “Thank you, babe.” Hizashi relished on the way Aizawa’s ears were painted in red before beaming again at Toshinori, who kept trying to pull his legs away from his predicament, and seeming to take the fact that he wasn’t laughing his head off as a personal offense. He rested his hands on his knees again, one of them squeezing them skillfully while the other scratched the sensitive skin underneath it. “So, Toshinori, what do you think it tickles more? When I squeeze, squeeze, squeeze those adorable ticklish kneecaps or when I tickle tickle tickle them silly?”

 “No, no, no!”

 “No?! Aw, I am afraid that isn’t really the answer I am looking for, darling… But that is okay! Do you know what I am going to do now, Toshi? Huh? Do you know?” 

 Yagi just shook his head, knowing pretty well that anything said would just fuel the evil words dripping freely from the other’s mouth.

 “Not even a guess?” He changed his technique to lightly tease with plentiful of scribbles the sensitive spot with just the tip of his fingers. “An itsy bitsy tiny guess? Awn.” A fake pout adorned his face. His fingers ascended a bit more, now tormenting the thighs, their owner smiling wide as the squirms began to get stronger, drawing circles around the little weak spots he knew that would fish the wildest laughter. “But I will tell you anyway! Because the Tickle Monster is feeling very kind today. I am going to get those sensitives calves riiiight here!” 

 “Hizashi!” Yagi tried to pull his legs again, his giggles becoming more frantic as he realized they didn’t even buckle from their spot. “I can’t. I promise you, I can’t! Hihihihizashi!”

 “But I do think you can! I believe in you, Toshinori. You’re such a strong, nice tickle bug. I think you definitely can take some good cootchie-coothie-coos right here!” He poked. “And here” Poke. “And here, and here, and here, here, here!” 

 Suddenly a sea of pokes - just that, just tiny, harmless, quick pokes that shouldn’t be able to make him feel even more ticklish than he already was - assaulted his calves, some surprising pinches and clawing also making an appearance and disappearing just as fast as they came.

 “Shut up, please, shut up!” Throwing his head with loud, squealing chortles, Toshinori pleaded, his mind overtaken with how much it tickled and how unbearable it was and how amazing all of this felt. 

 “Gasp! Toshi! How can you say that? The Tickle Monster thought you loved his teases. Why would you want them to ever stop? Do they make you feel more ticklish? Huh? Do they? Do all my silly teases and tickly attacks make the big, strong Yagi Toshinori become a very lovely and adorable mess of those cute sounds? Huh?”

 “Don’t you think how great would it be if we just stayed like this forever? Me, here, playing with you and your awfully helpless toes,” at the mention of the new spot Yamada changed his target, making the other to arch his back and shriek in belly laughter as fingers attacked under his toes, tickling and digging unmercifully at every single one of them. “and hearing this wonderful laughter! Don’t even make me start about your laughter! It is music to my ears.”

 When nothing but a series of snorts and loud laughter answered him, the blonde decided to stop his tickles, slowing them until his warm hands just rested there, peacefully.

 Toshinori wiped the single tear that traveled to his hot cheek, just a quick glance in Aizawa and Yamada’s general direction being enough to make his giggles start a-new.

 “I am not even doing nothing to you.” The tease couldn’t be helped, especially as his giggles got stronger and, consequently, quieter.

 “Your hands!”

 “My hands? What about them?” Hizashi shouldn’t be allowed to feel that much smug nor powerful.

 “They’re just…” A flow of intelligible noises fell from Yagi’s lips, and he decided to try again. “They’re just there! It tickles!”

 “Now, it does?”

 “I would never have guessed.” Aizawa deadpanned, watching as the other wiggled and squirmed in protest.

 “Right? I mean, they’re just chilling there. No moving, no tickling and Toshinori attacks them like that! I would feel wounded, but I guess he is really just a very ticklish giggle bug. Shouta, what are we going to do? The lesson clearly isn’t working… Oh, I wonder if there is something I could do to stop tickling him...”

 “Just take them off there!” Yagi gasped when the fingers started to skitter around his ankles, another newly discovered sweet spot that erupted a new round of snorts. “No!”

 “I don’t think there is anything that can be done. We could just stop and stare at him and he would be laughing uncontrollably in three seconds.” Aizawa remarked.

 “He is just too much sensitive, ya know? Just an itsy bitsy touch and you get him all giggly and blushy.” 

 “Am nohohot!”

 “And helpless too. Cute and helpless.”

 “Shouta, plehehease, let me go!”

 “Yean, absolutely.” Hizashi agreed, shaking his head with fake sadness, a tiny grin blooming on his lips. “I guess this is our fate, Sho, to hear him laugh and squeal and snort and giggle-giggle-giggle at anything we do.”

 “A pity.”

 “Enough!” Both stopped, hearing the light of tiredness painting Yagi’s tune. “That- haha, that is enough, please.”

 “Yellow?”

 “Red.” Toshinori smiled, feeling yet too shy to find their gazes with his. “I'm just an old man with one lung.”

 Hizashi snorted, offering him a bottle of water and heading to the kitchen to make his special tea - after all, no one knew a better recipe for tired throats than the Voice Hero himself, - and Aizawa just rolled his eyes, sitting on the mattress and massaging his feet, a calming gesture that helped both to relax as they enjoyed the silence with the phantom laughter and reminiscent giddiness that still ran on their veins.

 “Shouta,” Toshinori lightly hit the other’s thigh with his free feet until the black haired one turned his attention to him, not even slightly prepared for the soft, incredibly soft, expression and gleaming, energetic eyes which found his. “Thank you.”

 Aizawa scoffed, quickly trying to brush off the warmth engulfing his heart and smile that tried at all cost to appear on his features. 

 “It was very… enjoyable.” Toshinori pressed further, tipping his head to the side in an attempt to see his expression. “Your technique is very effective! You don’t rely a lot on verbal teases but the way you can mix different attacks and keep track of which spots bring the most reactions is very impressive! Not to mention-” A squeak broke his thoughts when a mean squeeze was delivered on his calf, Aizawa huffing before massaging the local to make the tingles go away.

 “Continue with this and I will not be above ganging up with Hizashi to wreck you, again.”

 “If it’s Complementing Eraserhead hours and you’re being too stubborn to accept the deserved nice words I think it’s very clear who I will end up helping.” Hizashi remarked as he got into the room, distributing the tea before squishing himself between them, almost spilling the drink as a warning tickle on his stomach made him jump.

 “Hey!” The one being called just quirked an eyebrow at him, almost challenging. Hizashi just shrugged. “It would still be worth it.”

 “Yagi,” Toshinori blinked, surprised at being pulled on their usual bickering, staring Aizawa above the rim of his mug. “Analyses about Hizashi as the ler.”

 An inhumane screech flew from Yamada’s lips. “Don’t you dare!”

 When he was over, sneaking one and other praise for Eraserhead here and there, they were all laid on the bed, limbs entangled due both the magnetism that seemed to pull them together and the fact that if it wasn’t for it, Yamada would have already fled from the room on the shine of Yagi’s first word.

 “I don’t like you.” The one with long, blond hair complained, grumbling when his sentence only made the others snuggle closer, snickering. “None of you. You’re both very mean and dirty traitors and I am going to scream.”

 “Don’t.” Aizawa slurred from somewhere behind Toshinori, his tune showing he was almost asleep. Hizashi, who already forgave them for their “betray” searched for his waist, resting his arm on it and very lightly scratching the base of his back, a spot he knew would make the underground hero absolutely melt. Toshinori captured his free hand, coming close and humming softly as his finger traced the lines on his palm.

 Soft. Good. Warm.

 At some point of the conversation, someone had turned the television on, and for a few pieces of moment the show playing in the background was the only thing that filled the silence.

 “Hey, Toshi.”

 “Yes?”

 “I know you don’t like a lot of attention when the tickling is over but… thank you.” A quick kiss was delivered on his forehead, happy to see no trace of discomfort on the other’s features, only a tiny, timid smile. “Thank you.”

 “Go to sleep, Hizashi.” And then he kissed his knuckles, just like Hizashi did back then, and Shouta murmured something, pulling them closer and Hizashi smiled and the television started to grow more and more silent.

 “Ok.”

 After that, everything was soft, good, warm.

[~*~]

Inspirations!

* That entire AllEraserMic tickle series that I absolutely live for

* The teases from the fanfics of that amazing author

* A very especific post about cute reactions when the lee is being tickled but I can’t find it so please enjoy Onion’s blog (the op)  instead. His blog is gold.

[sepublic]

Is the Golden Guard a Homunculus?

           Once more bringing up the idea of the Golden Guard having a connection to Eda, while also taking several cues from Belos and being trusted by him, being a teen prodigy with magic similar to Belos’…

           I’m gonna go out on a crazy limb here, and suggest this; What if the Golden Guard is a Homunculus?

           Alchemy is a common element in fantasy, of which The Owl House is an example of. With its use of magic, glyphs, and potions, I’d be surprised if alchemy didn’t exist in the Boiling Isles, or at the very least, if it didn’t have its own equivalent; Which, the entirety of Potions magic is probably this show’s take on alchemy!  

           A homunculus is an artificial human created by alchemy, although for the purposes of this theory, the Golden Guard is an artificial witch. The fandom has talked and half-joked, half-speculated on the idea of magic being used to bypass the issue of people of the same sex being unable to produce children; Some ideas have suggested same-sex witches being able to create a child by using pieces of themselves, combined with a magical ritual or two. That is of course pure speculation; However…

           We already know Belos as someone who can create living things from magic; He’s manifested fleshy constructs, and even the Intro Worm at a whim! The Golden Guard himself can even conjure flesh from magic to transmute into a metal sword! So the idea of creating living things from magic is hardly out of the question in this show, and definitely not for Belos and the Golden Guard…

           With how the Golden Guard seems to be set up as a dark parallel to Eda, a look into the kind of person she could’ve become had she joined the Emperor’s Coven as a kid; What if the Golden Guard is a Homunculus made from pieces of various witches, among them Eda herself? We’ve all considered Eda’s lost potential, and wondered just how powerful she could’ve been, had she never been cursed and given the opportunity to fully learn and explore as she’d wished; Eda herself has wondered about it, no less…

           And Belos? He definitely seems like the type of mad scientist, low-key eugenicist who’d do this sort of thing, out of some morbid fascination, a desire to unlock true power, explore the full extent of magic; And in a way, weaponized Eda’s potential without having to deal with Eda herself, by having a Homunculus with her DNA that’s totally loyal to Belos!

          Given how the Golden Guard obviously isn’t a clone of Eda –what glimpses of his face we’ve seen, plus his gender indicate otherwise- then it’s possible that Belos has taken DNA samples from multiple subjects, the strongest witches throughout history (such as the Coven Heads and even Kikimora), with the goal of creating the most powerful witch by combining DNA from all of them! Hence, the Golden Guard as a fledgling experiment, who already proves to be rather promising, with the help of Belos’ tutelage since the very beginning.

           With this show’s dives into body horror, and the ability of Belos to conjure living things to serve him, I wouldn’t be shocked. I could totally see Belos experimenting with his magic, moving on from making animals like the Intro Worm, to a full-blown Witch! For all we know, he may have even put in a bit of his DNA as well… 

          Of course, whether or not this sample was from before, or after he became so physically messed-up, I can’t say. With the connections to both Eda and Belos, the Golden Guard being a homunculus brewed in a lab would be a way to explain those potential ties, without having to resort to a VERY gross age-gap fling that isn’t in-character for either party.

           Alternatively, the DNA sample came from Gwendolyn, who IS a member of the Beastkeeping Coven, and did give birth to Eda herself! As for the potential issues of a sample coming from Eda, who is cursed, well…

           There is that one shot from the trailer showing an owl beast with a face similar to the Golden Guard’s mask;

           Could this be him? Did taking a piece of Eda, perhaps a strand of hair or something, result in the Golden Guard inheriting her curse? It’s also possible that the Golden Guard isn’t cursed, because Belos is able to cure such things, and unlike Eda, the Golden Guard would be loyal to him and have thus ‘earned’ that, especially since Belos wants to explore his creation’s potential. Alternatively, Belos got the Eda sample from before she was cursed; Possibly by visiting Gwen and asking if she had anything, such as a baby tooth, from Eda prior to the curse.

           Likewise, if the Golden Guard DOES contain a bit of Belos, this sample could’ve come from before Belos became so messed up… And/or, due to being young and less experimented upon, with DNA from other witches, the Golden Guard manages to still be healthy despite the presence of Belos inside of him! It is worth nothing that the Golden Guard wields magic similar to Belos, so for all we know, this fragment of the emperor is what allows him to do that, having been distorted in the same way.

          That, or Belos trusts the Golden Guard, enough to keep him privy on a bunch of secrets that the emperor normally reserved for a ‘chosen one’ such as himself; Only those selected by the Titan are worthy of this form of magic, and because Belos himself is decayed, the Golden Guard is the only viable candidate left to truly explore the full potential of this magic. Also, being a construct made of Belos’ unique magic, with his own bile sac and everything; That could explain why the Golden Guard is able to wield that same magic, because he’s made of it!

           And being made from Belos, who isn’t too physically well-off, that could be why the Golden Guard is established as tired in our first glimpse of his personality… That, and/or he’s exhausted because he’s a teen prodigy who has to do the work of an adult, and not just any adult but the right-hand man to Belos! Maybe the Golden Guard was created as a means for Belos to create a new physical body for himself, before he repurposed his homunculus as an apprentice of sorts, while possibly still keeping him as back-up host.

          Perhaps the Golden Guard was Belos’ attempt at creating witch super soldiers, of creating generations of witches by his own hand, who would be totally loyal to him; Thus keeping Belos from having to rely on families for children he doesn’t trust… And potentially freeing Belos to get rid of ALL other witches, because now he can make his own loyal ones from scratch! Belos would be the kind of person who’d want to make an army, while killing whatever he can’t control, hence the hunt for the Selkidomus.

           Plus, being made for the sole purpose of surpassing all other witches, even Belos- It could definitely add a lot more to the Golden Guard’s arrogance, but also a huge amount of pressure as well. And it’d make him feel indebted to Belos, for giving him life, for granting him such great talent and ability from the get-go, for basically writing his destiny out for him, a fate of grandeur and glory.

          As a lab creation controlled and indoctrinated since birth, influenced before birth even, with Belos’ influence ingrained into his very body- It could add to why Belos seems to trust the Golden Guard on matters even Kikimora isn’t privy about! Creating a whole kid to raise into an adult, an entire life for a single purpose, and making sure that life KNOWS that purpose and fully devotes their existence to it, because it’s literally why they exist to begin with- Not exactly something I’d put past Belos!

           Plus, for Eda; The Golden Guard could act as a disturbing mirror for her. Not just in the kind of person she could’ve been, but as a harsh reminder of the magical potential and power she could’ve had, had she never been cursed; And again of the magic she completely lost, when the curse reached its worst limits. It’d be a way to haunt Eda at a point when she’s lost her magic, by dangling what could’ve and should’ve been; It’s like a ghost and a specter for those who have mourned or wondered Eda’s lost potential.

[pascalpanic]

Cigarette Daydreams

Pairings: young Javier Peña x young f!reader

Inspiration: Cigarette Daydreams by Cage The Elephant

Summary: Javier drives all night in the rain, wondering what went wrong and where. How he lost you, the one woman he’d ever loved. 

W/C: 5.4k

Warnings: language, talk of death, lots of talk of sexual content but nothing explicit, lots of angst, emotions are running high here, talk of poor mental health. this handles some heavy topics so please be warned. set in the 60s so there’s a really brief mention of being drafted. 

A/N: So this is a song I like but it’s really emotional, as is this fic. I just wanted to explore what Javier would’ve been like when he was young. It’s not necessarily all in chronological order but I kind of think it makes sense... let me know if it doesn’t. thank you to all my friends/beta readers who helped me with this one, like @leonieb, @feelingmadclever, @theteddylupinexperience, and a bunch of others :)

Javier smoked his first cigarette with you. It would become a lifelong addiction: the cigarettes, that is. You, on the other hand, were a yearning he could never satisfy. An addiction is something you can feed; you can dull it by giving it exactly what it wants. Javier wanted you, still wants you desperately. The difference is that he cannot have you. 

It’s been years since he last saw you. Since he last heard your enchanting laugh, smelled the warm scent of your hair product as he kissed the top of your head. He thinks about you all the goddamn time. What life would be like now if you hadn’t gone your own way. He misses you like hell, but he’s sure you’re off and married and conquering the world in your own way. He’s never tried to find out. He’s too scared it’s true. 

-

Laredo was more of the place you told people you hailed from. The name was recognizable, easily: oh, you’re from the place where A&M’s other campus is located? Exactly, you’d respond, and it was much less of a hassle. In reality, you and Javier both grew up in a small community out in the farmlands near Laredo. 

You’d grown up with him. Everyone in the town knew you, and they knew Javi equally as well. He was an interest of your community: from the day you took those standardized tests in second grade, everyone knew that Peñita was going places, but his temper held him back. His emotions consumed him. 

He was blonde as a baby; you’d seen in photos, scattered around Chucho’s house. His hair gradually grew darker as he grew older, and your classmates all teased him. You didn’t remember a time where his hair was lighter than a dark blonde, being a child yourself. But it was an evolution that matched him, you had come to realize in your adult years. 

Not only was he smart, he was a born athlete. Javier was always a bit smaller than the other boys, but damn was he quick. He could run and run and no one could match him. That’s what made him so successful in early football training. From the start, Chucho enrolled him in football, despite Alejandra’s weak protests. She gave in when she saw her baby in a helmet and massive shoulder pads, grinning at her with one front tooth. 

You and Javier were not in the same circles as children. He played with the boys on the field, always the running back when they played football or the offense when they played soccer. He had a temper, though. If there was ever a scuffle on the soccer pitch, you could bet Javier was one of the fighters. You, on the other hand, sat in the shade of the elementary school building, reading book after book. 

His mother was beautiful. She had long dark hair that smelled of something exotic and warm, and she had a smile with a dimple in one cheek. She brought treats to your class on his birthday, which was in November. She read books to your class on her assigned story days, Javier cuddled into her side. He adored her. 

Alejandra Peña died when you were in sixth grade. You can remember the way the class was silent the next morning, Javier’s desk empty. You nearly threw up from the emotion when you heard that she was gone. Your eyes blurred with tears. The loss was inconceivable to your twelve-year-old brain. 

You rode your bike past his house that night. There was a lamp on in the room you knew to be his. His silhouette paced back and forth through the small, second-floor bedroom. You didn’t know what you could do or say, and so you rode off through the neighborhood. 

His hair grew even darker after that. What had been a dark blonde became a light brown as middle school progressed. His anger flared up. He would throw punches when the kid acting as referee made a call Javier deemed to be bullshit. 

You were something different. Javier found you fascinating the first time you truly interacted, seated together for a class. You were fourteen then, his face just starting to grow a bit of dark hair on his jaw. You were absorbed by your books, hardly talking to anyone and even sneaking it under the table during lectures. 

One day, he called your name to catch your attention. You didn’t notice it, lost in your own world. He snatched the book from your hands and slammed it on the table. “Hey. Princesa, we got work to do.”

You frowned. “Give it back, Peñita.”

“Only after we finish this assignment. I don’t want homework tonight.” He stuffed the book in his backpack and tossed you a pencil. 

“I won’t do it until you give it back,” you bartered coolly, crossing your arms and sitting back in the chair. “And I have more willpower than you. That’s a fact.”

He glared at you for a moment, the both of you staring the other down. It lasted quite a while, more than you expected. Javier broke first, handing you your book and grumbling over the worksheet. 

You became better partners after that. Javier even apologized for it two weeks later. You forgave him, and something about his smile made your heart flutter around in your ribcage. 

That started the friendship. You’d walk together in the halls, chatting about your parents and sports and homework for the night. Then middle school became high school and things changed between you, even though nothing you did was different.  

Javier had always been a good athlete. He became the first-string running back for the high school, leading them to state his freshman year. When you walked together in the halls now, there was an expectation from the others. Boys and girls only walked together if they were couples, and a star football player was a coveted date. 

You’d explained that to him. “Javi, as much as I love you, and you know I do, people are gonna think we’re together. I don’t want you to have to deal with that,” you’d pleaded. “I’d be ruining your chances. I think it’s better if we walk separately now.”

Javier nodded. He had to play along. He couldn’t let you know that in the past few months, he’d begun to feel things for you he’d never felt before. He had dreams about you at night, the kind where he’d wake up to damp sheets. He’d noticed your body changing, and his changed too. He thought about you when he’d lie awake at night, his hand in his boxers. The hormones were beginning to pump through Javier’s blood in a way that may have never really ever stopped. 

From then on, you’d walk alone in the hall. Your nose was buried in a book at first, navigating it alone. Then you’d made friends, and you’d talk with people as you slammed your locker shut. You’d give Javier a wave, leading him to be roughhoused by his teammates who took him in as one of their own. 

You became different from him. You were known for being an artist and a writer. You embraced the loving spirit of the 60s’ culture and made warm oil paintings of fields and flowers, wrote poetry that won awards, and even wrote a collection of short stories. You weren’t a hippie, but you were artsy. Javi became a bit of a jock. 

The pressure grew to be too much in the middle of Javier’s junior season. It was the end of fall. You were both 17. You’d stopped maintaining a friendship now, far from as close as you’d been in the earlier days. You waved at him in the hall and that was it. It changed when the stress of being an athlete pushed on Javier’s brain until it popped. He quit the team, spending his time after school in his bedroom at home. He no longer proudly wore the team’s t-shirts or his letter jacket. 

You heard about it through rumors. You didn’t talk to Javier. He kept his head down in the halls now. There were dark circles under his eyes. He’d sit in the library for hours, forcing himself to cram knowledge into his brain. If he wouldn’t be going to college for football now, he figured, he’d better get smart fast. 

You’d sat at a table across the library as you worked on your chemistry homework. You glanced up. Javier looked down. He’d been looking at you. You stared at him until he looked up again. “Can I sit with you?” You’d mouthed, and he nodded. A small smile graced his face. 

Packing up your textbook and papers, you dragged a chair over. “Hi, Javi,” you said. Your voice was quiet and painfully soft. 

He smiles a little. “Hey, princesa.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the both of you staring at your papers and pretending like you were working. You weren’t. “I missed you,” you finally admitted after the silence passed. 

His heart skipped a beat. “I missed you too. Probably more than you missed me.”

You shook your head. “I was wrong. I liked walking with you in the halls. I miss that, I miss us,” you admit, your hand resting over his. He looked up at you with the big brown eyes you’ve always loved, and your smile softened. “Your hair is so dark now, Peñita.”

He nodded a little. “It just keeps going. I don’t know if it will ever stop.”

“You’re funny,” you chuckled and retracted your hand. “How have you been? I heard about the football thing.”

He sighed softly. “It was too much. Not me, not anymore. I hated it.”

“Who are you now, then?” You asked quietly. 

He looked up at you. “I don’t know.”

You’d smiled. “I can help you find out.”

-

That’s how your friendship began again.

It wasn’t a friendship for long, not with how you noticed Javier had changed. His hair was that warm, dark, chocolate color, his nose finally fit his face, he’d grown stronger and leaner and taller. He’d acquired a different sense of confidence, a different posture and walk. But it was clear: he was still your Javi. The one who stole your book all those years ago. 

You’d grown even more beautiful over your time apart, he noticed. You’d become self assured and confident too and it showed. You had a little mean streak, and Javier loved it more than life itself. He got a little weak at the knees when you’d tease him. 

He’d become a social outcast, essentially abandoning his place in the social hierarchy that high schools provide. When you knocked on his door a few days later, Chucho answered, slightly confused. “Hello.”

“Hi,” you said, smiling apologetically. “I’m a friend of Javi’s, I’m here to study with him.”

The older man was a mirror of Javier many years from now. He had a strong nose too, and a worn face. It made lines when he’d smiled. “I didn’t know Javi had many friends anymore.”

You shrugged. “Well, I think you’re right. But… I’m here.”

Javi jogged down the stairs, frowning when he saw his father at the door. You came inside and studied and Javier couldn’t help but to beam at you. Studying wasn’t much of studying. As you’d sidetracked the work and started conversing, Javier leaned in as if he was going to kiss you. You stopped him, but kept his face close. “Not now, Javi. I want it to be perfect. But I do want to kiss you.”

He’d panicked when you’d stopped him, but your words reassured him, and he breathed a chuckle. “Sneak out with me tonight.”

You agreed. 

12:30 A.M. rolled around. You pocketed a pack of your dad’s cigarettes and a lighter and rode your bike to the pond nearby. 

Javier sat there waiting. He was wrapped in a leather jacket, jeans covering his long legs as he sat by the side of the pond. Crickets chirped and birds called and when he looked at you, your heart fell apart in your chest. It never really glued itself back together. Not even to this day. 

You sat next to him, and he put an arm around your shoulders. You couldn’t wait any longer, and you leaned in and kissed him and he was absolutely perfect. His soft lips pressed back against yours, those hands buried themselves in your hair. You broke away a second later and both of you grinned at each other. It was only seconds more before he pulled you in for the second kiss you’d ever had in your life. 

That night was not only Javier’s first kiss but the first time he smoked a cigarette. You pulled one thin stick from the pack and placed it between his lips, lighting the end. 

He was a natural at it, unlike you, who’d tried before and choked and spluttered on the smoke. You were better at it now, able to handle yourself. He breathed in and out and passed it to you, and he looked so effortlessly cool and sexy and beautiful that you didn’t take a drag, you grabbed his face and kissed him again. 

You were so many firsts for Javier. His first kiss, his first cigarette, his first fuck. You’d done it in the back of his truck, on a hot night where you parked in a field far from the town and rolled all of the windows down. You finally got to feel his strong body, got to feel his passion for you as he tugged on your lip with his teeth and pushed inside of you. It was sheer bliss for both of you, even if he never made you orgasm that night. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to figure that out. Javier was a natural, his hands wandering and feeling everything your body had to offer until they found just the right spot to make you cry his name into the hot Texas night. You snuck out with him often, smoked and fucked in his house when Chucho was gone, or by that pond. 

You talked a lot after. You were the first he opened up to about his mother. He missed her like hell. He told you that he wanted to work in some kind of law enforcement. He thought drug enforcement might suit him. You opened up about your own trauma to him, and he held you as you cried into his body. He’d kissed your forehead and told you he promised that nothing would ever happen to you when he’s around, and it was completely believable because Javier was like some deity to you. He was strong and warm and loving and kind and beautiful and you thought, truly, that he could do no wrong. 

He never betrayed that trust either. Javier was a wonderful boyfriend to you in the daylight hours too. You’d study together, go on bike rides or just drive around in his truck. You spent almost every weekend with him. Chucho adored you too, loved your humor and kindness and most of all, your love for his son. Your family didn’t like Javier much, so you simply avoided your house with him. 

Javier was so proud when he first pulled up your driveway in his truck soon after you began again. He worked for the Villafañes down the road as a farmhand, a summertime assistant to the aging man who lived there. He saved his earnings all summer and split the cost with Chucho. He’d had it for 8 months and it had been on the verge of the junkyard the entire time. 

It was a piece of shit, and you both knew it. It was a deep red, rusty and broken down. The shocks were terrible and made it bounce like a bull in a ring. It didn’t matter, because it was his.

He’d pick you up in that truck and drive all night. The two of you sang along to the radio, then would talk, then make out in the backseat and drive again. You loved Javier, and you admitted it quickly. He said it immediately after you. 

People looked at you like you were crazy when you held Javier’s hands in the hall. Wasn’t he a mental case? Who would give up something like he had, and for no apparent reason? You didn’t give a shit, even if your friends told you Javier was no good. They didn’t know him, didn’t know that his middle name was Fernando and he hated it and that his mother’s favorite gem, ruby, was yours too, that Chucho told you Javi wanted to marry you someday or that Javier loved to nudge your neck with his nose after sex, both of you warm with the hot Texan air flowing through his open windows. 

You told them they didn’t get it, and they said you were the one who didn’t. You’ve got everything going for you. Why risk it with the nut job?

Javier remained a pariah, an outcast, but you didn’t give a shit. You called out his name in the hall and waved, sat with him at lunch and laughed until you choked on the terrible school meal. You were loud and affectionate, and it brought Javi back from the fringes of high school society he’d been banished to. 

Javier worked in fields and barns to earn money, building his muscles. You worked in customer service, building your restraint. Your town had opened a drive-in restaurant a few years before, complete with roller-skating waitresses. Being a skilled skater, you signed up. 

It was fun, but a pain in the ass some days. Customer service was rarely enjoyable. 

The highlight of the summer after your junior year was Javier pulling up to the restaurant every few days. “Peñita!” You’d squeal and put in an order for just what he always wanted- strawberry milkshake, double patty cheeseburger, large fries. 

“Hey, Princesa,” he’d mumble back with a small smile, leaning in for a kiss. He looked like a Texan James Dean, white t-shirt cuffed and worn jeans. His dark hair was gelled back, though much of it fell loose from his long day of hauling crops for Don Villafañe. This coolness was contrasted by his shitty truck, dust caking the windows, and the fact that he was far from blonde now. 

You’d fold your arms over his open window and kiss him, tripping over your skates in your excitement. He’d laugh and tease you, and he’d always give you the cherry off the top of his milkshake. You began telling your coworkers to put two cherries on top, so that he could have one too. He still gave both to you. 

During your senior year, Javier gave you his class ring. It was large and bulky on your fingers, thinner than his, but it made you beam with pride as you walked through the halls. You’d cried when he gave it to you, promising he’d replace it with a diamond someday. You knew it would never last that long. 

Senior year was uneventful. You went to prom with Javier, wearing a peach colored dress. Javier wore his father’s tuxedo with a tie to match your color. The photo was awkward but sweet, the two of you clearly in love. You graduated equally uneventfully, and the two of you spent the night in his truck, out in a field, promising sweet nothings through the sound of skin slapping skin. “Here’s to the class of ‘66,” Javier murmured into your neck. 

You had big dreams, and Javier’s were far different. He planned on attending Texas A&M, not far away. You’d earned a fantastic scholarship at a small liberal arts college in Upstate New York. You both knew these things, but Javier seemed determined to make it work. He knew the two of you loved each other; shouldn’t that be enough?

You felt guilty the entire summer. You had anxiety attacks quite a bit, felt that you were leading Javier on. Then, another part of you thought, he must know. He must not believe you could pull off a long distance relationship with only letters and phone calls. 

Javier passed the summer blissfully unaware. He was young and in love: he thought there was nothing that could go wrong. You still spent time together, more than you ever had, in fact. Something gnawed away at your insides as the time passed. 

On the rare days neither of you worked, you’d find somewhere deserted and sit with your legs dangling from his tailgate. You’d nick liquor and cigarettes from your parents and share them, laughing and talking. Planning a future you knew wouldn’t come. 

The day before you left, you spent the day with your boyfriend. You had a picnic dinner, complete with some stolen beers from Chucho’s refrigerator. You sat on a blanket in a nearby field, watching as the afternoon dwindled down to an orange-hazed sky. 

As the sun set, tears formed in your eyes. “Javi?” You asked him softly, your voice cracking. 

“What is it, princesa?” He returned, pulling you closer into his side. The tall grass swayed around you, and you bit your lip to stop from choking out a sob. 

“I love you, Javier. And I always will.” But as you said the words, your actions said otherwise. You removed your class ring from your finger, placing it in his palm. “But, I think… I think we need to be our own people for a while. Maybe someday we’ll meet again. Maybe things will be different, but I’m going to New York and you’re staying here. Fuck, you could be drafted, and I-“

Javier stopped you, pulling away and looking at you in the face. His eyes showed his heartbreak. “I thought we were gonna get married, be together forever.”

You choked out a sob. “Javi, I want to. I do. But I can’t. I can’t live that kind of life.” You wanted to travel, to do things, to live freely and be whoever you wanted. Javier wanted to stay in Laredo and work in law enforcement. The two weren’t compatible.

“There’s nothing stopping you,” he begged, taking your hand in both of his. “Please, I’d move to New York with you, or you could go to A&M with me, please,” he asked, his eyes welling with tears. “You’re the love of my life, baby.”

You couldn’t look at him. The emotion was too much to bear. “Javier,” you whined and pulled your hand from his. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

His heartbroken stare makes you cry harder into your hands. You stood, ready to find your way to the road and walk home. 

Javier caught you by the waist, then removed your hands from your face. “I-I understand. I do. But… kiss me one last time?”

You stared at him, tears staining your face and his cheeks equally damp. You nodded and Javier cupped your face, kissing you slowly and lovingly. It was tender and bittersweet. It was not the way you’d kiss him at the drive-in restaurant or in the back of his truck. It was not the way you’d sneak a kiss goodbye in front of Chucho. It was desperate. You both knew what it meant. Maybe that’s why it lasted so long. 

You broke away and pressed your forehead to his before finding the dirt road and beginning the walk home. You needed to finish packing, and was getting dark. You didn’t dare to ask Javier to drive you home. You feared you might change your mind if you were around him a second longer.

-

Javier never saw you after that. It was partially serendipitous and partially out of effort. 

When he returned home on winter break or for Thanksgiving, he contained himself to Chucho’s house, or he’d see one or two friends he still had. That was about it. If he knew you weren’t in town, he’d go out and have a good time. It would all go downhill if you were there, and he knew it, so he resigned himself to long nights with his father. 

You wanted to see him again. You drove past his house many times when you were home from New York, seeing the light on in his old room again. Every time, you stopped just a little longer than you should have at the stop sign yards from his house. You contemplated pulling into the driveway and begging him to take you back. It never happened. 

Once or twice, you even caught a glimpse of dark-chocolate hair through the front windows of the house. It made your heart stop and your eyes tear up. 

You moved out of town when you graduated. You started a career near your college, far from your hometown that was almost considered Laredo. Your wish was fulfilled. 

Javier’s was too- well, only partially. He stayed in Laredo. He worked in law enforcement there for a while before he got picked to work with the DEA. It didn’t matter what kind of job he got. He didn’t have you, and that made him miserable. 

You’d been the one to save him. Now he didn’t even know if you still had the same last name you did when he slipped his class ring onto your finger, when he murmured your full name and promised one day that he’d get you a gorgeous ruby and diamond band instead of that class ring and he’d change that last name to Peña. 

-

Javier got a new truck recently. It’s nice. The first car he ever bought that wasn’t used, actually. It’s a deep red, the same color of his first car. Ruby, he named it. 

He thinks about you all the goddamn time. Nothing could change that, not time or hookups. He sighs as he thinks about the years since you’ve seen him, while he drives around in the pouring rain. Why? How?

He never slept around in college, too lovesick and still hoping you’d call and want to meet with him, would want to rekindle what you’d had. 

He forced himself to get moving after that. He had a few girlfriends when he worked for the Webb County Sheriff's Office. He even got serious with one. 

Lorraine was beautiful and kind and funny. He loved the way she’d shotgun a beer and then kiss him, her lips tasting of the fermented liquid. She was a good time, a great partier. He asked her out and things went well, he supposed. 

She wanted different things from Javier. He’d been starting to grow restless, wanting to leave Laredo. Lorraine, however, wanted to settle down. She wanted the whole thing: a big ranch-style, a fireplace in the living room, four or five babies with Javier’s brown eyes, running around and laughing. 

As much as he wanted it, he couldn’t. He nodded along and played the game, telling her that he’d do that for her. He’d provide for her and give her all the kids he wanted. He’d be a good father and a great husband and everything would be good. 

It was more to himself that he said those things. He wanted to believe they were true, really, but he had the feeling you’d had years ago. He wanted her, wanted such a calming life, but at the same time, he didn’t want it. He wanted to get out and do things and feared being fenced in. 

He proposed to Lorraine. Got her a nice diamond ring and everything. She’d cried and kissed him and he’d forced himself to smile but it wasn’t genuine. At least she didn’t know that. 

The wedding was planned. It was going to be a grand affair for the town, nearly everyone invited. Everyone was like family to the members of the town. Lorraine got an expensive, fluffy white dress and Javier bought a tuxedo. 

The ceremony was supposed to start at 5:00. Everyone sat patiently as the clock ticked past it. They didn’t know a thing. They didn’t know Lorraine was pacing the church basement, her heart clenched in fear. No one had seen Javier. Not even the groomsmen. 

Then it became 5:10, 5:30. At 5:45, Lorraine’s mother began to quietly tell the church that the ceremony wouldn’t be happening today. The disgruntled attendees left, wondering what happened. 

Javier had ran. He drove out of Laredo, straight for Dallas. He wanted out. He’d left early in the morning, not even saying goodbye to his father. He was already on a plane to Washington D.C. when the bride realized she was no longer getting married today. 

He got a job working for the DEA. They’d offered him one a few months ago, but he’d declined. He wanted to stay in Laredo with Lorraine, he’d bluffed. Things hit the fan when he began training for the new job. 

He fucked every woman in sight. He didn’t care who they were: if they wanted him, he wanted them. He never stopped smoking, developed a love and almost dependence on whiskey. When he went to Colombia, he paid for his first ever escort. 

It was what he deserved, he told himself. The one woman he’d ever loved left him. He had left the one person who ever gave a shit about him. Ruined her life and left her with a sense of anxiety whenever she was in that church’s basement as she remembered. 

He doesn’t deserve attachment. He doesn’t deserve someone caring for him. That’s why he sleeps around. That’s why he’s left so many lovers in the dust. 

Stop thinking about that, Javier tells himself. He whips a U-turn, opening the window and hanging a hand out of it. It forces himself to return to reality, to get out of his goddamn head and to not crash this new truck. The rain pelts his skin and he frowns. It never rains around Laredo, and it’s the one night he’s in town. 

He pulls into the old drive-in restaurant, thinking back to the happy days. He can still see your baby-faced grin as you skated over to him, long legs pushing you along. He could nearly taste the strawberry milkshake on his tongue. It’s closed for the night, since it’s in the early hours of the morning now. 

He jumps as a car pulls into the spot next to him. He looks down, knowing that whoever it is will likely recognize him. Everyone recognizes him around here. He’s not in the mood to talk.

“They’re closed,” a voice calls out from the other car, and Javier’s heart stops. He’d know that voice anywhere, even if it spoke a different language. 

He looks up and his eyes meet yours for the first time in twenty years. They’re still just as beautiful, still glimmering. “Peñita,” you breathe out as it clicks in your mind. 

He’s aged beautifully. His dark hair is neatly pushed back, though it’s a little shorter than he used to keep it. His face has lines now, heavy from the stress of his job. His eyes look weary and tired. 

You get out of your car. Javier does the same. You look at him, standing there, with a new truck that’s the same color of his very first piece of shit pickup. “Nice truck,” you comment. 

He smiles softly. “Thanks. It’s new.”

You walk around the front of your car, eyes wide in disbelief. There’s hurt on his face and you know you’re the cause of it. “Javier… I missed you.”

He looks down at you, now standing right in front of him. “I missed you more.”

You throw your arms around him and hug him tight. Your eyes water with tears as you squeeze him, wishing this moment would never end. He hugs you back, those arms still strong and protective. 

He presses a soft kiss to your head. He mutters his nickname for you quietly. His voice is different now, huskier and deeper. It’s a beautiful sound. His lips are buried in your hair but you can hear it all the same. “Princesa.”

-

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[joshjacksons]

Joshua Jackson interview with "Mr Porter" (2021)

Minutes before Mr Joshua Jackson joins me in a booth for a Friday afternoon drink at a vibey hotel bar in Santa Monica, he’s confronted by his past. Or rather, a woman in her early twenties who is binge-watching Dawson’s Creek, the teen show about a close-knit group of high-school friends coming of age in a sleepy American town, which made Jackson incredibly famous between 1998 and 2003. The series, which also made household names of Ms Michelle Williams and Ms Katie Holmes, went off air 18 years ago, but is now streaming on Netflix, to the bemusement of Jackson, who played lovable rogue Pacey Witter. “This girl was like, ‘Are you...?’ And I’m like, ‘Yes, I am. He got old. I’m sorry to break it to you,’” he says, before ordering an iced tea and a charcuterie board to tide him over until dinner time. “It always surprises me when young people say they’ve just got into Dawson’s Creek. I’m like, ‘Is it a costume drama to you? Do you feel like you’re watching a historical documentary?’”

The idea of a Friends-style reunion episode or a Sex And The City revival feels equally far-fetched to Canadian-born Jackson, now 43 and wearing it well in a pale green linen shirt and tailored linen trousers by Oliver Spencer that complement his fading brown hair and Cali-tanned skin.

“I don’t know why you’d want to [bring it back],” he says. “Nobody needs to know what those characters are doing in middle age. We left them in a nice place. Nobody needs to see that Pacey’s back hurts. I don’t think we need that update.”

And Jackson doesn’t need Dawson’s Creek. From Mr JJ Abrams’ sci-fi series Fringe (2008-2013) to the Golden Globe award-winning The Affair (2014-2019), from Ms Ava DuVernay’s ground-breaking true-crime drama When They See Us (2019) to the recent Ms Reese Witherspoon and Ms Kerry Washington-produced Little Fires Everywhere (2020), he has commanded the small screen – with a collection of dynamic and diverse work – ever since.

His latest role as Mr Christopher Duntsch, the Texas surgeon convicted of gross malpractice when 33 of his patients were left seriously injured after he operated on them and two of them died, in chilling Peacock crime drama Dr Death, is only stepping his career up another gear.

“I’ve never played anyone irredeemable before,” says Jackson, who is joined in the eight-part series (based on the 2018 Wondery podcast of the same name) by Messrs Christian Slater and Alec Baldwin. “He is charming, gregarious and has a high-level intellect, but he’s also a misogynist, probably a sociopath, certainly a narcissist and a complete incompetent who is incapable of seeing himself.”

If Duntsch is terrifying, then Jackson’s portrayal is even more so. The artist formerly known as Pacey is virtually unrecognisable (thanks to prosthetics) in the opening scene, but the real challenge for Jackson was allowing himself to view someone who is so “spectacularly evil” as a human being in order to walk in his shoes. “It’s a more damning portrayal of the man to make him into a human being, rather than just make him the bad guy,” he says. “He really believes he’s the hero, he’s the genius and that he’s the victim, so once I got past my own judgment, all the other things fell into place.”

Jackson might have his pick of stellar roles – and challenges – now, but it has not happened by accident. Take it from someone who has been in the business since landing his first job aged 14 in Disney’s live-action movie series The Mighty Ducks, opposite Brat Pack alumnus Mr Emilio Estevez.

“You try to make it look like it happens accidentally,” he says, “but there is no way to do this and not be ambitious. I’d say I’m extremely ambitious because I’ve been doing this cutthroat job for nearly 30 years. I’m in the pay-off phase of my career now. One of the benefits of surviving for as long as I have is you get to learn from your own mistakes.”

Such as? “I wouldn’t say, ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ because it all becomes bricks in a path, but [after Dawson’s Creek] I was not choosy enough about the things I was doing. You get stuck. You start trying to perform the performance you think people are hoping to see you do. I was so used to working all the time that I just worked all the time. There was definitely a conscious moment in my mid-twenties when I realised I wasn’t really enjoying the work that I was doing. My manager at the time just said, ‘Take a breath. You’re burnt out.’”

The turning point came in 2005, when Jackson was offered a role in the two-hander Mr David Mamet play A Life In The Theatre, opposite Sir Patrick Stewart. “God bless him, Patrick could have made my life miserable because I had no idea what I was doing, ” he says. “I hadn’t been on stage since I was a kid and now I was in the West End in over my head. But it reminded me that I actually enjoyed being an actor, that it’s not about the red carpet or travelling around the world. What I really enjoy is working on good material with good people.”

It’s no surprise Jackson’s time on Dawson’s Creek led to a career crisis. From the ages of 19 to 24, he lived with his fellow cast mates in Wilmington, North Carolina, filming day in, day out, in an arrangement he likens to college. “You get to the end and they’re like, ‘Here’s your degree. Go live now. You’re an adult. Go out into the world,’” he says.

But most graduates don’t have to deal with global fame. “It’s transitory. You’re only ever cool for a moment and then you become much less cool. I was always pretty dubious about flatterers,” he says, recalling a time he was stung in London in the mid-2000s. “I went on a date in Hyde Park with a woman whose name I will not use – she was socialite-famous – and she was acting completely bizarre, looking over her shoulder the whole time. I came to find out that she had hired a photographer to follow us through the park and gave a whole story to the tabloids about how I was going to meet her family.”

It was his growing fortune, rather than fame, that caused Jackson the most anxiety. “Suddenly, at 19 years old, I was making more in a week than most of my friends’ parents would make in a year,” he says. “It was lovely to have the money, but it was that feeling of nobody is worth that kind of money. You feel like a fraud and it took me a long time to forgive myself for not being the thing that I was perceived as.”

Born in Vancouver, but raised in Topanga, California, until he was eight (before moving back to Vancouver following his parents’ divorce), Jackson bought his childhood home in 2001 and lives in it today with his wife, British Queen & Slim actor Ms Jodie Turner-Smith, and their 15-month-old daughter.

“My father unfortunately was not a good father or a husband and exited the scene, but that house in Topanga was where everything felt simple, so it was a very healing thing for me to do,” he says. Fast-forward to 2021 and his baby daughter now sleeps in her father’s childhood bedroom. “There was a mural of a dragon on the wall in that room that I couldn’t believe was still there, years later. The owner [who sold him the house] said, ‘I knew it meant a lot to somebody and that they were going to come back for it some day.’”

Becoming a first-time parent during a pandemic sounds stressful, but it afforded Jackson months at home with his wife and child that his normal work schedule wouldn’t have allowed.

“I now recognise how perverse the way that we have set up our society is,” he says. “There is not a father I know who works a regular job who didn’t go back to the office a week later. It’s robbing that man of the opportunity to bond with his child and spend time with his partner.”

Despite his obvious career ambitions, fatherhood has changed Jackson’s priorities in “every possible way”, he says. “It’s 100 per cent changed how I approach my work and my life. That has been made so clear to me in this past year. For me to feel good about what I’m doing day to day, my family has to be the central focus.

“There are plenty of things left for me to do, but now the thing that gets me excited is experiencing the world through my daughter’s eyes. I can’t wait to take her scuba diving. I can’t wait to take her skiing. I can’t wait to read a great book with her. I’m not worried at all she’ll be a wallflower. She’s been a character from the word go.”

Jackson met Turner-Smith, 34, two days after his 40th birthday. He had been single since his 10-year relationship with German actress Ms Diane Kruger ended in 2016. “I was not looking to fall in love again or meet the mother of my child, but life has other plans for you,” he says.

The couple met at a party. Turner-Smith was wearing the same The Future Is Female Ejaculation T-shirt Ms Tessa Thompson’s character, Detroit, wears in the 2018 film Sorry To Bother You. “That’s what I used to break the ice. I shouted, ‘Detroit!’ across the room. Not the smoothest thing I’ve ever done, but it worked. We were pretty much inseparable from the word go. It was a whirlwind romance and I can tell my daughter I literally saw her mother across a room and thought, ‘I have to be next to this woman.’”

A self-confessed “useless” shopper, Jackson gives his wife full credit for his current wardrobe. He is jewellery-free, apart from a wedding band and a gold signet “JJ” ring on his little finger (a present from his wife), and discovered tailored sweatsuits (by Stampd and Reigning Champ) in the pandemic.

“Jodie has influence in the way that a wonderful wife encourages you, through love, to dress well. She was like, ‘We’re going to throw away all the sweatpants from your past and I’m going to get you some that actually make you look like an adult male and you will still feel comfortable around the house,’ and I’m like, ‘What an amazing idea!’ Who knew you could get sweatsuits that actually look good on your body?”

Jackson’s style has evolved, he says, “from slovenly teen to it’s-nice-when-your-clothes-actually-fit-you”. The penny dropped after he auditioned for his former co-star Estevez, who was directing the 2006 Mr Robert Kennedy biopic Bobby. He said to me, ‘You only got this job because I know you. You came in here to play a very well-put together 1960s political operative and you’re wearing jeans and a hoodie.’

“I had to grow up a little bit. We are very much raised in Canada to never, ever show off, so it took me a while to recognise it’s OK to look good when you go out.”

Still, when you’ve grown up in front of the camera, “every pimple literally documented”, and lived (very successfully) to tell the tale, you can probably be forgiven for the odd fashion faux pas.

“I wore a silk Ascot to an event once in Paris and I still have nightmares about it,” he says. “I looked like Fred from Scooby Doo, but you live and learn.”

[silkling]

So, @pastelpaperplanes, I did it again. Apparently a) I have no self control, and b) my brain wouldn’t stop screaming at me till I wrote this. The song for this drabble is at the end of the post, but be warned there’s a very minor twist after the “keep reading”, so try not to spoil yourself by getting to it early. I hope you all enjoy this! (Maybe now my little gremlin brain will let me go back to my Dojo Ghost Prowl AU)

Yoketron watched Lockdown with a critical eye, stepping in when the youngling’s stance was too wide to nudge his feet closer. His student looked at him, eyes curios and demanding an explanation. The ninja smiled, fond. This was why Lockdown was one of his favorite students. The young mech always wanted to learn and understand. He didn’t mindlessly listen and obey, but rather questioned so he could better know why things were done instead of just how they were done. It was refreshing.

He blinked, both he and Lockdown freezing in place when there was a knock at the door. That was...unusual. He’d always made it very clear that he wasn’t to be disturbed when he was in a lesson, unless it was a true emergency. He glanced at his student, pondering his next actions for only a moment before nodding. “Lockdown, you may take a break. I will see if this is not something I can solve without halting your lesson.” When the youngling nodded and folded himself down to begin a series of easy stretches, Yoketron turned and walked to the door. He blinked, resignation settling in his chest as he was greeted with who was on the other side.

It was his son, Prowl, held in the arms of his most recent caretaker. His very frazzled looking caretaker. The femme made a sound of manic hysteria, shoving the infant into his Sire’s chest as soon as she saw him. He brought his arms up on reflex, hands curling around the small frame as he allowed his son’s back to settle into the curve of his arm. “I can’t do this anymore!” the wild looking caretaker wailed. “That is not a normal sparkling! I quit!” With that, she whirled around and sped off as if the Unmaker himself were at her heels.

Yoketron stared after her for a moment, then with one hand he slid the door shut and turned an unimpressed look onto his son. “Again, little one? That is the third caretaker in a month. You cannot keep doing this.” he scolded. Though, it clearly had no effect, because the little bot only looked pleased at the attention being directed to him. Prowl gave a soft whuff of a breath, one hand lifting and pressing the knuckle of his thumb to his mouth as he stared up at his Sire.

The Dojo Master heaved a sigh, briefly turning his gaze heavenwards as if praying to Primus for some form of a sign. His son wasn’t a poorly behaved sparkling, not really. He never screamed, or cried, or broke things. He never made a mess, and was he really was very quiet and peaceable. If he had done any of those things, then Yoketron knew that caretakers would be able to handle him. But no. His son acted out in more...discreet ways. He refused to listen to anything that was asked of him. He stared his caretakers into a terrified silence whenever they tried to talk to him. He somehow appeared suddenly in front of them in places they hadn’t left him. He got into extremely dangerous situations that his panicked caretakers would take ages to figure out how to fix and wander off to disappear while they were doing the fixing. He deliberately hid from them, doing it so well that none of them could ever find him and they had to get his Sire to find and retrieve him. He even hid their belongings. Rather than be loud and destructive, Prowl had mastered the art of infant physiological warfare. So far, he had driven 18 separate caretakers into a stress induced breakdown. Well, now 19, he supposed.

“You are, I think, far too attached to me for anyone’s good.” Yoketron informed his son succinctly. Prowl just tiled his head curiously as his Sire looked down at him, then wrinkled his nose and sneezed. He looked very irritated at his body’s action once he’d done so. Yoketron sighed, shaking his head before he turned back to his student. Unfortunately, there was no one else in the Dojo who could take care of Prowl right now. That meant that for today, at least, he had to keep his son with him.

Lockdown had finished his stretches, and by now was staring curiously. “Who’s that?” The youngling asked, head tilted as he padded over slowly. Yoketron hummed, lowering his arms so his student could get a better look at his child.

“My son and heir.” he remarked dryly. “He is very fond of me and absolutely no one else. I’ve yet to find a caretaker who can handle him for more than a week. The longest lasted a month, I believe.” he sighed.

Lockdown just blinked, staring at the sparkling. His plating was thin and dull, his colors not yet fully settled and intense as they’d be on an older mech. It made his coloring look softer, which combined with rounded, squishy features made the small bot look very unthreatening. “This pipsqueak is that much of a terror?” he asked incredulously. “What does he even do that’s so bad? Throw a few too many tantrums?”

Yoketron only sighed. “I only wish that were the case, my student.” he stated, turning his head to give his son a look. “No, this little menace has somehow mastered his own unique form of psychological warfare.”

Lockdown stared at the sparkling, who had turned his head to pin him with a startlingly intense look. After a moment, the infant’s eyes narrowed, as if deciding he didn’t like this smaller-than-an-adult newcomer. “...he what.” he deadpanned. “How does a baby even use psychological warfare?” he asked.

His master only sighed. “That, I do not know. He is far to smart for his own good.” he grumbled, then straightened and tucked his son more firmly into his chest with one arm, his other lifting to place a hand on his student’s shoulder. “I apologize, Lockdown, but I will have to keep him with me for the remainder of your lesson.” he said.

The youngling only shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. Not like there’s much time left to it today anyway.” At Yoketron’s gesture, the youngling returned to the center of the mat. The older ninja paced around the younger, eyes narrowed and focused.

“Metallikato, Forms 34 and 56.” he instructed. Lockdown nodded, then obediently shifted through them. Yoketron watched his student with a critical eye, calling out corrections where they were necessary, but otherwise remaining silent. A glance at his son showed that the sparkling was starring unerringly at Lockdown, his gaze sharper and more intense than most youngling’s his age would be. Yoketron knew his son was observing, and learning as much as he could at his current level of mental and physical ability.

Prowl was a clever sparkling, with more cunning than even some adults Yoketron knew. He didn’t have complete mobility yet, and his limbs were still soft with infancy, but already he could see his son’s frame beginning to develop its own hidden strengths. He knew the sparkling would grow into a powerful ninja one day. Perhaps, one even more so than himself.

He returned his attention to his student, continuing to give out forms for the youngling to practice, until their lesson came to an end. Lockdown turned, bowing his his mentor before leaving the room. Alone with his son, Yoketron turned his attention to Prowl, who only looked deeply pleased that Lockdown was gone. Yes, the infant was far to attached to his Sire.

Yoketron only gave a huff of laughter, shaking his head and carrying his son to his room. Prowl’s crib was in the corner, but the ninja simply ignored it in favor of grabbing his favorite scroll from the shelf and settling on his bed to read. He had long mastered the ability to read his scrolls one handed, so one arm remained curled under his son as he settled against his pillows and opened the scroll. He read for a while, stopping only when the clock on his nightstand informed him it was time to eat.

He went to the kitchen, grabbing dinner for both himself and Prowl, before returning to his room. After he ate, he prepared Prowl’s bottle of sparkling energon and fed it to him, watching fondly as the little bitlet gripped at the nozzle of the bottle with small hands and suckled almost lazily. When the sparkling finished, Yoketron quickly returned the dishes to the kitchen before he returned to his room. There, he made his way back to the bed, settling in comfortably. He ignored the scroll for a moment, curling both arms under his son and lowering his head to look the infant in the eye.

Prowl stared at him, burbling softly and reaching out with a little hand to grab his father’s nose. He gave a tiny, pleased coo at his success. Yoketron’s gaze became infinitely softer as a delighted smile pulled the sparkling’s lips, humming gently as his son babbled something at him. He pulled his nose free, then lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Prowl’s forehead, in the middle of the tiny chevron. “You may be trouble, my little one, but I am so very pleased to call you mine.” he murmured fondly.

He settled the infant against his chest again, directly over his heart since he knew Prowl liked to listen to his heartbeat. He freed one arm, then reached for the scroll again. This was perhaps his favorite story. Prowl was too young for it yet, but Yoketron had read it countless times. The scroll told the tale of an old man who was beloved by his family. He had only one child, but he considered all in his house to be family, though of course his most beloved family member was his son. One day, a terrible calamity swept the land. A drought so bad and so hot the ground burned the feet of those who walked it. The old man, who remembered the old tales that most of the town had forgotten, knew what he had to do.

He went to the old temple in the forest, and prayed to the gods to save his home and his family. The gods had answered, but they had demanded a price. The old man would be forgotten by the town, as if he had never existed at all. He was distraught, but when he remembered his weakening son he agreed. It rained the very next day, and all in the town forgot who the old man had ever been. All of then, that is, except for his son, for he too knew the old stories and had always carried a protective talisman with him. When he realized that no one remembered his beloved father, and that the rain had come so suddenly, he knew it was the work of the gods. He went to the temple himself, and demanded the return of his father. The gods, who had spirited the old man away so he could be truly forgotten, were surprised. They had not expected anyone to remember, had not expected anyone to stand against their magic. The gods refused, however, for a deal had been struck and the son had played no part in it. Then they retreated to their own realm, leaving the son alone.

The son, overwhelmed by grief, abandoned his home and struck out to find the gods. He would have his father returned, even if he would die doing it. And so the son travelled for years and years, always trying to chase down the gods who had stolen his father from him. Along the way, he found on old falcon who became attached to him, and stayed by his side for his journey. What he didn’t know was that the falcon was his father, who the gods had given a new shape to ensure his old life would be forgotten by all who might know him. The son and the falcon travelled long and far, and there were many records of their adventures in the many towns which they took rest in. No one knew what became of the son, but some say that in the dark of the night, if you go to the last place he had been seen alive, you can see two pale, misted falcons, flying into the moonlight above.

It was a story of love and fatherhood and loss, and though there was no happy ending, or even any true ending at all, Yoketron had always enjoyed the deeper meanings of the story. By the time he finished the scroll, night had fallen and the rest of the Dojo was quiet and peaceful with sleep. The ninja stood, returning the scroll to its place and stepping towards the crib. Immediately, Prowl made a noise of discontent, and Yoketron heaved a sigh. He didn’t want to deal with his son’s stubbornness tonight. So, he simply turned to his bed, placing Prowl down on it so he could get them both dressed in sleeping clothes. Then he picked his son up, tucking them both under the covers and pulling Prowl to his chest. He knew Prowl would not fall asleep easily, but he had one trick that always worked.

Yoketron lifted his son closer to himself, humming deep in his chest. Immediately, the little one’s attention snapped to him, rapt. He smiled, warm and fond, and lowered his head to press his forehead to his son’s. Prowl’s eyes closed at the soothing hum he heard from his Sire, though he obviously wasn’t falling asleep. Yoketron’s lips twitched into a bigger smile, and as he stared at his son he opened his mouth to croon an old lullaby.

“Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes...”

Prowl woke with the echoes of an ancient lullaby in his ears. A song he’d thought he’d forgotten years ago. He stared at his ceiling, his room deep and dark enough to tell him that it was still night out, and wondered why he was awake. There was a breeze from the cracked open window, and his cheeks felt cool. He startled, sitting up slowly and lifting his fingers to touch his cheek. They came away damp, and his sleep-heavy mind struggled to understand why.

Something dropped to the blanket pooled on his lap. He looked down, noting a small wet spot, as if a drop of water had soaked into the fabric. He stared down, uncomprehending, and another joined it. That’s when it clicked. He was crying. His cheeks were wet with tears. Tears he was still shedding. But why...?

Then he remembered his dream. His Sire. It hadn’t been a dream, it had been a memory. An old one. He didn’t know how he was able to remember that. He’d been so young. He shuddered, still able to hear the peaceful rumble of Yoketron’s voice as he crooned that old lullaby. Without realizing it, he found himself grabbing the old ribbon from under his pillow, the only scrap of his Sire he had left. He clutched it in a fist, bringing his hands to press the heels of his palms into his eyes as he choked on a sob. He had forgotten that his Sire used to sing him that lullaby. It had always soothed him, even when he’d been big enough to think he didn’t need soothing.

Another ugly sob tore from his throat, and his shoulders shook as he fought to silence himself. He missed the Dojo. He missed the gardens. He missed the training hall. He missed the smell of old paper and ancient, well treated wood. He missed the sounds of training. He missed the peace. He missed Jazz him. He missed his Sire. He missed that lullaby. He missed home.

Prowl forced himself to lie down, curling his hands into his chest and rolling onto his side. He shuddered and heaved as he cried silently, his pillow soaking in the tears that fell. He screwed his eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t help, but wanting only to fall back asleep and forget this breakdown ever happened.

He did drift off, eventually. As another breeze swept into his room through his open window and dried his tears, his mind, half-asleep and unfocused, could almost hear the echoes of a song on the wind that caressed his cheeks.

“Someday we'll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

They never die

That's how you and I will be....”

✧

Also, probably fairly obvious, but the song for this drabble is Lullaby (Goodnight, My Angel) by Billy Joel. Listen and W E E P.

[normal-thoughts-official]

Why was Lorenzo such a jealous bitch nd why does this fandom treat him like he's a good person😑

okay so i know that this is a rethorical question but i've actually thought about this a lot so i'll take my crack at answering this - WHY is lorenzo such a jealous bitch?

the only thing he's said about why he hates magnus - that i remember of, at least - is the line "he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. his fame is not based on talent, it's all nepotism"

now, anyone who knows anything at all about magnus knows that not a single fucking word of this is true. magnus was born poor in a recently colonized country under a lot of oppression, there was no damn silver spoon in his mouth, and after that he was thoroughly abused by his demon father. his fame is also absolutely based on talent - he invented portals, for fuck's sake! and the "nepotism" comment barely makes sense. i assume he means it's just that magnus' power is all due to the fact that his father is demon royalty, which makes magnus more powerful than most warlocks

so, that explains what lorenzo is jealous of - magnus' power and prestige among warlocks (such as having been HWoB for decades) - but not what the fuck lorenzo's deal is (i mean, we've met plenty of other warlocks in the show, many of which weren't really fans of magnus, but no one other than lorenzo has this idea that magnus doesn't deserve his fame), or why magnus (because while like, yes, magnus is very powerful, i assume he's not the only son of a prince of hell, considering asmodeus is not the only prince of hell and these guys get on the loose, like, weekly. and lorenzo is obviously OBSESSED with him, he deliberately went out of his way and abused his power as HWoB several times specifically to antagonize him, and also, you know, TRIED TO KILL HIM)

lorenzo talks about magnus almost as if magnus took something from him. it's not just that magnus is powerful and that he supposedly doesn't deserve it, lorenzo obviously feels as if antagonizing magnus is some sort of vengeance. i know plenty of jealous people, but going as far as forbidding anyone other than himself from giving magnus a magic transfusion, specifically saying that if it went wrong he wouldn't help, and then refusing to take back the magic when he KNEW perfectly well that would kill him, is to me very obviously a thought out plan TO kill magnus. lorenzo had been hoping from the start that magnus' body would reject his magic and the transfusion would kill him - why else would he specifically say, the second he agreed to the transfusion, that if it went wrong magnus would be on his own?

and it's not like lorenzo even gains anything from that, other than killing magnus. and humiliating him, which lorenzo has said explicitly was something he wanted to do (i believe the term he used was "breaking his spirit", but potato potatoh). if it was about magnus' position of power, he already had that - lorenzo literally already had the HWoB position. if it was about magnus' magic, he had already lost it. lorenzo had absolutely NOTHING to gain from magnus, so his personal vendetta against him doesn't even make sense from JUST a jealousy standpoint. he had already "won" over magnus. the only explanation is that he wanted some kind of revenge

but revenge from what? well, we know that magnus and lorenzo don't like each other, but magnus never really TOOK anything from lorenzo. considering how he wouldn't miss an opportunity to talk about how much he hated him, i think lorenzo would have brought it up if that had been the case. and magnus is just not the kind of person to pull the rug from under other people's feet - look no further than the whole show for evidence of that. he literally puts the others above himself at all times (which is unhealthy but that's another story and something i've talked about plenty of times already)

so why does lorenzo feel so much resentment towards magnus? why does he act as if magnus' power took something that was rightfully his?

i think lorenzo feels that he was entitled to be the most powerful, to have the most prestige, to be above magnus, and he resented magnus because that was simply not true

why?

let's go back to the only thing we know about lorenzo's backstory - the baby painting. yes, it's a huge meme, but think about that for a second. lorenzo has a huge ass painting of himself as a baby that he displays proudly in his home and that's, like, his #1 stop at the house tour. the baby painting. "needless to say, being born in spain during the siglo de oro was quite the experience". is the first thing he said

let's make this abundantly clear: this line makes it canon that lorenzo is a colonizer. the siglo de oro ("golden century" in spanish) started (roughly) in 1492, year of the """""discovery""""" of the americas, and ended (roughly) in 1659, the year when spain signed a treaty and lost a bunch of their territories to france (link to source). altho the term is usually used to refer to the boom of the arts in spain, it's obvious, just from these historical landmarks, that the siglo de oro is about colonization. it's about the fact that at the time spain was at its peak colonial power, and could afford to exploit what later became third world countries, and put part of that money (in fact, the literal gold they were stealing from latin american countries) into arts and other luxuries (because in the renaissance portraits were a luxury item and a symbol of status - link to source) for the ultra rich that benefited from colonization

so, lorenzo is not only a colonizer, but he's a part of the elite. the fact that his family could afford to have a painting of him as a BABY (portraits were almost exclusively adult portraits, and usually of the whole family, unless you were even richer than the rich. and even then individual portraits were usually to celebrate important achievements such as a marriage or acquisition of state - a baby being born doesn't qualify, especially because at the time most babies died not long after birth anyway), and a HUGE painting on top of that, shows that they were just. loaded in an incomprehensible way. im talking jeff bezos level of riches. they were the elite of the biggest colonial empire of their century. so, ironically, lorenzo was born with a silver spoon in his mouth - everything that he had, he was born having, and he specifically had because it was being stolen due to a dramatically violent process of genocide and slavery, that he believed to be entitled to simply because he was born a spaniard/white. that is all canon, because in the shverse mundane history is the same as in real life. EVERYONE who was born in the colonial elites was taught that they were entitled to shit from other countries, that they were superior not only to other ppls but also to their own people - let's not forget that this was way before the advent of republics, those were monarchies. the ppl who were part of the elite straight up believed they were superior to others by virtue of god

"woah woah woah but lorenzo is played by javier muñoz who's brown" yeah, which is unfortunate, but he is still canonically a colonizer. first off, because it's not like they wanted someone to be lorenzo and were looking for brown people - they were looking for someone javier could play because he's a bigshot broadway actor who was also a fan of the show, and then they picked lorenzo. probably because the sh showrunners don't fucking know the difference between a latino and a spaniard. or maybe they do, but they thought, "eh, close enough". either way, lorenzo is a spaniard, and he was born a colonizer - ergo, he is white, regardless of what race his actor is, regardless of even what he looks like. there are plenty of white spaniards with similar skin tones to lorenzo, because what today is spain used to be a territory occupied by middle eastern ppl, and there was mixing. what makes whiteness is not skin tone, it's context, and the context of being a literal colonizer directly benefitting of the oppression of black and brown people is as white as it gets

so, to recap: lorenzo was born a white colonizer, and he was RAISED believing that everything he had, he was entitled to. he was entitled to it by virtue of god, because he was born a part of the rich elite in the richest colonial power in the world, and he had access to everything he could possibly want. and he wasn't just entitled to riches and power - which he still has, look at his fucking mansion, dude - but specifically to superiority to his peers. especially black and brown people, the source of his riches, the people who owe him the wealth he takes from them

and then he joins the warlock world, and not only is he not royalty (because presumably he is the son of a regular demon, not too high up in the hierarchy) but some brown guy is. and this guy is in a position of power over him (high warlock) and he is better than him (at magic, specifically, but also at everything including being a human being, but lorenzo doesn't care about that). and lorenzo is fucking livid, because he believes himself to be entitled to be the best, entitled to be treated as a superior, entitled to admiration and to servitude, especially from people like magnus (let's not forget that the philippines - colonized by spain during the siglo de oro - are right next to indonesia [link]). instead, magnus is, politically speaking, his superior

and it's not like it even means much because the high warlock position is implied to be kind of like, the mayor, and it's not like magnus ever abused his power (unlike some people - and sidenote, i think this backstory is also why lorenzo was so comfortable using his power to antagonize magnus: because he was raised in a context where political power was pretty much boundless and politics and the personal feelings of the ruler were not separated). so in practice its really just that if lorenzo had a problem, he could go to magnus, and if magnus made a decision that referred to all warlocks, lorenzo was supposed to follow it. it's nowhere near like, actual subservience. but it's way too much for someone who was raised to be entitled to the level that lorenzo was

so that's why he has this feeling that magnus took something from him - because in his head, everything magnus has, lorenzo should be entitled to. because in his head, any and all power rightfully belongs to him, and if magnus has it, then it has been stolen. and that might not even be conscious of his part or whatever, altho i doubt lorenzo doesn't think in explicitly racist terms at least in private, but that had been ingrained into his head for centuries on end. if it's still ingrained into the heads of white spaniards born TODAY, imagine one who was actually born at the fucking height of racist exploitation

so. yeah. that's why lorenzo is such a jealous bitch. that's why he hates magnus so much - because he feels that magnus having anything at all lorenzo doesn't is theft, and ironically, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but believes that he earnt what he has whereas magnus didn't. it's not just jealousy, it's a profound feeling of racist vendetta, and i'm sure the sh writers didn't mean it that way, they were just writing a big villain to bring malec together, but death of the author, baby! and this explanation actually makes sense without having to change anything in canon, so, i feel very comfortable saying that's why lorenzo behaves the way he does

THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT THE BOOKS

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

Summary:  Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. All the warnings listed on Part I apply. 

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Living with Ned and MJ was both a dream come true and a bit of a nightmare.

A dream, because when they were kids, they always talked about how they would all go the same college and live together one day, and Peter would finally have a real home – and a real family, he used to think to himself,  in secret.

A nightmare, because he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends, and that was the worst kind of feeling to have for the people who opened their arms and their home for him when he needed the most. Still, he couldn’t avoid it and he felt awful for that. They were both attending NYU; Ned was majoring in Computer Science and MJ in Journalism. All according to the plans they made in high school.

When Peter was younger, he made plans, too. He wanted to study Biochemistry, his teachers used to say he could probably get a scholarship to a good college, he was smart enough. Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, even offered to write letters of recommendation for him. Instead, Peter’s life choices led him to his current predicament: a 20 year-old porn actor, selling dirty pictures for a living, crashing on his friends’ couch, not a single dollar in his wallet.

He was definitely not getting any awards for good decision making, that was for sure.

He had been staying with Ned and MJ for a week when he was finally able to set up his Just4Fans account. He knew that had to be a temporary thing, it couldn’t last, even if he wanted it to. He wouldn’t be young forever, let alone a “pretty twink”, as his subscribers loved to call him. He had maybe three or four years left of that hype, at most, then he would be too old for that, and/or people would start getting bored of him. So he had to be smart, the plan was to save up as much as he could while he thought about what he was going to do once the fountain of youth dried up, and the clock was ticking fast.

But for the time being, porn.

Good thing he had his own Instagram account with a few thousand followers. All the other social media accounts were under Beck’s name, and those had hundreds of thousands of followers, but Peter no longer had access to them – he checked. He also checked and noticed that Beck hadn’t announced that they had split up yet, his last post dated from five days earlier, when he released their last video together – two days after kicking him out of the house, the asshole.

So Peter posted a few Instagram stories explaining to his followers that he and Beck weren’t a thing anymore – he didn’t give many details, he didn’t want any drama, specially not with Beck – and that he had set up a Just4Fans account for the time being. In minutes, his Instagram blew up. Apparently, people were either heartbroken over their breakup; relieved he “got rid of that perv!”; or devastated they wouldn’t get to see them doing porn together anymore.

He got a hundred subscribers in just a few hours, which was incredible. The subscription fee was ten dollars a month, so even after the website’s cut plus tax deduction, it still was a good start. He wondered what kind of money Beck made with their videos, because they had thousands of subscribers on their channel.

Once he got the hang of the site, he tried to post at least two sets of pictures a day – which was challenging at that moment, because the apartment was tiny and he didn’t have any outfits or toys with him, they were all at Beck’s. He made plans that as soon as he got the subscription money in around fifteen days, he would try to buy a few things and take tons of pictures to last a few weeks.  

He also made sure to answer people’s messages every single day, which often earned him a little more money in tips. It was shocking how many people were willing to tip him just because he answered them. Some other people asked for extra content, like specific pictures, videos or even voice notes, which he sent via “pay-per-view messages”.

In the end, he felt like he was prostituting himself. Again.

He would never judge a person for earning their living in any way necessary, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, he just never thought that would be him. Never ever. As a kid, he thought he’d be an astronaut. Growing up, he wanted to be a physicist. As a teen, he made plans to study Biochemistry. And somehow he ended up selling his body online, one way or another.

He didn’t dwell on that for long, he focused on the fact that it was temporary. If he managed to retain at least some of the people that had subscribed to his account for two or three years, then he would be able to start a small business of some kind in the future. Maybe he could go back to school. Twenty-three wasn’t too old for college, right?

Right.

It was two weeks later when he got a weird message. Not a weird message, actually, a weird tip. Someone under the username of YKWIM had sent him ten thousand dollars for no reason, there was no prior conversation, nor did the person ask for anything in return. Peter was sure there must have been a mistake, maybe they had typed in some extra zeros or maybe they had sent it to the wrong person, so he decided to reach out.

“Hey. I think there must’ve been some sort of mistake with your last tip. Lol.”

He left his phone on the counter and got started on dinner. He was a terrible cook, but to be fair, they all were, so it was fine. Ned and MJ were both at work, but they would be home soon and they were having a quiet night in. Those few weeks at their place had been good for Peter, it felt nice not to be alone after what happened, but at the same time, he was starting to feel like he really needed his own space. He was already looking for an apartment to move into as soon as he got the money. He was hoping to get one in the same building or at least close by, so that they could still see each other often.

His cell phone beeped as he sliced some onions and he stopped to check.

“Hey, gorgeous. There’s been no mistake, it’s correct.” Peter was taken aback by the answer, so he checked again to see how much the person had tipped him, and sure enough, there it was. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand. American dollars.

“Oh. Wow, that was very, very generous of you. Is there any particular content that you’d like to see from me as a thank you? I could send you exclusive pics and videos, whatever you want.” Inwardly, he was thinking that no amount of pictures or videos from him would ever be worth ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars, holy fuck.

“That would be excellent.”

“Great. What would you like to see?”

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird… Usually, Peter’s subscribers liked to see him in cute outfits or with cute toys, but some people liked very messed up stuff. He usually said no, but that person had just sent him ten thousand dollars. Fuck, that was so much money, it would cover rent for at least a few months.

“I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve put out so far, baby, so surprise me. I’m sure I’m gonna like whatever you send.”

God, generous and reasonable? Had Peter died and gone to porn heaven?

“You flatter me.” He typed in quickly, leaving the sauce unattended for a few seconds. “Give me a few hours to work on it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Take your time, but I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried.”

Peter felt so stupid when he blushed and giggled to himself, because that was exactly how Beck lured him in when he was seventeen, with charming, easy words. He was an adult now, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t even know who he was talking to. To be fair, it was probably a woman. For some weird reason, according to his Just4Fans statistics, a surprisingly large percentage of his subscribers were middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual women. Peter supposed those were the ones who used to follow his “love story” with Beck – most of them hadn’t got over them yet, apparently they were “the perfect couple! So cute!”.

He couldn’t blame them, they sold them the perfect love story. And for a time, it was true. Peter really thought Beck was it for him, the love of his life, his soulmate. He didn’t know at which point it all became an act to Beck – or if maybe it had always been an act.

He sighed, shaking his head, he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about him, so he focused on what he should send YKWIM.

As he finished making dinner, he tried to come up with ideas. They said they loved everything Peter had posted so far – he had posted thirty pictures and five short clips over the past two weeks. The pictures were all in MJ’s bedroom – she offered –, most of them in her bed. There were only a few pictures in which he was completely naked, in the others he had some sort of underwear on –  lingerie or tight briefs.

So, he decided he should do something similar, but different enough that YKWIM would feel somewhat special. He had a few good ideas, but they would have to wait for the next morning, he would need good lighting and privacy.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up,” He almost burned his fingers when he heard MJ’s voice, and realized he had spaced out for a minute there. He shook his head quickly and smiled at her.

“Nothing, how was you day?”

The next morning, once Ned went to visit his family and MJ left for work, Peter started working on the pictures. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell his friends about YKWIM, just like he didn’t want to tell them about Beck when they first met, three years earlier. And if he really was as smart as his teachers used to say, he would have seen the pattern. But as it was, he just focused on the fact that YKWIM was probably a woman living on the other side of the world, who just liked to get off to pictures of pretty boys in lingerie.

But.

For the sake of getting in the mood for the pictures, he imagined YKWIM was a guy. Not too tall, but taller than him. He imagined he had a beard, but not a full one, like Beck’s, no, perfectly trimmed, scratchy, in a good way. He’d have dark, warm eyes, not blue and cold. He’d be older, older than Beck, more mature than him. A real man. Maybe he’d have a few streaks of gray amidst his otherwise dark hair.  

He’d be gentle, despite Peter’s past. He’d treat him like he was the first one to ever touch him, even if he knew that was far from the truth. He would be careful, mindful of his pleasure. He’d start off slowly, kissing along his collarbones, fingers brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, just shy of where Peter wanted him to touch, as his mouth traveled down his chest; hot, moist breath leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.

He sighed. Yeah, that would do to put him in the mood.

He put on a white t-shirt that was just long enough to graze the tops of his thighs, and a simple, plain black thong. He decided to take the pictures in the shower – the classic wet, white t-shirt, he couldn’t really go wrong with that. He positioned the camera on top of the bathroom sink, set the timer, and started posing.

First, he rested his back against the wall, one hand pulling the t-shirt down to cover the front his underwear, eyes staring directly at the camera lens as water ran down his face, neck and chest, making his nipples stiffen, becoming visible under the wet shirt.  

Next, he pressed his chest to the wall, looking at the camera from over his shoulder, lips parted, just a peek of his exposed ass cheeks showing where the t-shirt ended, but by then it was so wet it was mostly see-through.

Then he turned so his side was facing the camera and stuck his head directly under the stream of water, running his hands through his hair, back arched obscenely, eyes closed. He let his hands travel all the way down his neck, chest, and stomach, hearing the familiar “click” as the camera took several pictures.

He turned around again, placed his hands on the wall and lifted his t-shirt just over his lower back, sticking his ass out, showing off his provocative underwear.

He got out of the shower and turned the camera into filming mode, then got back under the water and also shot a short clip of he sensually and slowly taking the thong off, but in a way that the viewer couldn’t really see the skin that was revealed. He pulled the wet t-shirt down so it covered everything, but by then it was so see-through that it left nothing to the imagination. Peter twirled a little, then threw an innocent, shy smile at the camera.

That should do it.

He finished his shower, put the wet clothes in the washer, then went to edit the pictures. He didn’t do much, just adjusted the light and contrast, then cut them into squares, because he though it looked classier or whatever. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought, as he attached the photos and the video to a direct message to YKWIM.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint. Let me know if you’d like something different.”

He cringed re-reading the message, he thought he sounded desperate and insecure about himself and he supposed that wasn’t very attractive, so he decided to change it just a little.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint.” And he finished off with a hot face emoji, because why not.

He sent the message and went on with his day. Ned and MJ were both back for lunch and since none of them felt like cooking – and they all sucked at it anyway –, they ordered something to eat in front of the TV, as they binge-watched the first seasons of The Office.

“Oh, hey, Pete, I almost forgot, I talked to our landlord earlier and he said there’s an apartment on the fifth floor that should be vacated by the end of the month, if you’re interested,” Ned told him around a mouthful of pizza and Peter’s head snapped up.

“I’m definitely interested!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him for you, I’m sure I can get you a good deal on rent.” He winked, and Peter smiled, feeling hopeful.

Things were getting better. Slowly, yes, but they were. He was spending time with his friends – who he had neglected for the past two years–; he had a good amount of money to withdraw in the next few days, that could get him going for a while; he was still doing porn, yes, but at least he was in control of the whole thing, including his own body, which was nice; and he only cried for Beck every other night instead of every single night, so he had that going for him.

All in all, things were looking up.

Ned and MJ convinced him to go out for a bit in the afternoon, they said he had been cooped up in the apartment for three weeks and should breathe in some fresh air, and since it was the first somewhat warm day of March, they decided to go jog at Central Park in the afternoon. They didn’t really jog, but they walked around some and Peter must admit that it felt good to stretch his legs and feel the sun on his skin for a change.

They were lying on the grass, resting for a bit, when they saw a blur of red and gold fly overhead. People started cheering and clapping and Peter smiled when MJ groaned, because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How can people cheer for that guy, he’s an egocentric, misogynistic, elitist, disgusting asshole.”  He laughed to himself, because he knew what came next.

“He’s a genius, he changed the world multiple times and he even saved it at least twice. I think he’s pretty cool,” Ned argued without any heat and Peter could hear MJ rolling her eyes.

Peter didn’t love or hate Tony Stark or Iron Man, like most people, he just – didn’t pay him any mind. Sure, when he was a kid, he was obsessed with him, he was New York’s first superhero after  Captain America, who was still in the ice when Stark announced he was Iron Man. But as he grew older, he had other concerns in mind other than who was the coolest Avenger, so he kind of forgot they existed, except for when there was some crazy alien threat looming over New York City – which was, like, a biannual thing since they found out aliens existed back in 2012.

The fact that Iron Man was flying over Central Park on a Saturday afternoon was a little alarming though. From what Peter knew, Stark was mostly retired since around 2016, he only ever “avenged” when there was a big threat, like the near-end-of-the-world they had back in 2018.

“Do you think we’re under attack?” Peter asked and Ned shook his head calmly.

“Nah, I think he must be late for something. I read an interview recently and he said he uses the suit sometimes when he needs to get some place fast.”

Seemed like overkill, but who was Peter to judge, he would probably do the same if had a suit like that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park and then headed home for the night. MJ turned in early, she said she was beat from a busy week, and Peter and Ned stayed up until a little later, re-watching Star Wars movies. It was close to 2AM when Ned said his goodnight and Peter went to check his Just4Fans, because he hadn’t answered any messages all day long.

There were quite a few, but he did notice there was one missing. YKWIM hadn’t answered him yet and Peter immediately felt like a failure. They probably hated the pictures, they must have thought “ugh, ten thousand dollars for that?”. Peter should have photoshopped them. He could have made himself look at least a little bit better, if only–

Before he could hate on himself too much, YKWIM messaged him, like they could read minds. Peter quickly opened their chat, still a little worried about their reaction to the pictures.

“Damn, baby! You have no fucking idea what those did to me. Fuck! Can I show you? Please?”

Peter was oddly relieved to read that, and was endeared by the fact that they actually asked before sending a dick pic. Or a clit pic? Was that a thing?

“Of course, gorgeous, I’d love to see it.”

Within seconds, they sent a video in the chat. Peter was a little surprised by that, but pressed play anyway, and almost fell off the couch when he did.

It was a thirteen seconds video. He could see the man’s midriff, all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His belly was toned and spattered with dark hair that led down to perfectly trimmed pubes that framed the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen. There was no other way to put it.

It was long and thick, but not so much so that it would hurt – Peter knew better –, it stood proudly between his thighs, attached to a heavy set of balls that made his mouth water. He was jacking it mercilessly, Peter could only hear him grunting quietly before his balls recoiled and he came, covering his stomach in thick, pearly white come. Peter whimpered, pressing down on his hard-on, and almost cried when the video was over.

“Fuck, daddy, that was so fucking hot.” It was probably the first time ever that he actually meant that answering a DM from a subscriber.

“That was the third time today, baby, I have been thinking about those pics from the minute you sent them. Spent the whole day with blue balls, even after coming twice.”

Fuck.

“Wish I could have helped you with that.”

“Who knows, honey, maybe someday.”

Yeah, Peter thought, biting his pillow on the couch so he wouldn’t be heard when he came embarrassingly hard in his pajamas pants, face burning with shame. Maybe someday.