#purple is internally going insane because what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

[i3utterflyeffect]

Thinking again about the interaction where Purple learns how Alan became a selkie on accident.

Purple: oh yeah, would you like to hear another funny myth about selkies?

Alan: Yes

Purple: Some people think selkies are sticks that hoarded too much human technology and we're changed by it. Isn't that ridiculous?!

Alan: *in tears with laughter*

Purple: oh! Another one is that selkies are actually humans that were cursed for their cruelty! That's definitely not possible pfft.

Alan: *laughter immediately turns into a nervous chuckle*

Alan: ha ha yep! That sure does sound ridiculous heh.

Purple: Alan. Alan please tell me that's not true. Why are you acting like that.

Alan: *dead silence. quietly panicking*

Purple: Oh my... Alan, is it true for you?

Alan: I- I... *shame covers his face*

Purple: does... does anyone else know?

Alan: no. Please don't tell anybody. Please...

YEAHHHHHHH. it's so funny to imagine purple is the only stick that knows. just. imagine finding out this guy that has essentially become a weird uncle figure in your life admitting that at one point he was basically a god and to not tell anyone. what do you even do

[jewelleria]

I don’t usually talk about politics on here, if ever. But it’s been almost six months since the conflict in the Middle East flared up again, and I’m finally ready to start. Here are some of my thoughts.

I say ‘flared up’ because this has happened before and it’ll happen again. Because, even though what's currently going on is absolutely unprecedented, those of us who live in this part of the world are used to it. Let that sink in: we are used to this. And we shouldn’t have to be. 

But I use that term for another reason: I don't want to accidentally call it the wrong thing lest I come under fire for being a genocidal maniac or a terrorist or a propaganda machine, etc., etc.—so let’s just call it ‘the war’ or ‘the conflict.’ Because that’s what it is. Doesn’t matter which side you’re on, who you love, or who you hate. 

This post will, in all likelihood, sit in my drafts forever. If it does get posted, it certainly won’t be on my main, because I'm scared of being harassed (spoiler: she posted it on her main). I hate admitting that, but honestly? I’m fucking terrified. 

I also feel like in order for anything I say on here (i.e. the hellscape of the internet) to be taken seriously, I have to somehow prove that a) I’m “educated” enough to talk about the conflict, and b) that my opinion lines up with what has been deemed the correct one. So, tedious and unnecessary though it is, I will tell you about my experience, because I have a feeling most of the people reading this post are not nearly as close to what’s happening as I am.

How do I explain where I live without actually explaining where I live? How do I say “I live in the Red Zone of international conflicts” without saying what I actually think? How do I convey the fear that grips me when I try to decide between saying “I live in Palestine” and “I live in Israel”? I don't really know. But I do know that names are important. I also know that, due to the various clickbaity monikers ascribed to the conflict, it would probably just be easier to point to a map. 

I haven't always lived in the Middle East. I've lived in various places along America’s east coast, and traveled all over the world. But in short, I now live somewhere inside the crudely-drawn purple circle. 

If you know anything about these borders you probably blanched a bit in sympathy, or maybe condolence. But in truth, it’s a shockingly normal existence. I don't feel like I've lived through the shifting of international relations or a war or anything. I just kind of feel like I did when COVID hit, that dull sameness as I wondered if this would be the only world-altering event to shape my life, or if there would be more. 

I've been told that, in order for my brain to process all the horrific details of the past six months, there needs to be some element of cognitive dissonance—that falling into a sort of dissociative mindset is the only way to not go insane under the weight of it all. I think in some ways that’s true. I have been terrifyingly close to bus stop shootings when my commute wasn’t over; I have felt my apartment building shake with the reverberations of a missile strike; I have spent hours in underground shelters waiting for air raid sirens to stop. 

But. I have also gone grocery shopping, and skipped class, and stayed up too late watching TV, and fed the cats on the street corner, and cried over a boy, and got myself AirPods just because, and taken out the trash, and done laundry on a delicate cycle, and bought overpriced lattes one too many days a week. I have looked at pretty things and taken out my phone because, despite it all, I still think that life is too short not to freeze the small moments. 

So I'd say, all things considered, I live an incredibly privileged life—compared, of course, to those suffering in Gaza—one filled with sunsets and over-sweetened knafeh and every different color of sand. One that allows me to throw myself into a fandom-induced hyperfixation (or, alternatively, escape method) as I sit on the couch and crack open my laptop to write the next chapter of the fic I'm working on. 

But there are bits of not-normalness that wheedle their way through the cracks. I pretend these moments are avoidable, even if they’re not. 

They look like this: reading the news and seeing another idiotic, careless choice on Netanyahu’s part and groaning into my morning coffee. Watching Palestinian and Jewish children’s needless suffering posted on Instagram reels and feeling helpless. Opening my Tumblr DMs to find a message telling me to exterminate myself for reblogging a post that only seems like it’s about the war if you squint and tilt your head sideways. 

These moments look like all the tiny ways I am reminded that I'm living in a post-October seventh world, where hearing a car backfire makes me jump out of my skin and the sound of a suitcase on pavement makes me look up at the sky and search for the war planes. They look like the heavy grief that is, and also isn’t, mine. 

Here's the thing, though. I know you’re wondering when the ball will drop and my true opinion will be revealed. I know you’re waiting for me to reveal what demographic I'm a part of so that you, dear reader, can neatly slap a label on my head and sort me into some oversimplified category that lets you continue to think you understand this war. 

No one wants to sit and ruminate on the difficult questions, the ones that make you wonder if maybe you’ve been tinkered with by the propaganda machine, if you might need to go back on what you’ve said or change your mind. We all strive for our perception of complicated issues to be a comfortable one.

But I know that no matter what I do, there will always be assumptions. So, while I shudder to reveal this information online, I think that maybe my most significant contribution to this meta-discussion spanning every facet of the internet is this: 

I am a Jew. 

Or, alternatively, I am: Jewish, יהודית, يَهُودِيٌّ, etc. Point is, I come from Jews. And, like any given person, I am a product of generation after generation of love. 

I'm not going to take time to explain my heritage to you, or to prove that before all the expulsions and pogroms, there was an origin point. If you don’t believe that, perhaps it’s less of a factual problem and more of an ‘I don’t give weight to the beliefs of indigenous people’ problem. But, in case you want to spend time uselessly refuting this tiny point in a larger argument, you can inspect the photos below (it’s just a small chunk of my DNA test results). Alternatively, you can remember that interrogating someone in an attempt to make their indigeneity match your arbitrary criteria is generally not seen as good manners. 

Now, let’s go back to thathateful message (read: poorly disguised death threat) I received in my Tumblr DMs. I think it was like two or three weeks ago. I had recently gained a new follower whose blog’s primary focus was the fandom I contribute to, so I followed them back. I saw in my notes that they were going through my posts and liking them—as one does when gaining a new mutual. Yippee! 

Then they sent me this: 

I tried to explain that hate speech is not a way to go about participating in political discourse, but the person had already blocked me immediately after sending that message. Then, assured by the fact that I surely would never see them complaining about me on their blog (because, as I said, they blocked me), they posted a shouting rant accusing me of sympathizing with colonizing settlers and declaring me a “racist Zionist fuck.” Oh, the wonders of incognito tabs.

Where this person drew these conclusions after reading my (reblogged) post about antisemitism…. I'm not actually sure. But I greatly sympathize with them, and hope that they weren’t too personally offended by my desire to not die. 

For a while I contemplated this experience in my righteous anger, and tried to figure out a way to message this person. I wanted to explain that a) seeing a post about being Jewish and choosing to harass the creator about Israel is literally the definition of antisemitism and b) that sending a hateful DM and refusing to be held accountable is just childish and immature. But I gave up soon after—because, honestly, I knew it wasn’t worth my effort or energy. And I knew that I wouldn't be able to change their mind. 

But I still remember staring at that rather unfortunate meme, accompanied by an all-caps message demanding for me to Free Palestine, and thinking: the post didn’t even have any buzzwords. I remember the swoop of dread and guilt and fear. I remember wondering why this kind of antisemitism felt worse, in that moment, than the kind that leaves bodies in its wake. 

I remember thinking, I don’t have the power to free anyone.

I remember thinking, I’m so fucking tired. 

And before you tell me that this conflict isn’t about religion—let me ask you some questions. Why is it that Israel is even called Israel? (Here’s why.) Why do Jews even want it? (Here’s why.) But also, if you actually read the charters of Islamist terrorist organizations like ISIS, Hamas, and Hezbollah (among others), they equate the modern state of Israel with the Jewish people, and they use the two entities interchangeably. So of course this conflict is religious. It’s never been anything but that.

But I do wonder, when faced with those who deny this fact: how do I prove, through an endless slew of what-about-isms and victim blaming, that I too am hurting? How do I show that empathy is dialectical, that I can care deeply for Palestinians and Gazans while also grieving my own people? 

There's this thing that humans do, when we’re frustrated about politics and need to howl our opinions about it into the void until we feel better. We find like-minded souls, usually our friends and neighbors, and fret about the state of the world to each other until we’ve gone around in a satisfactory amount of circles. But these conversations never truly accomplish anything. They’re just a substitute, a stand-in catharsis, for what we really wish we could do: find someone who embodies the spirit of every Jew-hating internet troll, every ignorant justifier of terrorism, and scream ourselves hoarse at them until we change their mind.

But, of course, minds cannot be changed when they are determined to live in a state of irrational dislike. In Judaism, this way of thinking has a name: שנאת חינם (sinat hinam), or baseless hatred. It's a parasite with no definite cure, and it makes people bend over backwards to justify things like the massacre on October seventh, simply because the blame always needs to be placed on the Jews. 

So when a Jew is faced with this unsolvable problem, there is only one response to be had, only one feeling to be felt: anger. And we are angry. Carrying around rage with nowhere to put it is exhausting. It's like a weight at the base of our neck that pushes down on our spine, bending it until we will inevitably snap under the pressure. I’m still waiting to break, even now.

I wish I could explain to someone who needs to hear it that terrorism against Israelis happens every single day here, and that we are never more than one degree of separation away from the brutal slaughter of a friend, lover, parent, sibling. I wish it would be enough to say that the majority of Israelis (which includes Arab-Israeli citizens who have the exact same rights as Jewish-Israelis) wish for peace every day without ever having seen what it looks like. 

I wish I could show the world that Israel was founded as a socialist state, that it was built on communal values and born from a cluster of kibbutzim (small farming communities based on collective responsibility), and that what it is now isn’t what its people stand for. 

I wish the world could open their eyes to what we Israelis have seen since the beginning: that Hamas is the enemy, Hamas is the one starving Palestinians and denying them aid, Hamas is the one who keeps rejecting ceasefire terms and denying their citizens basic human rights. Hamas is the governing body of Gaza, not Israel. Hamas is responsible for the wellbeing of the Palestinian people. And Hamas are the ones who are more determined to murder Jews—over and over and over again, in the most animalistic ways possible—than to look inwards and see the suffering they’ve inflicted on their own people. I wish it was easier to see that.

But the wishing, the asking how can people be so blind, is never enough. I can never just say, I promise I don't want war. 

When I bear witness to this baseless hatred, I think of the victims of October seventh. I think of the women and girls who were raped and then murdered, forever unable to tell their stories. I think of the hostages, trapped underneath Gaza in dark tunnels, wondering if anyone will come for them. I think of Ori Ansbacher, of Ezra Schwartz, of Eyal, Gilad, and Naftali, of Lucy, Rina, and Maia Dee, of the Paley boys, of Ari Fuld and of Nachshon Wachsman. I think of all the innocent blood spilled because of terror-fueled hatred and the virus of antisemitism. I think of all the thousands of people who were brutally murdered in Israel, Jews and Muslims and Christians and humans, who will never see peace.

My ties to this land are knotted a thousand times over. Even when I leave, a part of me is left behind, waiting for me to claim it when I return. But when I see the grit it takes to live through this pain, when I see the suffering that paints the world the color of blood, I look to the heavens and I wonder why. 

I ask God: is it worth all this? He doesn't answer. So I am the one, in the end, to answer my own question. I say, it has to be. 

Feel free to send any genuine, respectful, and clarifying questions you may have to my inbox!

EDIT: just coming on here to say that I'm really touched & grateful for the love on this post. When I wrote it, I felt hopeless; I logged off of Tumblr for Shabbat, dreading the moment I would turn off my phone to find more hate in my inbox. Granted, I did find some, and responding to it was exhausting, but it wasn’t all hate. I read every kind reblog and comment, and the love was so much louder. Thank you, thank you, thank you. 🤍

Source Reading

The Whispered in Gaza Project by The Center for Peace Communications

Why Jews Cannot Stop Shaking Right Now by Dara Horn

Hamas Kidnapped My Father for Refusing to Be Their Puppet by Ala Mohammed Mushtaha

I Hope Someone Somewhere Is Being Kind to My Boy by Rachel Goldberg

The Struggle for Black Freedom Has Nothing to Do with Israel by Coleman Hughes

Israel Can Defend Itself and Uphold Its Values by The New York Times Editorial Board

There Is a Jewish Hope for Palestinian Liberation. It Must Survive by Peter Beinart

The Long Wait of the Hostages’ Families by Ruth Margalit

“By Any Means Necessary”: Hamas, Iran, and the Left by Armin Navabi

When People Tell You Who They Are, Believe Them by Bari Weiss

Hunger in Gaza: Blame Hamas, Not Israel by Yvette Miller

Benjamin Netanyahu Is Israel’s Worst Prime Minister Ever by Anshel Pfeffer

What Palestinians Really Think of Hamas by Amaney A. Jamal and Michael Robbins

The Decolonization Narrative Is Dangerous and False by Simon Sebag Montefiore

Understanding Hamas’s Genocidal Ideology by Bruce Hoffman

The Wisdom of Hamas by Matti Friedman

How the UN Discriminates Against Israel by Dina Rovner

This Muslim Israeli Woman Is the Future of the Middle East by The Free Press

Why Are Feminists Silent on Rape and Murder? by Bari Weiss

[superm4ks]

Omg this verstappie rewatch is literally gonna be the whole season lmao

Part 1 2016-2018 > Part 2 2019-2022

In 2013, after becoming the World and European KZ class Champion, European OF class Champion, Continental KF class champion, and 3rd place laureate in the World KF class, 15 year old Max Verstappen had turned that years karting scene into a 'one man show' according to Vroomkart International. The title of the piece wasted no time posing what was, admittedly, a very bold question:

Gentlemen, a short view into the 2023 season

Baku, 2023. Ik what ur thinking. 19 wins and ur gonna start wid fucking Baku? And yes 🙂I will, and so shud u 🫵🏽Max lost Baku. The pole, the sprint and the race. Lingered about 3 secs behind checo after the SC, never closed the gap. And guess what, Baku was actually one of the most important races of this season, Maxs own words. Because that inconsistent pace? Those choppy lap times, killing his tires? Max was learning how to setup his car. Rb19 was clearly rb18s big brother, a real sunday beast, faster, more reliable, but a lil sensitive, demanded some hands on attention from his boy. So Max turned Baku into their fp4. U can c it on his onboard, hear him asking for different settings, toggling wid the balance. Those of us who know Max, we kinda suspected what he was up to. But it seemed others didnt. And whatvr max was about to do to these people in Miami bro, it wud be the type of reckoning u read about in the bible.

Miami, 2023. When max qualified p9 cheers echoed across both Americas. After the Baku loss, the slow start to the season, there was hope. Max Verstappen was about to lose the championship lead. People bought into the fairytale and they were loud about it too. They taunted him, booed him and his mechanics in parc ferme. And then Max was p2 by lap 15. Cut thru the field like butter and the whole stint he kept setting purples. Fastest lap after fastest lap. By lap 40 his hards were outpacing fresh mediums on a track u cud fry an egg on. Red bulls strategy for Max required the impossible and that's exactly what Max delivered. Before Miami, Checo was a title contender. After Miami, he was barely a competitor. Max took the 'tire whisperers' ambitions and grinded them into dust in 45 laps or less. It was the race that marked the beginning of the most dominant individual season in Formula 1 history but at its core, in classic Verstappen style, it was a lesson. A very simple one.

Shot by Brook Ward.

Monaco, 2023

- Qualifying Yk who doesn’t give a FUCK about lessons tho, Monaco. Monaco wont be taught by no man. But it’s 2023. This classic immovable object about to meet the most unstoppable force in modern sport history. Max's very first pole in Monaco, and fittingly so, it came out of an all-timer session. One of those saturdays that make u understand why the tax dodging diva of f1 is going absolutely nowhere. Pole switched between Ocon, Yuki, Sharl and Alonso right up until Max did his thing. 2 mins to the checkered flag, it looked like Nando had it locked. 2 untouchable purples, textbook. It wud have been a beautiful moment, a deserved reward for an old dawg who’d kept at it and had a capable car again. Unfortunately for Nando, though, Sennas illegitimate child clocked in that Saturday. He had a bit of a history wid third sectors that once fucked him. But it's 2023, so this wud be the one that made him. Max put 3 tenths on Alonso's head in one of the shortest, most technical corners of the entire calendar. F1's 'sunday' driver by excellence, the one stop pacemaker, the metronome, the endurance machine, proved that he was all that and also, in fact, the type of elite qualifier who can write his signature on the walls of Monte Carlo.

- Race Monaco is all about Saturday obvi but imo this years race is also worth watching because its actually kind of a banger wid mixed conditions, insane strategies and because this is a verstappie rewatch, u get to c Max at his best: in a chaotic packed field under the rain.

Canada, 2023. Speaking of rain masters. Senna's legend has been clinging to Max from the very first time he traumatized wet cat Rosberg in Brazil in 2016 but it was this year, in Canada, wid Nando and Lewis by his side, the guys who were also there, who saw it happen too, that Max finally matched Senna's win tally. 41. It was a perfect weekend, a testament to the talent that allowed a 26 year old to overtake Ayrton Senna in the record book, and it began, as if in tribute, wid a soaking wet qualifying. Max's pole lap was one second faster than the rest of the grid. One full second. If ur a Nando or a Lewis fan, I wud definitely give it sunday a watch as well because old gays were definitely out there. Also we got this. What yall know about this .

Shot from Nurphoto.

Lemme tell u something rn: Ur looking at 12 world championships, 189 wins, and a 14 year old gap from youngest to oldest. You're looking at statistically, the most successful driver of all time, the guy whose racecraft still seen by many as the finest this sport has ever seen, and a kid who's been sitting between them since he was 17 years old. The same kid who, a few racers later, broke records that existed long before the other two were even born. Yk, Lewis said it better than I ever cud, 'this is quite an iconic top 3'.

Austria, 2023. Why are u a Verstappen fan? U ever been asked that question. Ik i have. 😐 Lots of possible answers. To me Austria has all of them. In Canada, Checo barely made the finish line while Max pushed rbr to their 100th team victory and ((unofficially)) began his chase of the Vettel record. Mind u the mf wont admit that’s what he’s doing, but it is. Him, GP, the whole team. They want it. But we'll get to that. Max is a hunter, and his boy car is the best hound of his career so far. Together, they’d caught the scent. Races like Australia, Spain, Monaco, Canada, they showed it was possible. His management was getting Schumacher shouts, his qualifying was getting Senna's. Clarks proficiency. 2023 can be understood as the result of Max's life long pursuit of perfection, the crowning point of his hard work, the realization of all his potential, that prodigal nature that had been so obvious for so long, finally, entering its prime wid a car that can make history. And yet. AND YET. max has something that all those other legendary mfs lack. Something that is deeply, deeply Max’s. Free practice 1 in Austria and that talented, beautiful creature of God was ready to send it all to hell to make a POINT. Austria was a sprint this year, so already you've pissed him off. During fp1, Lewis impeded Max like once.

((And listen

Lewis saw that boy enter the paddock and immediately called security and along wid seb vettel and raikkonen launched a class action lawsuit against him on the grounds of a) fuck b) them kids. Then 6 years later Lewis and that now grown ass man spent a whole legendary season trying to kill each other. U c how this relationship may have some residue of . lets say. conflict.))

So Lewis impeded Max in fp1 and Max's raytheon hamilton-calibrated sensors activated and he did nothing less but the exact same thing in sprint qualifying. Blocked old mans flying lap. Lewis is limping thru this weekend, mind u, like it’s almost sad. It’s kinda elderly abuse. THEN, the actual sprint. Again, Austria is red bull's home turf. packed wid red bull fans. The car is a rocket, they're on a streak, lots of good photo ops for the team. It started raining. Even better. Lights out, and Checo took the lead first and in the process like . squeezed Max a lil bit. Pushed him on the grass. U can guess what happened next. 😐😐😐😐To answer that first question and to quote somebody who knows him, Max is Max. No matter where, how, against who. Wid a rocketship, wid a hole in his car, winning, losing, fighting for the lead against Lewis Hamilton, fighting for sixth against baby schumi, refusing to comply wid team orders against sainz, scolding danny ric about discipline, waiting 7 months to deliver his justice in brazil, calling russell a dickhead in Baku, whether in front of 300 000 haters in Silverstone of half a million fans in Spielberg, he'll do what he thinks is right. Thats the kind of mf that wins constructors all by himself. 575 points, on his own. Over 1000 laps lead. Max Verstappen has not succeeded in f1 despite his character, but because of it. Because when Checo squeezed him at the start of a stupid fucking sprint that wont make a dent in his records or his lead, Max collected his car and lunged thru the inside line like the title wud be decided in the next turn. He was willing to send himself, checo, and a goddamn haas to hell to remain at the front. And that’s why I'm a fan.

Zandvoort, 2023. 9 consecutive wins. A race that u feel in ur stomach because you know what it means. The sheer size of the accomplishment. That word ringing in everybodys ears since Miami. Inevitable. inevitable. Up until it happened, and then obvi Monza wid the perfect 10, nobody really wanted to believe it. seb's 9 was one of those things held sacred and hallowed by the sport. Like Schumachers points in a season, Ascaris win percentage, Clarks laps lead, and Hamiltons consecutive podiums. Sacred things. And in 2023, the nonbeliever broke them all. Grasped and squeezed wid his very cynical hands. They’re his now. No one else’s. What he did, no one else can do. Max is always outstanding in Zandvoort tbh, thats his track, his fans, his weather. But this years quali was particularly emblematic of the gap to the rest of the grid , and his teammate especially. 1.7s faster than checo. The race was just as impressive. Rain hit early on, complete chaos, and while everybody scrambled to choose the right tires, GP was in Max’s ear, calm as ever, 'it’s up to you'. It really was. It always was.

Zandvoort, 2023. > Monza, 2023.

Japan, 2023. Red Bulls factory crowning weekend. Coming out a disaster Singapore, yet another statement win. Singapore had showed what it took to slow down Verstappen in 2023: not just the wrong setup, but the wrong strategy too. As we'll c in Texas, like we've seen in 2016, 2019, 2020, a machine off the pace alone wont stop Max from winning races. In Suzuka, rocky was back into his operational window, and Max proved exactly who was it that singlehandedly delivered the constructors championship. One of those classic Max weekends. 20 drivers on track but 2 different leagues and he's on his own. Wid a 177 point lead over his teammate, yet another record broken, biggest point gap between 1st and 2nd. ((In the end, the margin was 290)). Max names Suzuka as his most satisfying pole lap of the season. Bro put half a second on the grid in one go.

COTA, 2023. just something in the Americas ((me)) that unlocks the extra prodigal gene in this mf. Talent of the century? Put his ass in North America we can stretch that shit to the millennium idc idc . Miami, Texas, Brazil, Mexico, and now Vegas, to me these are cornerstones of Verstappen excellence. Max holds the record for most wins in a single geographical location over one season. ((Of course he does)) 10 consecutive wins in NA, across state lines, country borders, wid different conditions, tracks, circuits, tires, formats, setups. This years’ Austin GAG? Apparently they didn’t set the tarmac right. track was a bumpy mess. Max struggled from the start wid braking issues and tire wear, but he kept his head cool because he knew he had the basics. There was once a time before the rb19 , when all he had was a cap and 1 year of open wheel experience, and his 18 year old self put on a clinic against a 30 year old world champion on how to defend on old faulty rubber. That’s exactly what Max did in Cota. Bro was able to make up for aerodynamic loss wid nothing but pedal and wheel work. Do not talk to him during braking. Do not fucking talk to him during braking. That’s all Max asked. 50th win. Offically 3rd OAT, behind Vettel, Hamilton and Schumacher. ((He’s now alone in 3rd OAT, wid 53 wins.)). He’s 26. After Merc and Ferrari were proclaimed ‘illegal’ what truly shocked me wasn’t that they tried to cheat, but that they wud try to pull that shit against this Verstappen, in this car, in 2023. They lowered their floors for smoother suspensions to fight Adrian Neweys Frankenstein monster but the real machine was sitting right behind the wheel. And he won. Actually, he mollywhooped those bitches. Not the floor, not the wings, just a damn good racing driver. Good luck next time.

Qatar gp, 2023. Dutch man allergic to winning world championships in a normal way, millions left emotionally berated every year begging for the sweet release of ted kravitzs voice. No I’m jk but actually tell me why this fool cud not have waited for the race to clinch it. Bro had the title confirmed by a sprint where he finished SECOND. As a verstappie, imma tell u to watch this because it’s like. get out of my face rn I love you so much I’m so happy for u also that helmet is so pretty. In Qatar, Max became 1 of 5 drivers who won back to back to back world championships. After the year 2000, 1 of 3. Along wid the biggest championship margin in the most successful season of all time, well. 1 of 1.

Las Vegas, 2023. ummm ok ik this may SHOCK u but he wasn’t a fan. Max spent the whole season bitching about Vegas and breaking records and threatening retirement like that’s literally a fair description of events. Just very verstappen and migraine inducing type of shit. But yes, Vegas. Vegas held no old school appeal whatsoever. And he was right about some things. He never berated the circuit itself, the quality of the racing, just the show around it. U shud build for the track, not around it. It’s not that difficult to understand, or even that unpopular. But Max forgot about one important thing that wud prolly hurt his cause. He has never landed on US soil and not served. The plot armor wud simply never let my baddie have her AHA!!!!moment in Nevada. So I want u to open that cringe FUCKING compilation Sunday stream of the Vegas gp and c what happens when a sleep deprived verstappen and his so called ‘dominant’ ‘untouchable’ ‘unbeatable’ ‘rocket ship’ are released on a frozen track wid barely any data because one of the potholes burst and cut practices into 10 mins. Bitch what happens is good fucking f1 😭😭😭 Some real formula uno cabron 😭😭 Max retakes the lead at the start, overcooks his frozen tires, pushes sharl off, gets a penalty, serves his penalty, comes back wid gods wrath emanating from his fugly white helmet, obliterates the gap to first and Russell along wid it ((🫡)) passes both cars in front in one slick veteran move and sinks his teeth into p1 for the remaining 13 laps. And wins. Maybe not his most characteristic win, but def the funniest one. Stupid ass even sang Elvis. That’s an f1 driver bitch. He can’t trick me.

Here we are. Abu Dhabi. Breathe out. Red Bull won constructors in Japan, Max won the drivers championship in Qatar. It all started wid a lesson, remember? Max was a good teacher. He spent 8 months making sure we learned. Did you?

By Abu Dhabi, 2023, Max had officially set 20 new records, including the record for most records broken in a season by a single driver. 5 of those achievements had already been set in 2022, just upgraded in 2023: most wins in a season, most podiums in a season, most consecutive wins from pole, most hat tricks in a season, and most consecutive top two finishes in history. 3 of his achievements, however, kept him on the hunt until the very last lap: 3rd most wins of all time, over a 1000 laps lead, and the highest percentage of wins in the sports history. Max got them all. He’s now, statistically, the sole protagonist of the most dominant season in f1, and f1’s 3rd most successful driver, behind Schumacher and Hamilton. Max won 19 out of 22 races. 10 of those wins were consecutive. Right now, he’s already on another streak. 3 more wins and he matches his own record. 4 and he resets the book forever. What Max did wid the rb19 needs to be watched again and again and again, because it’ll be years. YEARS .Until we begin to learn how to truly appreciate it. This is just my humble attempt.

In Abu Dhabi, the job was done wid a series of incredible defensive moves that completely shut the door on sharl. No flashy overtakes, no heroics on the inside line. Just strong classic defending. Sharls attack was dealt wid, nullified, the gap was built, set and managed, and Max saw the fireworks 17 seconds earlier than the rest. In 2023, Max was untouchable by all but one. The car he called ‘rocky’. The only car, to this day, according to the man himself, that ever saw him smile before he crossed the finish line. That ever made him happy before it made him a winner.

You tell me.

[nominzn]

Try Hard II

punk bassist!jeno x female!reader genre: fluff wc: 2k part I - part III a/n: this is a bit longer than I'd planned and maybe there's too much chenji best friend agenda. I did it for me and my fellow chenji baddies. this is so cute and honestly i hope you read it well <3disclaimers: mentions of piercings, some swearing. i'm not sorry for having done these edits of jeno with a labret piercing.

[6:58am] 

jisung: wake the fuck up  jisung: we’re gonna be late jisung: cmon LOSER jisung: fr i don’t wanna come into your room jisung: i’m gonna lose my mind and scream if you don't get up rn

the faint buzz under the pillow rolled you out of your sleep, lazily you got the electronic device in your hands, seeing your friend’s notifications. shit, you thought. snoozing would get you in trouble once again. great.

getting out of bed was harder than you thought. dragging your feet, you made your way towards the door so as to open it for jisung. he sighed in relief upon seeing you and happily got in after you motioned for him to enter the space. “you gotta stop snoozing. for real.” he whispered, not wanting to get on your bad side so early. you mumbled ‘good morning to you too’ in response. he chuckled lightly and watched as you gathered your things to get ready.

-

after that day’s lecture, having cooled off from the hectic run to avoid being late, chenle, jisung and you were hanging out near some other students on campus. the bodypiercer placed a finger under your chin and took a closer look at your recent piercing. “how’s it healing?”

“is it what you wanted?” his question implied another meaning, which you acknowledged by his discreet wink. 

you held back a grin, glancing away from your friends. and as if the universe was trying to play a prank on you, you see him. confidently walking around one of the halls heading the opposite direction from the three of you. his bass kept him company, as usual. jeno probably felt your eyes on him because he quickly scanned the area over his shoulder seemingly looking for something he didn’t find.

“it is.” you said to your friend, who smirked, realizing you understood his intentions. “but I’ve got to try harder, you know?”

“isn’t it just soap and saline solution to clean up? how the hell could you try harder than that?” jisung pointed out and both you and chenle grinned knowingly, nodding at his direction at the same time. “you’re weird.”

“what’s up, renjun?” the purple haired announced the third boy’s proximity. he held a friendly smile on his lips as he took the remaining steps towards the group to have a seat next to you. 

renjun was the coolest and sweetest guy on campus, everybody knew him for outdoing all other international relations students and for his insane parties. the boy went all for having fun and making the most of his college experience while working his ass off to be the best he could be. just impossible, people would say. nobody dared to say a bad thing about him, though; hoping to God to be invited to one of his famous events. that had never been a problem for you. since chenle was his childhood friend, you eventually became friendly with each other. 

“you’re coming on saturday?” he asked, expectant eyes looking at each of you, when he landed on your forced grin. “no! you’re coming!” he shook his head negatively. “please? louise is gonna be there, you’re the closest thing to a friend she has.” louise was his situationship and the girl from the same class you’d been hanging out with since she transferred. “please?” 

you tried looking away from the three pair of eyes that expected your answer, already acknowledging no wasn’t possible. it’d been a while since you went out and spent time with lou and some other friends. “alright, alright! i’m going.”

-

jeno’s fingertips were sore from playing his acoustic bass by now, but he didn’t mind. he’d been absentmindedly following the melody of creep by radiohead, his favorite song. it wasn’t like he didn’t notice people were intimidated by him frequently and that had never bothered him, not until it stopped him from being closer to someone he liked. 

he became hyper aware of people taking glances at him and moving awkwardly to the side so he could go on walking. also the stutters when he asked to take part in group projects, which never lasted long after people got to know him, started to annoy him a lot. most of the time they seemed to think he was tough and mean, even though that was far from the truth. 

the boy even considered changing his style, quitting the band or whatever change he could make to seem more likable. however, that was just who he was, so he was trying to shut up those foolish ideas by drowning himself in music once again. 

ARCADERS AKA BEST BAND ever 

haechan: bow down to ur king haechan: SUMMONING THIS BAND where r y’all haechan: fr i need to tell u guys smth haechan: URGENT SOS HELLO R U THERE

jeno: what the fuck is this about 

no sooner did the non-stop dings coming from the phone on the floor broke his trance, than he was checking the band’s group chat.

jaemin: this is good jaemin: he’s not joking

jisung: well where is he now

haechan: glad to know i’m so loved

jisung: uhm embarrassing ..?

haechan: n e ways got us a gig on thursday

jaemin: TELL THEM WHERE IT IS

jeno: hope it’s not wild’s hated playing there 

haechan: i’d tell u to guess but i’m just losing my mind  haechan: it’s ANL 

jisung: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT 

haechan: yeah invite chenle and our groupie she’s got to be there

chenle, jisung and you were on the way back home when the tallest suddenly stopped on his track, staring at his phone screen for a few minutes, white as a sheet. having no idea what was going on, you tried shaking him and asking what was going on a few times but he just smiled brightly and turned his messages for both of you to read.

“oh my GOD!” you yelled.

“NO WAY, JISUNG! ARCADERS AT ANL.”

“you guys HAVE to be there!” his friends ruffled his hair lovingly.

-

you were alone at the bar, waiting for your fifth drink to be done. the atmosphere tonight was exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. the band was already backstage getting ready for they’d play soon, but oh were they shaking. they had been waiting for this opportunity for quite some time, it almost didn’t feel real for them. ANL was the biggest pub around and it was well-known for having introduced the best local rock musicians.

the bartender handed the beautiful pink drink to you and your journey to meet your friends in the back started. the place was packed, so walking was difficult. you recognized a few faces on the way and had a few dialogs here and there. many friends of the boys stopped you to ask about them or wish good luck. 

you entered a door and found them inside the small room, haechan being the first to see you. “GROUPIE!” he exclaimed and the boys turned around to see you at the door. jisung sighed in relief and clung onto you.

“i’m so nervous.” the words slipped out of his lips when his face was buried in your hair. 

“you can do this, ji. you’re the best drummer. our rockstar!” you could feel his smile on his cheek, then he let you go to say your hellos.

you scanned the room almost as bright eyed as them, stopping at jeno. he looked so… good, it took everything in you not to look like a fool. the chains on his neck complemented his pretty eye makeup so well, not to mention the leather jacket hugging his strong arms and back. you couldn’t help but notice his lips were glistening and a new black jewelry was there, a labret piercing. of course he noticed you staring, but you only realized that when your eyes found his. this time, neither of you looked away. the intensity flickering in his orbs woke the damn butterflies in your stomach and you had to fight back the urge to kiss him. ‘one more drink and you’d be done for, jeno lee’ you thought.

“oh good, you just got here?” chenle’s voice broke your little staring contest. your friend grinned at you, pointing to the huge backpack on his shoulders. “brought an extra camera so you can help me take some pictures for their insta, alright?”

“am i getting paid?” 

“shut up.” 

the staff came in a few minutes later and gave the two of you a pass that allowed you to stay between the stage and the barricade, for the pictures. suddenly everything felt real as they had less than 20 minutes to get in. the host announced them once more for the almost three hundred people there among friends, some admirers of the band and LOTS of students from the surrounding colleges who didn’t know them. tonight their word would spread around like fire. 

“so, you like the surprise?” chenle asked, looking at you through the camera. 

“i consider that betrayal, for your information” your answer made him throw his head back, laughing like a little kid. “what? a labret piercing isn’t a betrayal?” 

“well, i consider it a present. and seeing the way you were staring…” he nudged you playfully, but the music stopped and the host came back on stage. the highly anticipated concert was about to start, so you just stuck your tongue out to your friend. 

their entrance was big, everyone screamed to hype them up and they started with their own version of all the small things by blink 182. you swear you couldn’t even hear haechan over the audience. you took many pictures of them, sang together and admired their surprised smiles and stage personas in between performances. 

at some point jaemin and jeno came to the front to have a small battle to show their guitar and bass skills, making the room go crazy. right after that, the vocalists screamed jisung’s name and he started to show off. chenle exchanged a proud look with you, all of you feeling an immense happiness. 

so many girls were screaming their names, haechan mouthed the word ‘groupies’ at you, to which he received a middle finger in his direction. 

the setlist had almost come to an end, there was only one song left. feeling on top of the world, haechan played with the public. “ANL, you’re such a good crowd.” they screamed. “unfortunately, we’ve come down to our last song.” a very loud ‘aawwww’ was heard and the boys chuckled among themselves. as the sunkissed singer spoke, the others changed their instruments. jaemin got an acoustic guitar, followed by jeno with his acoustic bass and the staff placed a cajón for jisung in front of the drums. “we prepared a very special song for you, beautiful people. thank you so much for coming tonight!” they cheered once more.

the first chords to wonderwall by oasis were played by jaemin, the other instruments following the softer melody. haechan’s sweet voice compelled the watchers to sing along, pouring their hearts out.

you felt a tap on your shoulder as you registered this breathtaking moment of the band. turning your attention to the person who tapped you, you see chenle wiggling his eyebrows in jeno’s way. turns out his gaze was burning your skin together with the words dripping from his lips so faintly, only someone so close as you would understand he was following the lyrics.

And all the roads we have to walk are winding

And all the lights that lead us there are blinding

There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how

the bassist didn’t know what had gotten into him, maybe it was the performance thrill. he honestly didn’t try to find an explanation. during their songs, you were the one getting his attention all the time. you were having so much fun, singing out loud, exchanging jokes with your best friend, showing some people the band’s social media… it clicked. he realized he would never have to change to be around you. he felt so silly. and then, a sudden boldness rushed through him to let you know there’s something he must tell you.

[spider-mancan]

Starker fuck or die

This is insane. The entire day has been one dumpster fire after another. Peter fell asleep on top of a building still in costume with his textbook spread open on his lap to the sound of a phone call. The resulting jolt of unfortunate awareness nearly sent his school books down onto the pavement — instead they just have a stain from the webbing and an extremely damaged spine. Peter answered the phone but was more interested in mourning his rental deposit than whatever threat was causing the Avengers to assemble. 

Then he heard the words Sex Demon come out of Captain America’s mouth and it was all downhill from there. Forlorn, Peter agreed to set his studying aside and come help out, because, really, when was he going to have another opportunity to sit in a room while Steve Rogers tried to talk about a Sex Demon in the debrief? 

It wasn’t nearly as fun as Peter expected. They’d called him in because he was difficult to hit and had the benefit of both long- and short-range fighting, but some of the others weren’t so lucky. By the time he arrived, Black Widow had already been removed by Hawkeye, leaving Second Hawkeye looking very purple (“nice new uniform, Kate!”) and incredibly perplexed. Steve was mostly alright, but whatever was causing problems was not reacting well to the serum.

Causing problems, of course, meant making people extremely Down to Fuck extremely quickly. 

“This is hilarious,” Peter says, swinging around the rafters. The warehouse they’re in has already been trashed, light leaking in through the roof and scaffolding collapsed in heaps on the concrete floor. “There is so much porn about this. At least two. Not that I know for sure.”

Tony comes over the comm. “I did hear Sex Pollen Sluts Go Nuts got excellent reviews.”

No one thinks this is funny at all, but Peter is too busy twisting out of harm’s way to feel bad about laughing. 

It’s not a Sex Demon, which Peter finds incredibly disappointing. It’s just a man who believes in the power of the aphrodisiac, or something, and developed yadda yadda whatever he’s trying to get blackmail of the world’s most influential people blah blah super awkward and gross and his sex blaster doesn’t even look cool at all. 

None of this is the particularly insane part.

The insane part happens about two seconds after Tony manages to topple Mr. Sex Demon over the railing and onto the ground, where the pressurized canisters on his back give way to the unforgiving asphalt and explode into a green haze so dense Peter can barely see the brilliant blue glow of the arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yells into the comm, without a response, and he’s swinging over to assess the damage when Captain barks orders for him to stay out of the way.

The Iron Man suit is already vacuuming up the fumes to remove the contaminant from the air, but Tony hadn’t been wearing one of his space safe suits which means there’s no internal oxygen supply, which means he’s also been contaminated. Regardless, the two men come into view and Tony just waves. “FRIDAY gives the all clear.” His voice sounds strained.

Peter drops down just behind. “Mr. Stark!”

“Spider-Man,” Steve calls, jogging over. “It’s best not to get to close—”

Peter is about to ask what Steve could possibly mean when he feels heavy hands grip his shoulders. The Iron Man gauntlets are heavy — in the armor Tony weighs nearly 400 pounds — and Peter winces. “Mr. Stark?” 

He isn’t afraid — Natasha hadn’t been dangerous. She’d stood stock still for a moment, called for assistance, and immediately removed herself. Over the phone, Captain America had run through the symptoms of the spores, but Peter can’t remember all of that now. He vaguely remembers a loss of inhibition, some kind of animalistic behavior, and an increase in body temperature to dangerous levels over time.

“Tony,” Steve says warningly. 

Iron Man’s faceplate lifts up and Tony is sweating, gritting his teeth. “I know, Cap.” His hands tighten, shaking, enough that Peter grabs one and flexes his fingers, debating whether to pry it off. “I’m trying.” Deep breath.

“Get away from the kid, Tony.” Steve pulls out his firearm and Peter is about to laugh, it’s insane, Tony would never hurt him. Touching Peter isn’t something Tony isn’t allowed to do. But when Peter goes to laugh Tony still looks so serious, so stony, almost sick. Deranged, even. Just a little.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter frowns and Tony’s eyes flutter closed, tight.

“Don’t call me that, right now, kid.”

Kate hops down from her perch in the rafters, awkwardly adjusting the quiver on her back. “I’m just gonna, uh, go.” She gestures over her shoulder to the door, which Tony blasted off the hinges not half an hour ago. “I’ll find a broom or something. Or just leave.”

Steve nods, mouth tight. His gaze doesn’t leave Tony where he’s hunched over Peter like a bad shadow, but his finger stays still on the trigger. Waiting. Not moving one way or the other.

Peter knows how these sorts of things go; if something can go wrong, it will. He runs through the data he can grapes through the confusion, tapping into Tony’s suit. Tony had been exposed to nearly twenty times the recommended dosage. Peter pulls his vitals through Karen and tries not to balk at Tony’s heart rate or internal temperature. Hot. Tony could fry an egg on his chest soon. “We need to get you out of the suit.” Peter reaches for one of the latches.

“Leave it,” Tony grunts. He’s bitten his lip so hard there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. “Better.” His hands haven’t moved, like he can’t move them, like he’s a statue. Peter is going anywhere without forcing himself free. “Better for you.”

“For me?” Peter demands. His hands are already on the gauntlet, but he freezes, struck silly by the sheer nerve. Tony is overloading and he thinks he should stay in the suit for Peter’s sake?

“I’m calling Fury.” Steve brings one hand up to his ear, gun still level. His eyes don’t leave Tony the entire time, even when he backs away slightly and starts to argue on the private channel.

Peter’s fingers tap a nervous rhythm on Tony’s armor. “Karen says you’re spiking really fast, sir,” he says at a whisper. This isn’t good for Tony’s heart, still weak, or his nervous system, which has been run ragged.

“I’m fine,” Tony chokes out through clenched teeth. His skin looks terribly gray, haggard, even. “I am really reliving some of my old glory days right now, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Drugs.” Peter laughs nervously. Tony’s eyes are blown, the warm brown consumed by darkness, and his gaze is heavy on Peter. The gauntlet moves now, pulling up the hem of Peter’s mask until Peter feels metal against his pulse point. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans.

Peter is a good kid, but he’s not a saint. He’s seen the Tony Stark sex tapes, even the ones that Tony didn’t know were being recorded. He’d been through his own moral beratement when he opened it the first time, but he’d done it several times since because they’re something about Tony that Peter can’t get enough of. And Peter has heard that groan a million times. It’s not like his enemy just punched me into a wall groan, or his this meeting could have been an email groan. It’s the groan he makes when he opens someone up with his cock for the first time. The eyes rolling back, hips stuttering kind of groan.

Peter is suddenly very hard in his jock strap. Terrible. Terrible news.

Karen is a welcome distraction in the form of more terrible news. “Mr. Stark!” The vitals displaying on Peter’s HUD are approaching dangerous levels, especially for an older, unenhanced human. “Your heart rate. It’s crazy!” 

Tony is sweating, mouth open in the face of the rising temperatures, and Peter starts to frantically start prying at the mechanisms that hold the armor together. Tony makes no move to assist. “Leave it.”

“You’re in a metal can and you’re already over 100F,” Peter tells him, as if Tony didn’t know. “You’re going to—”

He doesn’t hear Steve barking at him to stop. It doesn't strike him that it’s a bad idea until it’s too late.

Peter manages to get his nails under the ridge of the chest plate and release it, pulling back, and then suddenly he’s falling. Tony has miraculously changed his mind about the suit and decided to abandon it entirely, stepping out and using the momentum of Peter’s scrambling until they both fall prone on the ground. There’s a poof of dust as they clatter onto the warehouse floor, tangled together.

Steve looks over at them sharply and is yelling orders Peter can’t quite hear because he is too busy trying to place the way Tony is smothering him with his body. Even through Peter’s suit he feels the heat radiating off of Tony’s skin, so sweaty he’s almost slick. He smells like hard work and expensive cologne. Peter is bewildered, and he puts his hands on Tony’s chest to push him away only to freeze when he feels Tony pull up mask and lick a thick line from his collar to his ear. 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t—” Tony gets a hand between them, pushing the release on Peter’s suit until it’s loose around his body and Peter turns his head to look at Steve. “Captain, I didn’t think it was supposed to be, ah, oh.” He shudders when Tony sucks Peter’s ear into his mouth. “Mr. Stark, please. We need to get you to medical.”

“No time,” Tony mumbles against Peter’s throat. He’s cupping Peter’s groin through the suit while the other hand pulls the mask off completely. “Want you bad. God, I can’t even think. Look at you.”

“Tony.” Steve takes the safety off, conversation over the communicator set aside, and gets closer. He doesn’t want to shoot. That much is obvious — if he was going to, he would have already done it. “I said get off the kid.”

“He’s mine, Capsicle,” Tony growls. He winds his hands around Peter’s back until their chest to chest, and Peter feel the rabbiting heartbeat until it’s hard to separate whose is whose. “Get your own!” There’s the tell-tale fire up of the propulser on Tony’s palm, and then there’s a stare down between Iron Man and Captain America with a shivering Spider-Man sandwiched between.

Steve looks away first.

Peter feels a bit wild, wide-eyed, confused. Flushed and hot and not attractive at all, but Tony is near-tearing the suit off of his body and Peter is so shocked he’s barely fighting it. Cold air hits his sweaty skin where Tony is pulling it down at the neck and it feels like an electric shock. “Mr. Stark, seriously. You need to—oh.” There’s a rough hand on his cock. “Oh, my god.”

Tony has both hands on Peter again, like he’s going to reach into Peter’s chest and start pulling him apart, but the Iron Man suit is in sentry mode now; Peter hears the thunk of the boots on the ground even as he’s writhing, trying to focus past the sound of his own insane breathing. He blinks and then there is red and gold staring down the barrel of Steve’s gun.

“Need you, kid,” Tony growls in his ear, pulling down the length of him through his underwear. This was not on Peter’s bingo card for the day. “Feel like I’ll die without you.”

Maybe you will, Peter thinks hysterically.

Steve could stop this, but the gun is slowly falling lower until it’s pointed at the concrete. “Peter,” he starts, “if you give me the word, I’ll remove him and take him to quarantine until we find a willing partner.”

“Partner?” The puzzle pieces are falling into place but there has to be another picture because the one in Peter’s head isn’t making any sense. “I thought this just made you horny!”

“It sure does,” Tony mutters. He doesn’t spare Peter’s underthings nearly the same respect as the suit, but he tears Peter’s t-shirt off at the neck and spreads it open like a child opening a Christmas present. Hands splay flat over sweaty skin, feeling Peter’s rapid breathing. “I’m going to ruin you, kid.” Like he can’t hear a single thing.

“I’m not—oh, god.” Tony is heavy on top of him and his cock is hard in his sweats, thick where it’s digging into Peter’s hip. Tony readjusts and grinds them together, hard enough that Peter scrambles for purchase against Tony’s back. “Cap, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Tony rakes his nails down Peter’s bare chest, catching on Peter’s nipples with a satisfied smirk.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks slowly.

Tony has such a high fever and his heart rate is dangerous and he looks at Peter and says, “you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?” and Peter is so fucked. He’s both literally and figuratively fucked.

Like a flash of lightning, Peter remembers the call earlier: if Tony doesn’t come inside someone, he’ll overheat until he’s either cooked inside or dies from a heart attack. It had sounded kind of funny at the time, only half-paying attention.

Despite having a god among men standing not twenty feet away — oh, god, Captain America can totally see Peter’s boner right now — Tony doesn’t look away from Peter for a single moment if he can help it. Years of the revolving door love interests have made Tony extremely good with his hands. He’s often joked about it, about how good he is in bed, but Peter never actually thought he’d feel the way Tony smoothes hands over skin or bites bruises cherry red and it’s just a whole lot more than Peter expected to happen.

“I—I…oh, god.” Tony licks a line from Peter’s navel up to his chest and latches on to one of Peter’s nipples with his teeth. “I’m, I’m willing. I just—”

“Are you sure?” Steve says firmly, like Peter might be able to think straight with Tony all over him like every unfortunate wet dream he’s had since the seventh grade.

“If you don’t leave right now,” Tony says with a growl, “you’re going to get quite the show, Cap.” His eyes look clouded over, and he sits back heavy on Peter’s cock and just looks at the mess he’s made. Peter’s suit is hanging haphazardly around his hips and his shirt is ruined and his skin is bright pink. The cold wind through the holes in the walls brushes past, too cool on the spit-slick on Peter’s chest and he shudders.

“I’m okay,” Peter chants, and he lets himself reach out and touch for the first time. It’s tentative, fingertips across the scarring on Tony’s chest. “Like, what the fuck, but also I’ll be okay.”

If anyone understands that, it’s Steve, who is flushed almost as red as Peter and pivots. “I’ll guard the perimeter.”

With a grin, Tony rolls his hips so fluidly Peter whines high in his throat. “Kind of wanted to put on a show.” His cock is so hard, rutting into the dips of Peter’s stomach. “Bet he’ll watch. He just doesn’t want to admit how good you look. My perfect boy.” He grabs both sides of Peter’s head, fingers tangling in his hair so hard Peter can’t look anywhere but straight ahead.

Peter presses his hands flat. “Mr. Stark, I…” He closes his eyes tight. “What do I do? This is crazy.” Not last week Tony had been helping Peter with relationship advice, how to get a girl’s attention, clapped him on the shoulder and called him champ like he was going to take Peter to the baseball game later. “You’re…” 

The first time Tony kisses him, Peter’s brain doesn’t care about the drugged nature of it. It’s everything he wants, everything he thought it would be in his wildest dreams. It’s possessive, almost bruising, like Tony is boiling over and he’s going to fill Peter up with it. Teeth nips at Peter’s bottom lip until he makes the smallest sound, a little desperate. What? That’s Mr. Stark’s tongue in his mouth.

Tony’s hands slip down under the waistband of Peter’s until he touches hair and Peter writhes, knees clanking together, trying to hide himself even though Tony groans again like he’s found nirvana. His nails rake up the sensitive skin near Peter’s groin. “So soft and beautiful.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder, hips still rutting in a sinful rhythm. “Knew you would be.”

“Are you sure about—ah, about this, Mr, Stark?” Peter tries. His tongue is so thick in his mouth. He can hardly process anything. Beyond Tony is the dingy gray walls of the warehouse, the open space, anyone could walk in and they’d see Tony pinning Peter down with his body. Tony has never looked at him this way; not that Peter hasn’t tried. “You’re…you’re going to hate me later.” He covers his face with his hands, feels the heat on his cheeks.

When he turned seventeen he’d pushed his luck. He touched more, took more. Kissed Tony on the cheek goodbye until he was daring enough to slip, catch just the corner of Tony’s mouth. Peter remembers it, it’s was Monday, rainy, because he’ll never forget the way Tony had looked at him after. Terrified. Disgusted, even. Of Peter. Of Peter kissing him.

Right now, Tony needs more than a sidestep kiss and pat on the shoulder. He needs a hole, something to fuck into, something to take apart piece by piece, and he’s already let Peter know he wasn’t interested in that with him. Peter’s brain is spinning, the reality of the situation started to seep in through the cracks of his shock, and he wonders if he’s being an opportunist by taking Tony’s wandering hands in stride. 

“Oh, darling.” Tony leans in and presses a wet kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “I could never hate you.”

The sound of the zipper fills up the whole room. The space is public, with the open floor and windows and sun streaming down, but it’s quiet, save the police sirens outside. Tens of people, probably, just a flimsy wall away while Tony Stark gets his cock out with a groan. 

It’s thick, uncut, slightly to the left, and nestled in a thick and well-groomed swath of dark hair. Peter knew all that from the videos, the tapes he keeps on his phone for the lonely nights, but that’s just an old image of Tony. Right now, Tony is on his knees above Peter and he grins, circling his cock with his fingers so Peter can watch it twitch. He’s still a bit gray, he looks sick, and his hair is slick against his neck. Peter has always liked that, when it curls there, but Peter can’t look away from the curls around Tony’s cock right now because he’s just a man and his mouth is watering.

“You’re going to be the best thing I’ve ever felt,” Tony says through that wicked grin, eyes dazed — mind far away, probably, since the fight has left him. He leans over, lets his cock drag over Peter’s stomach. Peter feels pre-come in a smooth line and it makes him whimper. “I’ve fucked royalty, the most powerful people in the world, the most beautiful, but I know you’re going to feel the best.”

He kisses Peter then, when Peter opens his mouth and moans at the idea. He brings one thick hand up to Peter’s neck and just holds him, all threat but no pressure, and opens up Peter’s kisses with the flat of his tongue until Peter is weak and loose on the floor. Those fingers pull his mouth down, slip in and feel his tongue slide under the fingertips, and Tony doesn’t have to tell Peter to suck because this has happened in Peter’s head at least twenty five times.

Tony tastes like metal and lotion and salt. He presses on Peter’s tongue until Peter drools around his fingers, grinding his cock into Peter’s hip and rolling his thigh up between Peter’s legs. “Knew you’d melt for me, sugar in the rain, just like that.” 

Peter thinks his eyes might roll back in his head. Is he the one that got caught in the sex pollen nightmare? He feels giddy, almost drunk, and he lets more drool come out of his mouth and slick up Tony’s fingers. He knows where they’re going.

Tony is less single-minded than Peter would have thought, because he’s slow to pull his fingers away and he’s slow to lift up Peter’s leg and he spends an awed moment just looking, which borders on being too much. Peter can feel his ass clench when Tony runs a thumb over the pucker, and his legs tighten around Tony’s hips.

“Just, uh…” Peter wipes his mouth and hides his face in his elbow. “You can start, just…whatever you need.”

Tony presses in gently with the pad of his thumb at the same time he tugs Peter’s arm away from his face, just in time to see Peter’s expression slip into something feral. “Need to see you.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder and laves at it with his tongue. His goatee scrapes across Peter’s skin so good, and Peter curls up until his arms are curling over Tony’s head, hovering, unsure whether to bring him closer or pull him away. “My good boy.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter presses Tony into his shoulders, another bite, and Tony slips a spit-slick finger inside quick and easy. “Oh, god, I didn’t think—I never thought—”

That’s a lie. Peter thought about it a lot, the way Tony might work him open. Tony’s fingers curl smoothly against Peter’s walls, one to two and then three, a little dry but Peter doesn’t mind when it hurts a little because sometimes soft and sweet feels dull. Sometimes he wants someone to rip him open and make him cry and if Tony is going to do it right now, under threat of death—

“Think about you all the time,” Tony croons heavily against Peter’s skin. He pulls away, purposeful, and Peter blinks. He wonders hysterically if the fog melted away, no more sex magic or whatever it is that’s making Tony want to destroy him, but Tony just draws closer until he can slap his cock around Peter’s swollen mouth. “Get me wet. I’ll make you stop thinking for good.”

Peter groans, an open invitation. This is insane. He shouldn’t enjoy this because Mr. Stark is drugged into wanting him and it’s a huge breach of trust and privacy but Peter scrambled up onto his elbows so Tony can feed him his dick, thick and perfect. He grabs Tony’s hip so hard he thinks there might be bruises but Tony fucks a little harder into his mouth, smooth.

There isn’t a lot of time for sex in his line of work, he’s busy, he’s pining over a man who doesn’t want him, not for real, but Peter isn’t too good to get on his knees in the back of a club and swallow someone down. He knows what he’s doing, throat opening up until the head of Tony’s cock hits the back of his throat. He hums. He loves this. He loves sucking people off, makes his head floaty and easy, and he’s got his eyes closed just to revel in it. He lets drool pool in his mouth again, knows it’s going to make his life easier. 

Tony’s thumb wipes a tear off Peter’s cheek, and it’s only then that Peter opens his eyes and finds his lashes damp, stuck together, watery. “There’s my boy.” It’s so fond. “Don’t cry. You’re doing so well.”

Peter’s hips fuck up into the air and he pulls off, suckling at the head before letting it rest gently on his bottom lip. “I’m good. I’m good, Mr. Stark.” He feels Tony twitch against his mouth. It’s incredible. 

It’s nothing compared to Tony rolling him over on his side, the obscene way Tony hikes up one of Peter’s legs and spits in Peter’s hole and feeds Peter the head of his cock so fast it burns a little, the way Peter kind of likes but won’t admit. It hurts and then his body knows it like this and everything evens out and Tony growls when he thrusts fully into Peter. His skin slaps hard against Peter’s hips, rocking Peter with a surprised cry further across the dusty ground. Tony just smoothes his hand over Peter’s hip, under the knee, and rocks into him. He bites feral at Peter’s neck and shoulders like he’s here to take and claim, like he’s going to want to see the shape of himself on Peter later.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, I’m, ah, oh, please.” Tony brushes up against his prostate and Peter jolts forward, bracing himself with his free hand on the ground to stop from being fucked flat into the floor. “Oh, please. It’s good. It’s good, it’s good.”

Peter isn’t sure Tony can hear anything anymore, but he takes his hand off Peter’s knee and wraps it around Peter’s throat, pulling him back so their bodies are flush and rocking hard and tight into Peter’s body. It’s hard to remember this is just drugs, this is just another day on the job getting fucked by the unrequited love of his life, when Tony watching the way Peter’s eyes roll back so closely. When Tony kisses Peter he tastes like blood but feels like gold, wrapping Peter up tighter. Peter couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He’ll never want to.

“You take me so good, kid,” Tony says against Peter’s jaw, kisses wetly at the skin there. “Thought about this, about opening you up in the lab.”

“Ngh.” Peter is beyond speech, just like Tony promised, but his hand flies back to dig nails into Tony’s hip. His cock aches, dribbling precome onto the dirty floor and the tangle of his ruined clothes. 

“It’s bend you over and slip inside and you’d just—fucking—let me.” He thrusts hard into Peter’s hole, punctuation, and the sound Peter makes is ungodly. “Thought about it when you glued yourself to the wall, just ripping your clothes off—mmm.” A slow roll Peter can feel in his toes. “Find you already open and dripping because I know you fuck yourself sometimes before you come in. FRIDAY can tell.”

Tony isn’t squeezing his throat but Peter can’t breathe.

There are a million and one first hand accounts of Tony Stark’s stroke, but Peter doesn’t think any of them compare to the real thing. On the ground, in the warehouse, while Captain America tries to stop New York’s Finest from throwing open the door and seeing Peter pinned here in the dirt, spread open—

“That’s it,” Tony whispers, gravel. He scratches down Peter’s chest and wraps his hand around Peter’s cock. “You’re so good. Go on. Make a mess. Daddy will clean it up for you.”

It’s deep in Peter’s stomach, rolls up until it burns in his chest and chokes him. His hips cant back, trying to take more of Tony, more more more of something that isn’t here, out here in the open. Everyone knows they’re doing this right now. Fuck. Tony’s suit is still there; FRIDAY is recording all of this, the way Peter shudders and writhes and comes and comes and comes all over Tony’s fist. 

He falls flat on his stomach, Tony’s hand still pumping lightly until Peter is pushing back against Tony’s thrusts just trying to get away from the sensitivity. 

“That’s it, that’s it.” Kisses all over his neck, his throat, his cheeks. “Let me take care of you. Almost there, so good. So perfect.”

There’s no condom. That’s the last thought Peter has, as Tony comes thick and hot in Peter’s ass and grunts, bites one more time. No condom. Very messy. It’s fine, probably, since Tony said he’d clean it up. 

The adrenalin drop hits, empty, and Peter fades away into something deeper than sleep with his cheek pressed into the cold ground and Tony pulling out of his body, wet and sloppy.

[geddy-leesbian]

SERRENNEDY POKEMON CROSSOVER AU FOR SERRENNEDY WEEK!!

As you can see above, this is very angsty. Leon and Luis both have a lot of trauma and Baggage. Luis almost has a panic attack and does some trauma dumping.

While there's no explicit smut on screen, there's a moment that gets kinda steamy and a fade to black/implied sex scene.

(oh and personally I feel very awkward swapping things out with pokemon terminology, like using "Arceus" instead of "God" so there is normal swearing here)

“Dr. Serra Navarro?”

“Well, yes, that is me, but typically I prefer Professor Serra,” His eyes wander all over Leon. “Though for someone as pretty as you, I prefer just Luis. Is there something I can help you with?”

Leon was afraid that he was going to go all the way to Alola only to find out it was all a complete waste because Professor Serra actually was just a professor unfortunate enough to share a name with a Team Rocket scientist. But that outcome is already ruled out. Either this guy is the lead he's been seeking for years, or he's an innocent professor that Leon will ask out on a date.

Due to excitement over finally finding a new lead, this trip was hastily put together, and Leon didn't realize how young Dr. Serr– Luis was. Once he confirmed that Luis was from Johto, he didn't go any deeper. He did see a couple pictures, but didn't pay much attention, and assumed the youthfulness was because they were older pictures. His assumption was very wrong. Luis is about his age and way too good-looking. The length of his grayish pink hair is braided, and the loose bangs are fluffy. His tinted glasses are a little too big for his face, but in a cute way. He's taller than Leon. And his outfit is fucking stupid. Shirtless under a lab coat. So stupid. It's hot.

A date with him will make this trip more than worth it.

“I just have some questions for you.”

“About? Are you a parent, or..? I don't think I've seen you around before, but I don't usually get anyone else dropping in on me like this…”

Shit. Leon really should have thought of a cover story beforehand. But in addition to not thoroughly researching Luis enough, he was also too high on the excitement of finally finding something after years of searching to bother thinking through what he'd say.

“Just heard about you, found your past interesting. From Johto originally, was wondering how it affected you. If you had any run-ins with Team Rocket.”

And it looks like Leon will not be going on a date with a handsome professor tonight. This is the guy. He recovers quickly, but for a split second, the phrase ‘Team Rocket’ invokes some panic in his expression.

“No. I was fortunate enough to never have encountered them.”

“You know anything about Mew?”

“Yes, of course? What kind of a professor would I be if I didn't? Mythical pokemon from deep in jungles in South America. Believed to be the ancestor of all pokemon.”

“What about Mewtwo?”

“I've heard the rumors, yes. A clone of Mew that was heavily genetically modified. But I believe that those are just that, rumors. There is no real substance to the claims.”

“Cinnabar Island. That's where you worked when Team Rocket captured and imprisoned Mew. You cruelly experimented on Mew. You helped create Mewtwo.”

“Who in the hell do you think you are, showing up at my doorstep to accuse me of such insane things?!”

“International Police!” Luis starts to shut the door, but Leon blocks the door with his foot. While he wasn't wearing his full uniform, he did bring his badge and takes it out to flash to Luis. He sees some purple fur coming up behind Luis. Must be an espeon, coming to protect its trainer. “Put that in its pokeball and open the door. Now.”

“I will do no such thing! I'm not proud of what I did back then, but I've done my best to leave it all behind, build a new life for myself. I will not allow you, or anyone else, to rip all of that away from me.”

“Not proud of what you did back then? So you admit it?”

“It doesn't matter. Arrest me if you really want, but it won't be anything more than a waste of time for the both of us. I'll maybe spend a night or two in jail, then be let go without charges being filed because I have a good reputation here and you have no evidence. If you try to tell anyone I confessed to involvement with Team Rocket, they won't believe you. You'll ruin your own reputation.”

“I do have evidence! Documents connecting you to the Mew experiments and the creation of Mewtwo.”

Luis actually starts laughing.

“You don't know as much as you think you do then. You find my name on a scrap of paper in the crumbling ruins of a lab, and think you know my life story! So arrogant! Yes, I did work at the Cinnabar lab, but I did not contribute to the creation of Mewtwo. I did not experiment on Mew. I have never had the privilege to even see the legendary Mew in the flesh. Mewtwo had already been created and Mew had already escaped before I was even hired. I can prove that your supposed timeline of my work history is impossible in court, so good luck getting a conviction!”

Leon moves his foot and lets Luis shut the door, and slinks away from his house with his tail between his legs.

…

Leon checks into a motel. He turns the TV on, but he can't focus on it. His mind can't stop wandering back to the conversation, analyzing every word. He fucked up.

“I'm not proud of what I did back then.”

He really fucked up. That could have been a very good angle. Tell Luis that this is his chance to atone and right his wrongs by telling Leon everything he knows about Team Rocket. Maybe even offer some kind of immunity deal if he still seemed hesitant.

But he had to get hot headed and fuck it all up. His first lead in years, and he blew it.

Not ready to admit defeat quite yet, he decides to give himself a day to cool his head off, before trying again. At least Alola offers plenty of distractions. He's not one for most of the tourist trap shit, but distracts himself with hikes through some scenic, and more importantly, rugged terrains. Pushing his body always helps him get his mind together. It's isolated enough that he can let all of his pokemon out too.

Something else Alola offers is a brutal sun. Leon didn't think to buy any sunscreen, and has a bad burn across his face by the end of the day. He's been through far worse, the pain is nothing to him, but he is annoyed at himself for being so stupid. His pokemon were quite happy with the exercise and exploration though, and his head feels clearer, so overall it was a pretty successful day.

…

A knock at Luis's door again. Rattled by yesterday, the knocking gives him a spike of anxiety. Still, he gets up to answer it, in case it's a student or parent that needs something.

He looks through the peephole and sees the same pretty International Police agent that came by yesterday. Luis really doesn't want to open the door. But he's worried it'll be worse if he doesn't and the man busts the door down. Besides, Espeon seems at ease with the situation, not alarmed and protective like she was yesterday. So he opens the door a bit, keeping the chain lock secure in case he tries to get in. (He would certainly be able to break the chain, but at least it would buy Luis a few extra seconds to try to think of a desperate plan.)

“Hello, officer! What are you here to threaten me with today?” Not wanting the agent to know how shaken he is, he turns up the sarcasm in an attempt to mask any nervousness. “Going to accuse me of experimenting on Arceus?

“No. No accusations today. Sorry, about yesterday. Wasn't polite to you. Can I try to make up for it, buy you dinner?”

“You can't seriously believe I'm going to just walk right into whatever kind of trap this is?”

“It's not a trap. Just feel bad about yesterday, I swear. I'm Leon, by the way. Think I forgot to mention it before.”

Luis goes to shut the door, but Espeon seems determined that Leon should be heard out, and telekinetically lifts the chain and nudges the door open. Leon smiles, and it cuts right through Luis's fear.

“I don't like you, and I don't trust you. But…” The prettiest man that Luis has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on is trying to buy him dinner. (The angry red sunburn on his face does make him the tiniest bit less pretty, but he's still incredibly pretty.) Whether it's a date or something else, turning him down goes against everything Luis believes in. “I suppose I'm willing to put that aside for a free meal.”

“Look, you have every right to feel that way. But I really regret yesterday, I swear. It's just this subject… My parents were Team Rocket. Died on a mission,” Leon hates talking about this. With anyone. Back in his pokemon trainer days, before deciding to join the International Police, he'd had some time in the limelight. First as a rising star gym challenger, then as a champion. He always sidestepped questions when interviewers started asking about family. He especially hates talking about it to a member of Team Rocket. But this is the price he pays for fucking up yesterday. If he wants Luis to trust him and give him what he came for, he needs to give something himself. “Never knew details until I started investigating some stuff related to Team Rocket, found out they died on one of the expeditions looking for Mew. So this whole topic just gets me hot headed and dumb and I say things I don't mean and regret.”

“Well, it sounds like you shouldn't be an International Police agent then, if you can't separate your own personal issues from the job.”

“Yeah, maybe I shouldn't be…” Leon says, because what else is there to say? Luis isn't wrong. “C'mon, dinner. Walked past a restaurant on the way here, you know if it's any good?”

“Yes, we can eat there. By the way, are you aware that your face is extremely sunburned? I have stuff I could put on to help it.”

“Food first. Maybe after.”

“Suit yourself. I'm going to change, I'll be out in a minute.”

Luis ditches the lab coat and comes out with a top on, something that disappoints Leon more than it should. At least it's just a vest that shows off a decent amount of his chest. His hair is down today, and it somehow makes him look even better.

Leon regretted the way he approached Luis yesterday, but initially it wasn't because of guilt. Even if it wasn't Mewtwo, there was something Luis was involved in. He only denied experimenting on Mew and creating Mewtwo, he admitted he was a member of Team Rocket. Luis deserved the harsh treatment, he had only regretted it because Luis could be useful to him. But he does feel a small twinge of guilt for demanding he put his espeon in its pokeball when it follows Luis out the door and he sees that it has a service pokemon vest on. Maybe Luis would have felt safe and opened the door if he could keep Espeon out.

“I can walk there fine,” Luis says, noticing Leon looking at the harness. “I have an injury from a long time ago that flares up from time to time, but Espeon can sense when I'm going to have problems with it, gives me warning, and helps me not fall on my face when it does act up and I struggle keeping my balance. But it is fine most days.”

They sit across from each other, Espeon laying under the table by Luis's feet. Leon has to keep reminding himself that this is not a date. This is an attempt to get Luis to move past yesterday's harsh treatment so Leon can have a second chance at interrogating him. Despite his attempts to not ogle Luis, Leon can't help himself, and notices something very interesting. Scars. The biggest one is on his chest, and another on his cheek.

Being in a public place seems to put Luis at ease. Somewhat, he's at least smiling and looking more relaxed. As it probably should. Leon is dying to grill Luis about the “injury from a long time ago” and the scars he's noticed since sitting down. But this isn't the time or place.

“So… Small talk time?” God. This is actually a fucking date. “How long you been a cop? And why are you still poking around with Team Rocket? They're not a problem anymore. Disbanded twice, no activity in years. One would think the International Police might have some, ah, you know, actual problems to deal with, eh?”

“Been one for a few years. There's not a lot of resources being used up for it anymore, but it still matters to me personally,” There's actually no resources spent on it. Leon isn't here on official International Police business. The Team Rocket hunt is just vigilante shit Leon does on his own time. “Just because they've stopped doesn't mean they shouldn't be brought to justice for the past. Their leader slipped away, it just doesn't sit right with me. I'm trying to nail as many members who slipped away as possible,” Luis's smile disappears. “As far as justice goes, I'm mostly concerned about the big fish. Leader, executives. Finding small fish is just a good way to get leads on the big ones.”

“So if I understand, you help the small fish, they help you? They tell you everything they know about the big fish, and in exchange you don't come down hard on them?” Leon smiles and nods. It'll probably take longer than it should have because he'll need to build some trust after freaking the fuck out their first conversation, but Luis will play the game and give him what he came for. Luis's smile comes back. “Well, interesting… How have your investigations been going?”

“I've made some good leads,” That's a complete lie. Finding Luis's name in the ruins of Cinnabar Island is literally the only lead he's had in years. But telling Luis that will make him feel empowered. “William's out there somewhere, just a matter of time until I find him. Or until he gets tired of licking his wounds in secret and re-emerges on his own, something I'm hoping to at least make harder for him by picking off people he'll need to organize.”

…

“Do you want to come in?” Is Luis trying to have sex with him right now? They did just go on a date, after all. Why doesn't Leon want to say no? “So I can help you with your sunburn.”

Shit. Leon needs to get his mind out of the gutter.

Leon sits on Luis's couch, and Luis drags a stool over by the couch to sit on while he gently rubs ointment across his face with his (gloved) hands. Their faces are so close together. Leon has to stop looking at his face, because he wants to lean forward and kiss Luis. So he looks down. At Luis's neck. A fatal mistake. Before his brain can even process what his body's doing, he's pulling Luis forward, off the stool and onto Leon's knee. His teeth are sinking into Luis's neck.

As soon as he realizes what he's done, he hopes that Luis is going to ask him what the hell he's doing and get up off of him, because he's not sure he'll be able to control himself if Luis is into this too.

Of course Leon isn't that lucky. Luis moans at the first bite. He moans again and grinds down on Leon's knee with the second bite. The third bite has him yanking off the ointment covered rubber gloves and just tossing them on the floor, so he can start exploring Leon's body with his hands.

“I wish I could make some quip about buying me dinner first, but you quite literally did just buy me dinner, so… And really, I would be happy with this even if you hadn't,” Leon just keeps biting as Luis rambles. Now there's a hand in his hair, that clenches around or tugs at it with every bite. There's another hand working the button on his vest, and Leon is quite impressed by his finesse. With one hand and without even looking, Luis quickly has all of them unbuttoned. Though it doesn't get him to the bareskin he's desperately trying to get to, Leon also has a button down undershirt on. Luis doesn't bother unbuttoning all of them, just a couple so he can reach the bareskin of Leon's chest. “Someone as pretty as you doesn't need to buy me dinner, they can just do whatever they'd like to me. You're a cop, you have handcuffs? I'm into that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Leon pushes him off his lap and gets up, then picks Luis up bridal style. Partially because he wants to give Luis a subtle reminder that he isn't just some small-time cop. He is, in fact, a very well trained special agent in peak physical condition. But mostly because there's a very specific place he wants to carry Luis to. He wasn't lying about someone like Leon being able to do whatever; he readily accepts being picked up, wrapping his arms around Leon's neck. “Where's your bedroom?”

…

“I didn't know I was working for Team Rocket initially. They had things very well compartmentalized. I was hired by a shell company. They had a contract with Devon Corp, so it really seemed like a completely legitimate company.”

In the afterglow, Luis finally starts speaking about his past. Leon briefly wonders if this makes him a whore. He isn't getting money for having sex with Luis, but he is getting information. Something even more valuable to him. The entire reason he's here.

But intent matters, right? Leon didn't start biting his neck because he wanted information. He didn't suck his dick because he wanted information. He didn't put him in handcuffs and sit on his face because he wanted information. He did all of it just because he wanted to. Just because Luis is hot enough that Leon temporarily forgot that he hated him. He was fully prepared to just go back to his motel room after, without any additional info from Luis, and just keep building the trust. So while he's not a whore, he definitely is a slut. Whatever. He's making more progress in his investigation than he has in years, it's fine.

“I was in a research team focused on mega evolution, specifically artificial mega evolution,” Luis continues. “Devon had recently perfected an artificial pokemon line, Beldum. They wanted us to find a way to make Metagross mega evolve. It was no easy task… But we did it. We tinkered around, created an artificial mega stone that metagross would respond to. We researched further, tweaking things to modify metagross's mega form, until we felt it was powerful enough. I was informed that Devon was extremely pleased with the work, and given a promotion, to be the head researcher on a new project my company started…”

“Guessing that's when you started at the Cinnabar lab?”

Luis says nothing, just stares down blankly, frozen. Leon reaches for a pokeball on the nightstand, and lets his sylveon out. It knows exactly what to do, approaching Luis to wrap its ribbon feelers around his arm. Leon hadn't ever wanted a sylveon. He had wanted his eevee to evolve into an espeon, actually. He thought the psychic abilities would be useful in his line of work. But it evolving into a sylveon instead has been a happy accident. Its calming abilities can be surprisingly useful.

“Yes, it was,” Luis answers. He's still wincing at the memories, but Sylveon's soothing aura is preventing him from having a full-blown panic attack and shutting down. “All I was told beforehand was that it was another project related to artificial mega stones. This was when the Alola research about mega evolution being cruel on the pokemon was starting to come out, so in my naivete I assumed we'd be modifying natural mega stones in ways that would make it easier on the pokemon. I knew something was deeply wrong when I was led downstairs. Armed guards. There was a whole maze of hallways and locked gates. As I said yesterday, Mewtwo was already created by this point. It had also escaped once and only narrowly recaptured, so there was much stronger security. I was never alone, there were always at least two armed guards with me at all times. It wasn't just to keep Mewtwo from getting out, it was also to keep me in. I knew it was wrong, it made my stomach churn, but I did the work. I did what was asked of me. We made two artificial mega stones tailored to Mewtwo. Two different stones, two different forms with different strengths.”

Despite Sylveon's feelers, and now Espeon's face rubbing against his other arm, Luis breaks down sobbing.

“You're okay. You're safe,” Leon whispers. Sylveon moves away from Luis's lap, laying down at the end of the bed, so that Leon can wrap his arms around him. As helpful as soothing pokemon like Sylveon can be, sometimes people just need human touch. Leon wants to press for more information right away, but he's not going to repeat yesterday's mistake. He has to go slow, he can't risk pushing Luis away and making him shut down before he's gotten all the information he can out of him. “You don't have to tell me the rest right now. Take all the time you need, okay, sweetheart?”

Jesus Christ. He just had sex with a member of Team Rocket, and now he's calling him sweetheart. At least he's making progress.

Luis just clings to Leon and sobs for a few minutes, before finally speaking again.

“I didn't want to, Leon. I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. They were forcing me to, they would hurt me if I didn't, and I couldn't get help. Not from gym leaders. Everyone knows that William was the Viridian gym leader, but it went so much deeper than anyone knew. The lab was right by the Cinnabar gym, Wesker was the gym leader and heavily involved in all of the Team Rocket science research. Alexia, Saffron's leader at the time, was quite involved too and came to the lab regularly. The ones who weren't involved were getting paid off to look the other way. The police were paid off too,” Leon entwines one of his hands with Luis's and squeezes it, presses chaste kisses onto his neck, trying to encourage him to keep talking. This is a goldmine. He's long suspected there was a lot of corruption in Kanto and some intentional incompetence during the initial Team Rocket investigations, but could never get anything solid. And the fact that there were other gym leaders directly involved is actually news to him. “It was so screwed up what we were doing, I lost sleep over it, I barely ate because I had no appetite. Until one day…”

A loud, choked sob.

“Mewtwo got out again. All the new precautions weren't enough. It attacked all of us, we deserved it… It was a lab, there were scalpels, lots of glass to break, so many sharp objects that it lifted with its mind to hurl at us. That's how I got all my scars. The worst wound was in my back. It almost killed me, if it had pushed the bone saw in even just a little bit deeper, I would have died. I only survived because… It wasn't luck, it didn't make a mistake, it chose not to wound me fatally, because… Because I think it got in my head, it didn't say anything but it made eye contact with me, and saw that I wasn't a willing participant in its torture. The room after, blood… So much… I was the only one spared, it killed all the others.”

Luis untangles himself from Leon and lays down, closing his eyes. Seems like that's all the information he's getting tonight. Which he isn't upset about, it's a lot, far more than he was expecting. He'd like to know more about Mewtwo, where it ended up after this, and of course he needs more details about Wesker and Alexia.

“Stay?” Luis asks quietly, when Leon starts getting dressed. “Please?”

“Yeah,” Leon does still reach for his pants, but doesn't put them on, just fishes out his notepad so he can write everything down while it's still fresh. “Okay, I'll stay.”

It's dangerous. Leon is so close to liking this guy. Something he needs to not do, because Luis very much has the potential to be dangerous. The main reason Leon had been so hot headed and harsh to him initially is because he thought he got away with everything. He thought that Luis was a monster, and, instead of paying for his crimes, just walked away completely unscathed. Just moved to a new region, was completely accepted, became a pokemon professor, a pillar of the community. A role model.

But that's been shattered. While it may not have been in the traditional route, Luis has paid for his crimes. Is paying for them. Leon is cynical enough that he might have believed everything was just bullshit to manipulate him under other circumstances, but there's enough that it's undeniable. There's more than just faded scars that could have been the result of anything, he has an actual service pokemon. Years later, his injuries are still problematic enough for him to need that assistance. And clearly, he is genuinely traumatized. No one is that good at acting, Team Rocket is truly a trigger for him.

The issue is that Leon doesn't know why it's a trigger. Even injured and traumatized, Luis could be dangerous. The best case scenario is that he's been completely with Leon, and truly hates what he did. The worst case scenario is that he doesn't feel any guilt for his actions, and his near death experience was the only source of the trauma, without any emotional side to it.. Even injured and traumatized, Luis has the potential to be very dangerous.

“Hey, Luis?” Leon whispers after he's done jotting down notes about what Luis said, hoping he's not already asleep. His eyes flutter open. “Is it fine if I let my growlithe out? Usually sleep with it.”

“Go ahead. Just don't leave me. I don't want to wake up alone.”

He should leave. Luis is dangerous. Luis is Team Rocket. And Leon might already be a little bit in love with him, and needs to get the fuck away from him before he falls in even deeper.

But he doesn't. Instead he lets Growlithe out, turns off the lamp on the nightstand, and spoons Luis. He falls asleep with his arms wrapped around him, face buried in his fluffy hair. Espeon sleeps on the floor in its own little bed, while Growlithe and Sylveon lay down by their feet.

[lillylvjy]

917 words. nearly a thousand but I'm very tired and wanted to get this finished tonight. Unedited and a little rushed at the end, but the ghost!wilbur drabble (borderline fic at this point) is finally done.

Something was bothering Wilbur, and it had to do with you. Now, he didn’t know exactly what it was that was itching at the back of his mind, but something told him it definitely had to do with you.

You, gods, perfect fucking you. With your pretty hair and pretty eyes. With your gorgeous voice and a laugh that had his heart catching in his throat. And your smile. Gods above, your fucking smile.

Truthfully, everything about you drove him insane. But there was something different now, something off, and it was starting to grate at the ghost’s nerves the slightest bit. Maybe it had to do with the purple bags underneath your eyes that seemed to be growing every time you came back from work. Maybe it had to do with how your pupils seemed the slightest bit unfocused, your reaction times just a few seconds off from a lack of sleep (once again caused by work). Maybe it had to do with the way you kept obscuring that pretty little smile with your hand, driving him up the wall because fucking damn it why couldn’t you just let yourself be happy? Why did you have to hide something so pretty, something that made his heart fucking melt? Why did you–

Okay, maybe he had a bit of an idea of what was bothering him now.

He had noticed your.. thing with your smile a while ago, but hadn’t commented on it before now. It bothered him quite a bit, apparently. More than even he had thought it would. Something about you ever even thinking that a feature of yours was anything less than absolutely stunning was killing him from the inside out.

So, it was safe to say that the next time you had fallen back to that particular bad habit, he didn’t let you get away with it so easily. That night had been normal so far, or, normal for that week. You were still exhausted (something about your hours being upped after a coworker got sick or something), but you still refused to let Wilbur cook, as per usual. Tommy had opted out tonight, still too caught up with the video game you had bought him a little while ago.

The ghostly man was leaning against the island of the kitchen, ranting away about something or other that he wasn’t even paying attention to. It was easy to be like that around you, just saying whatever was on his mind. Gods know how many times you had been subjected to one of his rants on some random piece of media, or- god forbid, one of his tangents on anteaters. Currently, though, what he was going on about didn’t matter. No, what mattered was you. Stirring away at whatever was in the pot on the stove, occasionally glancing over to make a small quip or just looking at him for the sake of looking at him. Then, of course, was when he finally saw it again. The same damn thing that was pissing him off so much.

You huffed out a small laugh at one of his better comments. The second your lips had twitched up, though, your free hand had come up to cover your mouth and obscure your smile. He hadn’t even thought about it for a second before he stepped forward, reaching up to curl a hand around your wrist and gently move it away from your face.

“Nuh uh, sweetheart,” he tsked, “no covering that pretty little smile. I want to be able to enjoy the view, thank you very much.”

It was safe to say that he was internally preening at the way your face went red. “I-” it took you a moment to compose yourself, your sleep-deprived mind processing his action and his words belatedly. “I wasn’t–”

“Yes, you were,” the ghost crooned, still keeping his usual teasing facade. “C’mon, darling, you should know better to try and lie to me. You’re usually smarter than this, honey, what has gotten into you lately? Lying and trying to hide your pretty little face from me.”

Truly, what had you been thinking? Trying to lie to him, of all people. How silly of you, to think you could ever get away with that. Your blush had only worsened at his words, and he took that as his cue to worsen it, unfortunately for you. With the hand he had around your wrist, Wilbur tugged you forward slightly, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

“Well?” He urged, a sly smile tugging at his lips. It was a lovely sight, to see you positively melting at his words– his actions. “Gonna answer me, love?” That answer was a no, considering the way you only ducked your head in response. The ghost only chuckled lowly, letting you get away with it for now. Softly, he pressed a kiss to the crook of your neck, relishing at the feeling of your skin against his lips.

“Shut up,” was your only response, of which only had him laughing at your lovely reactions even more. Truly, it was a blessing to be the one to get you like this. All blushing and embarrassed, just for him to see.

“Aw,” he cooed, “you’re not going to get out of this that easily, darling. After all, I’ve got to make sure you learn your lesson.” Oh, and you would learn alright. If he got his way, you’d know better than to hide that pretty smile again.

woo boy, that was. a Lot.

-tattoo anon

Oml- I- I don’t think I can add anything if I wanted. This is- fucking beautiful.

I’m so obsessed with the idea of Wilbur being in love with your smile and urging you to let him see it bc of how much he loves it. And it’s just so heartwarming and gets you flustered all the time. Ugh! I NEED HIM LIKE I NEED TEA! ITS BAD -

[amrv-5]

It's a 💌 from me! And then a wildcard pick of your choice from the list <3

hello helen!!!! & thank you!! answers (and excerpt!) below the cut....

wildcard: 💫what is your favorite kind of comment/feedback?

Best feedback is either someone else's analysis OR somebody asking for my own analysis of a scene/moment/chapter whatever. If it would not be insane and annoying I'd release meta-essays with every chapter of everything I wrote lmao i LOVE talking craft and interpretations.

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

I'm particularly excited for the way that I think my Hawk Goes Home (working title for the longfic) piece has been able to sit with the experience of unfixable loneliness (no spoilers but I swear to fuck it will have a good ending I realize that this does not sound positive as it stands). It was cathartic to write, and I sure hope it's cathartic to read. Relevant excerpt:

///

BJ had a few drinks downstairs, reluctant to go upstairs to the bedroom. He was hoping Peg would be asleep by the time he decided to turn in. 

In the meantime, he listened to the radio, feeling odd and hollow and off balance. The old songs from the 30s and 40s made him melancholy, rife with longing for the nostalgic warmth of a life he’d never had. He frowned through a run of three songs he remembered Hawkeye singing in surgery. 

He poured himself a few fingers of scotch, and leaned back in an armchair, his eyes closed. 

The rain was bucketing, the air damp and cold. BJ couldn’t feel his toes. The body under his hands steamed, the red-purple shine of an exposed intestinal tract hot in his grip as he checked for perforations. It was his fifteenth or fiftieth hour. His third-ever marathon surgery in Korea. He was new, and green, and green. He was starved, but couldn’t bring himself to eat; watching Hawkeye passively chew a bite of a baloney sandwich by leaning back from an open abdomen, where a soldier’s punctured stomach leaked half-digested C-rations into the surrounding cavity, horrified him. He felt like he might cry, but knew he couldn’t. It might blur his vision at a critical moment in the surgery. 

All at once he felt himself start to collapse. Not physically, but psychically, spiritually. Something internal and critical started to crumble, and his hands no longer felt like his own. His breath came in staggered, uneven gasps, his vision tunnelling. He couldn’t go on like this. It simply wasn’t possible. He wasn’t strong enough. This was the end of his road. He was going to snap, and his brain would gently, paternalistically separate him from reality for his own good, and he’d never get back. End of. 

Hawkeye cleared his throat, and said something BJ didn’t hear. 

Somebody touched his elbow, maybe. He didn’t notice. He was doing an incredible job with the surgery, he noted from a thousand miles away. His hands were amazing. They didn’t even need him. 

“Someday I’ll meet you again,” somebody was saying. 

No. Singing. 

BJ glanced up, struggling to control the vector of his gaze. 

“Tell me where, tell me when,” Hawkeye sang. He was no Frank Sinatra, but his voice was strong, and clear, and warm. It was the sort of voice you liked better than a radio voice, because you knew it really meant what it was singing. A voice with feeling, that was it. 

“Each night I’ll wish on a star,” Hawkeye sang, catching his eye. He might’ve been smiling under his mask. It was impossible to tell. “That you stay as you are!”

“You have my heart, but my heart wonders when,” BJ joined in, trying to reach the high note that Hawkeye seemed to manage so effortlessly as the feeling returned to his hands, “we’ll meet again.”

Dear one, this is our fate! Partings and sad goodbyes, sang the Hawkeye in his head. BJ was beginning to suspect that he’d always live there, that there would always be one Hawkeye Pierce, frozen at age thirty, looking out from behind his eyes. Never changing, always charming and a little sad, until BJ was old and bent and eighty-nine. And the Hawkeye in his head would stay young forever. It seemed, somehow, exactly what he deserved. 

Dear one, I’ll always wait—wait for that blue horizon! Hawkeye sang, two years distant. 

Turner Layton played the piano beautifully, BJ thought. His chest was starting to hurt, so he socked the rest of his drink and turned the radio off. He stumbled getting up the stairs, his limbs loose and his head full of the past. 

[j-art-2d2]

Redamancy

the art of loving in return

jinx x reader

part 4/4

reader pov , internal dialogue in this font

tw : insanely attractive love interest, drinking, angst ? , aggressive jinx ?, sexual content, choking, but not full blown smut im still new to this n yall are nasty

it was supposed to be as innocent as possible. her dad owns a bar. you drink. she drinks. simple. so you guys go to hangout there constantly. but it’s almost like this is where Jinx is most comfortable because she’s always pushing her limits with you while here. this night though, she did something that made you understand why you shouldn’t assume simplicity with Jinx

You could never say no to Jinx. You weren’t sure if it was the way she walked up to you when she wanted something. Hands crossed behind her back. Hips swaying as she, almost too innocently, batted her eyes and took slow stretched out steps towards you. Or if it was the way she said, “Please trinket…”, the words starting a spark in your heart. Then, as if your veins are the fuel, the spark turns into fire and spreads across your entire body. How could you say no ?

“Can I sit here?” Jinx asked, hands on your knees. You move to get up, assuming she was asking for your seat at the bar. “No silly…”, she says. “I don’t wanna sit here..”, blue and purple nails tapping the metal part of the chair. She slowly slides her hands back to your knees. Testing the waters, she brings her hands higher and squeezes. Jinx’s nails go from tapping the chair to slightly digging into your upper things. As if that wasn’t enough, she gets as close as she can to your face without your lips touching. totally normal behavior. don’t be nervous, don’t be nervous, why am i nervous? A breath from her puffing out onto your lips as she acknowledges your flustered state. “I wanna sit here!” Jinx finally exclaims, giving your thighs a slap for emphasis. You don’t say anything. You can’t. You’re taking too long to respond so Jinx brings out the big guns. She places her hands behind her back as she leans back a bit. “Pleaseeee …”. Then she pouts and looks up at you with doe-like eyes and says, “Pleeaasseee trinket..,”. How could you say no?

You give your best attempt at a nod and throw what hopefully looks like a smile at Jinx. She kisses your cheek and jumps up onto your lap. You feel her wiggle around a little to get comfortable. Whenever someone asks what you’re doing with Silco’s daughter you just shrug and say you didn’t want to ‘anger the loose canon’. Try to make it look like no big deal. However you knew the truth. Even the bar goers knew the truth. Every time you gave your response you could hear Jinx giggle to herself.

You began to wonder if Jinx also knew the truth. You decide to steal a look at her. She wasn’t doing much of anything to be honest. Just taking in her surroundings and bopping her body to the music. Maybe all of it really didn’t mean much. Maybe she actually just wanted a seat. But the way Jinx leaned back to allow the back of her body to drape across your front made your chest pound over the beat of the music playing.

You decide you’re going to need more alcohol to get through the rest of this night. You pick up your glass and right when you’re about to guide the straw to your mouth- “Can I have a sip?” Jinx’s voice rings out again. You try to tell her that fireball and orange juice isn’t all that good. That most people don’t enjoy it and she might be one of those people. You try to tell her that you can get her a drink of her own to spare her taste buds. Jinx turns slightly in your lap to see you better. You notice how her eyes get darker and she visibly gets more and more annoyed every time you stutter, attempting to string words together that sound almost like you’re denying her. You hear Jinx’s teeth clack together as she clenches her jaw in annoyance. You decide fuck it, I’ll just take initiative. I’ll just order her a drink.

You lifted your hand up and clear your throat. Right as you’re about to order a ‘Smokey Blue’ Jinx grabs your hand. Tight. Squeezes until it almost hurts. Midnight blue is all you see while she makes sure you guys are at eye-level as she says, “No. I want yours.”. Her nose and lip twist up as her eyes flash something dangerous. Something you probably should’ve been concerned about. But what you see is gone even faster than you can blink. Jinx pulls back, lets your hand flop, and let’s loose a dry chuckle before blowing her bang out of her face. “So!” She doesn’t even have to finish her sentence, you’re already sliding the drink towards her. How could you say no?

After downing more than half your drink in one sip, Jinx turns around in your lap so you guys are face to face. Despite all the time you’ve been spending with her, her swiftness and lack of boundaries shocks you still. “How many dates have we been on trinket?” You think for a moment. You’re mostly in shock. You had no idea that she was considering these dates, let alone that she had feelings for you. Almost as though she thinks you’re taking too long to answer Jinx says dramatically, “like a million right?”. You decided to just go along with it. It’s not like you didn’t like the blue haired girl. You were just caught off guard is all. So you agree.

“A million and one actually..”, you joke to try to break up the tension. Jinx gives you a dry chuckle. what is it with her today ? “Soooo can you help me figure something out pretty girl?” She flashes you a smile. Your spine says don’t do it. But being that it’s Jinx you do it. You utter a yes and then internally curse yourself for not projecting your voice at all. Jinx lets out a hmph of approval and grabs your cheeks, forcing you closer. “I wanna figure out…”, she drags out her words while her fingers tighten on your face. “Whhyyyy…”. At this point you’re almost certain there’s crescent shaped lines on your cheeks but she doesn’t stop there.

Jinx squeezes until you feel uncomfortable and start to involuntary squirm. Her smile stays sweet but her eyes look bitter now. “You haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend!” She punctuates her sentence by pushing your head away from her and crossing her arms. Your head bobs a little as your back hits against the chair. You don’t even have time to process what she’s said before Jinx is already saying something else. She jabs her pointer finger into your chest. “You don’t want me to be your girlfriend!” You try to tell her that’s not it. That you were waiting for the right time and time just got away from you. That if anything she should be jabbing her nail into Ekko’s chest not yours. Then immediately take it back considering that Ekko is a sore topic. Jinx doesn’t seem to mind though. A mischievous smile and raised eyebrow is what you see before she rasps out, “ So ask me.” And you do. Jinx lets out a high pitched scream, throws herself towards you again, and wraps her arms around your neck, engulfing you into a hug. The wind has officially been knocked out of you. The chair is rocking side to side as she kicks her feet and kisses you so hard your teeth nick your lower lip. How could you say no ?

As the night goes on your energy depletes more and more. Being around and entertaining Jinx is no easy task. But you can tell the drinks and the hours are catching up to her. So when you motion for her to get up so you guys can start being on your way, you’re surprised that Jinx jumps up and drags you out the door. She was just lazily slinked across your lap and now she seems to be buzzing with energy. She turns you around so you have no choice but to let her guide you blindly. She starts pushing you backwards and with every push she speaks a word from her sentence. “Okay pretty girl last question.”, the last word emphasized by your back hitting the wall.

There’s something about being cornered by Jinx in an alley that has you pretty concerned and, honestly, quite wet. Your mind is getting fuzzy. Jinx always managed to have you be consumed by nothing but her. You inhale and take in everything Jinx has to offer. She smells of gunpowder and vanilla mixed with lavender. Her rose shampoo and conditioner cutting through her normal scent. Your eyes scan her. You start at the bottom and work your way up. Tight fitting pants wrinkled from how she was sitting on you for most of the night. Sweat defined abs underneath glistening belts, tangled from your time on the dance floor. You skip up to her neck trying to work up the confidence to look her in the eyes. The vein on the side of her neck very evident as she breathes deeply in and out. You think about sucking on her pulse point. The thought alone was enough to get your eyes to snap up and look into hers. “Last question okay?” Jinx asks like she knows you were just distracted. “Okay, yes anything.” you respond a little to eagerly. “Can I have you?”

Out of all of her requests this was the one that you had no clue how to fulfill. have me? doesn’t she already have me? we’re dating now, no? As the questions fill your mind, Jinx’s patience with you is depleting. With one final attempt to have you understand she reaches up and grips your hair forcing you to focus on her. Her chest is pressed against yours. Her heart is hammering and her breathing is so hard it forces you to take deeper breaths. You see her tilt her head, eyeing you as she allows her other hand to drag down your body. Jinx grips your waist with enough force to cause bruising as she pulls your bottom half closer. You’ve never seen her so serious “I’ve had enough with the games Trinket.” “W-what games?” You stutter out. Her eyes narrow. “Very funny.” She takes a deep breath and spins around, pacing back and forth, like she’s trying to figure out how to tackle this situation. Suddenly Jinx faces you and you know what shes about to do. As soon as you see her hands go behind her you feel your free will shape itself into whatever Jinx wants it to be.

“Look trinket.” One slow step towards you. “I want you.” Another step. “And it’s really irritating how you keep trying to hide the fact that you want me to.” Another step. You open your mouth to protest but she holds her finger up. A warning. You shut your mouth. “So really we have two options huh?” she asks while her gaze travels up and down your body. Her tongue slides across her teeth, stopping at her sharpest tooth. You subconsciously nod in agreement. She lets out a tsk. “Words trinket. I want to hear what that pretty mouth of yours has to say. You’ve been far too quiet all night.” Your eyes widen. “Y-yes two -uh options,mhm.” She walks up to you and caresses your cheek, almost as though she’s proud. “Good job trinket. So good.” You’re glowing at her words. Jinx gives you a soft smile. “Option one” she says, booping your nose. “Either we keep playing this game which, by the way, is the worst game I’ve ever played. Clearly no one’s winning. Didn’t know you were such a masochist.” What did she say? You’re almost positive she can feel the heat from your cheeks. “Or…” You didn’t notice Jinx had been moving your skirt higher until your ass was greeted by cold hands and an even colder brick wall. Jinx looks at you, lip between her teeth, nostrils flared from breathing too hard, and eyebrows kitted together.

Despite her demeanor, her eyes flash something that resembles fear and hopefullness. Did she think you’d reject her advancements. “Or”, she repeats, “You can let me have you. Every part of you.” Jinx leans in and you can’t help but tense up in preparation. You feel her lips just barely graze your ear. You hear her take a deep breath. You know that you’ve got Jinx at her wits end but you just can’t think or speak around the woman. There’s a long pause. Jinx is waiting for you to respond, meanwhile you’re waiting for Jinx to say something else. Then. Finally. Jinx snaps. You hear pieces of something crack above you. You glance up and see that Jinx is gripping the bricks sticking out of the wall with so much vigor that she’s actually cracking pieces off.

As soon as the first piece hits the ground her mouth is on yours. Frantically. Between breaths you hear Jinx say “God… you smell so fucking good I can’t stand it. I bet you taste even better.” Your mind is whirling. You arch your back to give her more access to the parts of you she wants to grab. You’re panting when her tongue swipes against yours. You’re grunting when she grips your ass harder. Gasping when she adds a smack to it for good measure. Your eyes are rolling when her other hand snakes up and grabs your neck. Jinx squeezes once, twice, testing the waters. Then she applies full pressure to the sides of your neck. You’re seeing stars and can barely register her hand inching its way to the side of your panties. You hear muffled noises and then all of a sudden there’s a slap on your cheek. Not enough force to cause a concerning amount of pain but enough to bring your focus back.

Your eyes snap open and all you see is blue. You hadn’t known her head was that close. Jinx shakes your head by your neck a little bit before dropping her hand and saying, “Earth to pretty girl! It’s obvious you have no idea what I just said.” You look down. A little disappointed because of the mistakes you’re continuously making. Jinx’s slender finger lifts your head up so your eyes meet again. “But just because you’re the best toy ever I’ll repeat myself!” Jinx says smiling. You can’t help but to give her a smile in return. She pecks your lips and continues. “I want all of you meaning the good, the bad, the pretty, no ugly though since that’s impossible for you. Anyways.. I-“

Jinx pauses trying to get the words right for what she’s about to say next. “I want to be your person. All you’ve needed and will ever need. I want to show you love and above all bring you pleasure and happiness. I want to see your blissful smile when my hands are roaming your body. I want to hear you gasp in shock when I make you feel something you’ve never felt before. I want to have you explode, pick up the pieces, and do it again. I want to ruin you and cherish you at the same time.” You’re certain you look like a deer in headlights. You see her losing her nerve the longer you take to respond. “Oh pleeaasseeee trinket! Just let me have you! All of you!” Jinx’s eyes tell you she’s pleading and desperate but above all sincere. She means it. All of it. So you clear your throat and say what you should’ve said in the first place. “There’s no one else I’d rather give myself to.” How could you say no ?

Redamancy Part 1

Redamancy Part 2

Redamancy Part 3

[love-too]

CHAOTIC ARO/ACE ASK GAME

Your "oh wait you guys are serious?" moment.

How many labels did you consider before settling on aro/ace? (Because, let's face it, we all were very confused at first)

Your best "I'm an ally, nothing else" moment.

Your best "I can't be queer because ___" moment. (Not in the internalized aphobia way, but in the oblivious way)

How many sexuality quizzes did you take? And how many times did you get mad at the result? Bonus points if you ever felt disappointed in yourself for getting "you're straight" as a result even if you still hadn't realized you were queer.

Top three celebrity crushes you made up to slither out of conversations.

And top three reasons you gave for liking said fake celebrity crushes.

Have you ever rejected a person? If yes, give us the best excuse you've given to them.

Top three doctors awkward moments (I think gynaecologists and psychologists have a huge potential to fuck up here).

Have you ever been asked if you were queer by someone close to you in a kind of uno-reverse coming out move? If so, did you get to explain that you were queer but not in the way they were thinking or just denied everything and moved on with your life?

Let's talk about virginity/first kisses. How many people assume the opposite of your status (i.e. if you're not a virgin anymore they still assume you are until you tell them. Or vice versa).

For the sex repulsed out there: your thoughts on smut?

For the romance repulsed out there: your thoughts on hand holding? (Man, I have such strong opinions on this. Come scream in my inbox if you have strong opinions too).

For the aroace people: what flag do you prefer? Green+Purple or Blue-yellow?

An experience related to your identity that you think could be universal. (If you answer to this one, please tag me. I'm curios).

Best comeback you ever came up with to get out of a sexual/romantic situation.

Do you like to flirt? If so, have you ever digged yourself in too deep in a situation and struggled to get out? Basically, fuck around and find out. If so, describe.

Thoughts on JEALOUSY. In relationships or friendships too!

Thoughts on friends break-up. And do you believe in heartbreak outside of romantic relationships? Have you ever experienced one?

Thoughts on polyamory. (I feel like so many of us are actually attracted by the idea).

Best song that you decided was aro/ace. Doesn't have to be the lyrics, just pure vibes is good too.

A sexual/romantic song that you never realized was sexual/romantic. Or, like, assumed that it wasn't that "deep".

THOUGHTS ON FIX YOU BY COLDPLAY. (Damn boy, I can't listen to it unless it's a cover. I honestly respect Chris Martin, but is the man lame sometimesss)

Romantic and/or sexual songs have a meaning to you or you just sing them as if you were singing your grocery list. (I personally sing WAP as if it was a lullaby).

Thoughts on the "everyone is sexy, no one is attractive" that was floating around a bit ago. (The post about tiktok, you know the one. I can't remember the right wording).

Do you think that someone can be extremely beautiful but not attractive? And that someone could be objectively ugly but attractive?

Top three cringiest allo moments.

Thoughts on dates and conventional gender roles (like who pays the bill etc) important to you? Do you expect them to be respected?

Juiciest relationship gossip you ever got to listen to? (Bonus points if it's because people trust you with it due to your aro/ace-ness)

Love is a choice: yes or no?

Is it more flattering to be respected or to be loved for you?

Opinions on marriage? Why do people who get married get to receive so much money as gift and, us, poor alone people who still have to sustain ourselves and everything don't get anything??? I want your thoughts on this: do you agree or not?

Sharing a bed. Thoughts and feelings? But I want you to talk about it in a long-run perspective: would you go insane or are you normal?

Do you like the attention even if you know you'd never act on it?

Do you have game? If so, how do you use this power?

Tag three aro/ace blogs you'd recommend following!

[grayintogreen]

I don't know what schedules are, so in honor of Chapter One of YCDHN being posted, it's time for something I have been waiting for SO LONG to give more details about my process about.

WHAT IS A NONAGON AND WHAT DOES IT DO?

So given that this entire fic series is based entirely on “but what if” and I had a lot of specific theories about where the Aeor arc was going, when it came time to decide what to do with Lucien, I leaned on those theories a bit when building this alternate take.

Now normally when you have an arrogant asshole dealing with Eldritch Beings such as Lucien, you end up in a scenario where he’s probably going to get betrayed or just fucking eaten by the damn things, so I kinda expected that was where it was going- that he’d get consumed somehow and the Nein would have to rescue his dumb ass and yada yada yada they’d get Mollucien out of this somehow, because at that point I didn’t know the campaign was ending and I wanted purple tiefling AND Caduceus and just assumed that Matt would play the Mollucien as an NPC since… Lucien memories.

That did not happen! Obviously! And I love what did happen, because the Dragon kicking the Big Bad’s teeth in and becoming the Big Bad, himself, is an awesome trope. BUT as a fanfic writer, I am often preoccupied with what could have been, and therefore when I started drafting out OUADYA as a two-part story (since originally it was going to leave Lucien’s fate and the Somnovem ambiguous and just focus on the Creedemption part of the narrative, and that aspect of it was removed EXTREMELY early, like… Hupperdook arc early), I knew that no matter what else happened the Somnovem were going to be the final bosses and therefore they needed to be built up A LOT more menacing than they were in canon since they were kinda, through circumstances (probably because of the absence of Molly to torment), not as massively terrifying as they could have been within canon.

So to do that, we have their constant hassling of Molly, but then there’s Lucien, too. And that’s when I started thinking about what exactly IS a Nonagon and why did Lucien succeed where the previous guy got completely effed up and consumed? And how do we tie the idea that Lucien is probably Ruidus-Born and Fate-Touched into it (and again this was a fucking year before the Lucien book came out)?

So I built my little Anakin Skywalker narrative- Lucien was, through some insane alignment of the cosmos, born specifically to deal, for good or for ill, with the Somnovem. That’s why he has the same fucking red eyes- miss me with anyone telling me that isn’t significant somehow. Now he wasn’t born specifically to be their herald, but he was built with a soul/mind strong enough to handle them or combat them. If he’d taken Sehanine’s hand (as shown in there’s something divine in the way screams can sound), he would have ended up as her Champion- she’s the Lady of Dreams, so she’s the one in a position MOST suited to fighting them. He didn’t, so that put him on the path to either being subjugated or subjugating them. 

The book definitely agrees with my belief that the Somnovem saw him as a pet (Culpasi), an unpaid intern (half of them), and the punkass teenage getaway driver who needs to stop questioning the adult criminals and drive the fucking bus already (the other half), though the book was also VERY OBVIOUS about them letting him fucking know that, which… Yeah. Then again, the book also skipped over the two years he was in the Astral Sea to the point where it looks like it never happened, so maybe they had to speedrun his dawning realization that these assholes may love him, but he’s still their chattel slave bitch.

Since the Astral Sea field trip IS a massively important part to Lucien’s narrative IN ACTUAL CANON AND IN MY VERSION OF IT, I had to construct what that meant for a Lucien who can’t leave, who isn’t and can never get out of his situation and is rapidly losing hope and sanity. I also had to figure out a reason for Molly to even fucking want to get him out and therefore the linchpin thing came about.

And the second the word “linchpin” entered my narrative, I realized I had just built the Soul King again.

But before I get into WHAT THAT NONAGON DO and how it relates to the shift in power dynamics within Cognouza, let me… fucking explain the Soul King.

The Soul King is the thing (and I say thing not to be dismissive or sarcastic but because it is a fucking thing in all reasonable sense of the word and Urahara, who is about as much as as fantasy realm atheist as you can get calls it that) that controls the balance of souls in Soul Society in Bleach. Without it, existence falls apart and all the different worlds of the dead and the world of the living would collapse in on themselves (sound familiar). He has zero power in the governing body of any realm, no voice, and is honestly, basically a torso and a head sealed up in a damn vault somewhere, and everyone is like “yeah the Soul King is fucking great” without giving a single damn about who he is or ever talking about how they fucking sealed him in the vault so he wouldn’t one day destroy them because some of his fucking limbs went out and caused problems on purpose. 

(also fun fact- the Soul King’s power manifests as eyeball creatures that look like this.)

Basically what this means for the Nonagon is that with Lucien very very close by as in RIGHT THERE IN THE AETHER CRUX, the Somnovem can move more independently, have a stronger since of self, and can cooperate better with one another. Without him, they’re in the slop, biting each other, and unable to reason. The two years Lucien spent where they were mostly backbiting and annoying him were the worst of it, but after those two years things started to solidify and then Molly died and the Moonweaver’s seals on the eyes broke and suddenly they have TWO Nonagons and an actual fucking goal to work towards and aren’t just using Lucien as a sounding board and a free brain to solve problems for them.

Any free mind can be of use to the Somnovem, but only the True Nonagon (aka Lucien) is capable of sustaining them and managing to hold up the weight of Cognouza’s bullshit without going mad and crumbling into the void. That doesn’t make it easy and left to this bullshit, Lucien would ultimately… Become a fucking soul in a vault capable of regulating the flow of information throughout Cognouza so it can goddamn function. He would lose his identity entirely. That’s what they want. That’s what he’s been risking happening by trying to put out a fire inside of the house, and the Somnovem have stopped playing the coddling masters and have brought out the lash now that he’s not even pretending to follow their lead. 

To them, he has always been an object- an object they very much love and adore and worship and want to keep happy so he does what he’s supposed to do without any of them having to cause him harm (because you don’t want to abuse your cute little pet), but an object. If he isn’t going to fall into line, then that needs to be fixed and that’s where we’re picking up at the start of YCDHN- what happens when Lucien tries his big subjugation monologue in a situation where it’s very much NOT “I’m not stuck in here with you, you’re stuck in here with me” because at any point the Somnovem could have forced him to obey and Lucien’s arrogance just chose to believe that wasn’t an active choice they were making. He believed they wouldn’t try to cause him harm because they needed him and they worship him, and never thought oh shit, these are wizards they will do whatever they can to get what they want.

SO GOOD TIMES, AMIRITE??

[chaos-burst]

direction to perfection

Dorian fought his parents to be here.

He fought tooth and nail to be allowed to live in a dorm, so there is no way he can back down from this decision. It’s his first shot at freedom and being normal and doing something for himself instead of his family.

Dorian will not back down.

He will persevere.

“Harder, come on!”

Loud moaning and the creaking of an old mattress accompany the dull thudding that comes from inside of his room. The room he’s currently standing in front of.

“I’m so close, so close, so close—“

Dorian stares at the door. His face is hot and he stands frozen in place as he tries to decide what to do. He needs his lute for the next bard class. He also needs to be far away from this room.

Gods, most of all he needs a new roommate.

“Oh, fuck, just like that—ah—“

Dorian closes his eyes and hides his face in his hands.

He was so proud after he finally convinced his parents to let him stay here. When he first entered his room he wasn’t even concerned about how small it was, or how his roommate’s bed was so close to his that stretching both their arms out would result in them touching hands.

And then he met Dariax, the guy he’s supposed to be living with for a long time.

“Dorian, are you literally standing here listening to Dariax bang someone inside of your room?”, Opal’s voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at her. She must see the desperation on his face because the next moment she gives him a pointed look before hammering her fist on the door.

“What the fuck, guys! Rent a room! And hurry up, Dorian needs his stuff!”

Dorian feels mortification creep from his face down into his stomach as he hears a loud thump, a shriek and a curse. The fact that Dariax knows that Dorian has been standing here makes him go through the five stages of grief so quickly that he can feel his insides churn.

Opal turns to face him and gives him a stern stop-putting-up-with-this look before she stalks away, twirling her dagger in her hand.

Dorian wishes it were that easy to voice what he wants.

To be sure of himself.

To live unashamed and free.

Sadly, his current repertoire covers none of these things.

The door gets yanked open and Dorian finds himself face to face with a white, half-elven woman wrapped in a bed sheet, her hair a complete and utter, blonde mess, her purple lipstick smeared across her left cheek.

“I was so close!”, she hisses as she holds up her index finger and thumb to indicate the fact that Dorian just ruined her earth-shattering orgasm.

“I—uh. I’m so—“

“Dorian! Gosh, I’m so sorry, I forgot that you had class, buddy!”

The half-elven woman throws Dorian the nastiest stink-eye and rushes down the corridor in nothing but the bedsheet wrapped around her. Dorian has no idea why she would do that, but Dariax distracts him.

Dariax, who is completely naked, his lips covered in purple lipstick, his cheeks flushed and his hair standing up from his head.

For decency, he’s holding a bottle of wine to cover his crotch.

Dorian wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I—uh. Sorry to disturb the—ah. Fun? I just. I just need to grab my lute real quick”, he says weakly, rushes over to his bed and grabs the lute leaning against the wall beside it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, buddy, I’ll just go jack off in the shower, it’s no biggie.”

Dorian stares at Dariax who grins at him, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone in this situation.

“Sure. Have fun”, he croaks, his cheeks still flaming, and flees out of the room and down the hallway.

Dorian fought so hard to be here but gods, he wishes he were somewhere else right now.

The class he’s attending is one of his favorites—one that covers Bardic Inspiration as a form of self-expression, but it takes him a while to cool down from the mortifying ordeal of having Dariax as his roommate.

They’ve been living together for almost three months now and it’s not like it’s all bad.

Hell, Dorian likes Dariax.

He’s funny, doesn’t take himself too seriously, he tells ridiculous, entertaining stories and is loyal to a fault. But he’s also extroverted in a way that makes Dorian go insane. There is no moment of silence when Dariax is in the room—because Dariax hates silence. He also brings back so many different people to their room without asking Dorian first. Not all of them are Dariax’ lovers—at least not as far as he knows.

But they’re always loud, always messy and always completely oblivious to Dorian’s social cues.

Opal keeps ranting about how Dorian needs to reinforce his boundaries, but Dorian has no idea how to do that. Never in a million years would he bang on the door of his room if he knows that Dariax is having sex in there. Opal is always so loud and unapologetic about everything—Dorian envies her for it.

Dorian has never kissed anyone. Or had sex. Or anything in between these things. How the fuck both Dariax and Opal know exactly what they like and who they like is beyond him.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”, a soft voice says right next to him and Dorian is ripped out of thoughts and into reality. The class has been going for an hour and there’s someone standing next to him he’s never seen before.

She’s definitely some sort of fey—the whole lower half of her body is goat-like and her long ears are drooping. The amount of ribbons her dress is supporting is truly astounding and there is a whole crown of poisonous flowers on top of her head that she wears like a crown. Dorian blinks before catching himself.

“Ah—no. Please”, he says and gestures at the empty chair next to him.

The faun sits down carefully and watches as she carefully places a panflute on her thighs.

“Which bard college do you specialize in?”, Dorian asks.

“Hm? Oh, I’m not a bard. I’m majoring in druid. I just like to make music”, she answers with a smile.

Dorian never considered just taking classes that have nothing to do with his major. Maybe it would be something his parents would disapprove of even more than they did of his bard major and his choice to sleep in a dorm.

“I’m Fearne, by the way”, she adds and nods her heads slightly. A single leaf falls from her head and onto her panflute.

“Dorian”, he answers. Fearne smiles at him.

“You have very pretty hair”, she says.

“Oh. Ah—thank you? You—you too. Your hair, I mean. It’s—uh. Very green.”

Fearne’s smile widens.

“Thank you!”, she says in a tone that suggests that this might be the compliment she’s ever received. Dorian on the other hand wishes he could bite off his tongue. Your hair is very green. What kind of compliment is that? It’s no wonder that he didn’t have any chance to kiss anyone yet if this is all that he can come up with.

Dorian turns around and tries to concentrate on the professor’s lecture but his mind keeps wandering. He takes only a few notes and as he looks over at Fearne he sees that she’s doodling all sorts of mushrooms into her notebook. Then there is a small screech coming directly from her bag.

The class falls silent and everyone turns to look in their direction.

“What was that?”, professor Brooke asks with a confused look on his face. “I don’t remember any familiar registrations for this class.”

Dorian looks at Fearne who turns her head to look around at all the people staring in their direction.

“That was just me”, Fearne says and points to herself. “I ate too much pudding for breakfast.”

Professor Brooke looks embarrassed and very apologetic.

“I’m sorry, dear. Let’s continue then.”

As the lecture continues, Dorian leans over to Fearne.

“Didn’t that come out of your bag?”, he wants to know. Fearne shoots him a sly smile and gently lifts the flap of her green bag. Dorian stares at a small monkey peeking up at him with weirdly glowing eyes. Then the monkey raises his index finger to his mouth as if trying to tell Dorian to shut up.

Fearne closes the bag.

“That’s just Little Mister. He’s my… friend.”

“I see”, Dorian says.

He supposes that this is what he left home for���to meet all sorts of people, learn about all kinds of different things that he would never get in touch with while under his parents’ wings.

So Dorian decides to simply accept that some people are friends with monkeys and carry them around in bags.

If he can manage to live with someone like Dariax, he sure as hell won’t judge someone for bringing an animal companion to class.

After another fifteen minutes, Fearne leans over to Dorian again.

“I don’t understand this concept that the professor is talking about.”

“Oh, they explained it in the first half hour, before you got here.”

“Oh, I see. I was late”, Fearne says and looks disappointed, as if she was only now realizing this.

“Uh—yeah. Like, half an hour.”

“Time is kind of hard, you know. It’s like—it’s like this weird soup. And I don’t think I really have it memorized how to read clocks.”

Dorian stares at her.

“So. Are you not from here?”, he asks and groans internally at his phrasing. Fearne doesn’t seem to mind, though. She nods gratefully as Dorian pushes over his notes so she can look at them.

“No, not really. I come from the Feywild. We don’t really have clocks.”

“Because… time is a weird soup.”

“Yeah, exactly. Is that a saying here, too?”, she asks, her ears turning towards him full of excitement.

“Ah—no. I don’t think it is. Not here, at least.”

“Well, now you know it.”

Dorian nods and watches as Fearne studies his notes to copy some of them down into her notebook. He tries to imagine a world without clocks and immediately gets anxious at the prospect of always being late.

In the last twenty minutes of the lecture, they actually get to play their instruments.

“You play beautifully”, Fearne says after listening to Dorian play for a few minutes.

“Thank you! Your music is really different from what I know. It’s interesting.”

Fearne beams at him.

“Maybe we could make some music together some time?”, she asks.

“I would like that, yeah.”

*

Dorian isn’t bad at making friends, he’s just not as good or fast at it as Dariax. Maybe that’s because he’s a little more selective about the people he hangs out with, but Dariax just seems to consider everyone he talked to more than once his friend.

Dorian never really had friends growing up, so he doesn’t consider himself an expert. But at least for him Dariax’ way doesn’t seem to be all that great.

So when Dariax asks: “Hey, do you wanna come hang out with me and my friends tonight?” Dorian feels less than inclined to say yes.

“Uh—I already have plans”, he lies, trying to figure out if he should try to convince Opal to spend the evening with him or if he should just take this opportunity to have some peace and quiet in his room.

“Aw, man. Too bad. We wanted to go skinny dipping in the gym’s pool”, Dariax says.

“Isn’t that off limits at night?”, Dorian asks, his brow furrowed as he looks at Dariax’ face that breaks into a wide grin.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun to go there”, he answers and winks at Dorian. Dorian feels his cheeks grow hot and swallows as his intestines suddenly feel the need to writhe around like living snakes.

“Oh, well—I’m not really a—uh. A rebel boy, as they say”, he says and laughs nervously. “You go and have fun, though.”

He tries not to picture Dariax completely naked in the dim, shimmering light of the campus’ pool but he fails miserably. His palms start sweating.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will, I will. But hey, maybe next time!”

“Uh—yeah. Maybe”, Dorian says weakly as Dariax saunters out of their room and closes the door behind him. Dorian stares at the locked door for way too long and he’s endlessly glad that no one can see him.

This doesn’t seem like a normal thing to invite someone to. When he went to college to learn how to be a bard, he envisioned parties, maybe some illegal weed smoking on a restricted rooftop, at the most.

He did not envision to be asked to get butt naked, break into a gym with a pool at night and go swimming with a bunch of—probably drunk—strangers he doesn’t even know the names of.

That was, of course, before he got Dariax as a roommate.

Now Dorian feels like he should be prepared for anything.

As Dorian grabs his lute and sinks down onto his bed he wonders if Fearne lives on campus or if she lives in the Feywild and somehow manages to travel here for every class that she has. That would explain the time thing, he supposes, because he learned that time works differently on other planes.

This is the first evening in what feels like weeks that he has the room just to himself. In between the pieces he plays on his lute he simply sits on the bed, enjoying the silence. When he opens the window the cool breeze from outside reminds him of home and he closes his eyes for a little while.

It smells like rain and autumn outside. Dorian turns to look at the small room that’s his now. It’s nothing compared to the big, bright room he had at home, but it feels special simply because this is the first time he gets to do what he wants with a space without anyone breathing down his neck.

There’s not much in the room aside from their desks, beds and the closet they share, but Dorian pinned a few posters and postcards over his bed for the very first time. His bed is unmade—something that his parents would have never allowed—and there are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling that he actually picked out himself.

The desk is covered in sheet music and books and for a few seconds Dorian looks at the small picture of his brother and himself that is sticking to his pencil holder, before turning his gaze at some of the articles he printed out yesterday.  

He might actually get some homework done in this blessed quiet.

At least that’s what he thinks until his phone rings.

At some point Dariax must’ve stolen Dorian’s phone and taken a selfie to make it pop up every time he calls Dorian, because as his phone lights up Dorian can see Dariax’ dopey smile appear. Dorian ignores the rush of heat he feels as he looks down at the glowing display, reaches for his phone and picks up the call.

“Dariax?”

“Dorian, hey buddy!”

He definitely sounds drunk, which doesn’t surprise Dorian. But there’s an edge to his voice that makes Dorian nervous.

“What’s up, Dariax?”

“I—uh. Remember how I told you that we were going to go skinny dipping in the gym and everything?”

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. It was like, three hours ago.”

“Cool, yeah. So the guys—“, and Dorian wonders who exactly ‘the guys’ are supposed to be, “were in a real funny mood. So. They stole my clothes and locked me in here—“

“They what?”

“I know, right? So… I tried to break open the lock, but I might be a little too drunk to get it right. And I was wondering—could you maybe bring me some clothes and get that door open for me?”

Dorian stares out into the night.

“How do you have your phone if they took all your stuff?”, he asks weakly.

“Had it with me in the pool to take some underwater selfies. It’s waterproof”, Dariax supplies cheerfully.

Dorian can see lights in the buildings all over campus and a crescent moon in the sky. He tries not to imagine what kind of pictures Dariax was trying to take of himself. Naked. In a pool.

“You want me to break open a door”, he repeats, just in case he misheard.

“I mean, kinda? Maybe? I really don’t wanna sleep in here. I slept in worse places, but it seems kinda shitty to wake up and immediately get into trouble for trespassing and all of that…”

Dorian isn’t sure if he wants to know in what kind of places Dariax has slept that count as worse as a college gym’s pool.

“But I guess I could just sleep in the showers or something.”

“I don’t really know how to get locks open”, Dorian sighs, but he’s already walking over to their shared closet. In theory, Dariax’ half is on the left, but he insists on just throwing all of his clothes in there without actually caring about which side they land on, so Dorian grabs some jeans, a hoodie and some underwear and stuffs it into his bag. He tries very hard not to look at the underwear too closely.

Dariax might not know what privacy is but that doesn’t mean that Dorian has to stoop down to the same level as his roommate.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do”, he huffs.

“Aw, fuck yeah, you’re the best. I lo—“

“Bye”, Dorian calls and hangs up hastily before Dariax can finish.

His dreams of a quiet night dissipate into smoke as he throws the bag over his shoulder, grabs his keys, his jacket and his phone and leaves the room to head towards the gym.

Dorian, never in his life, has tried to open a lock with anything other than the key that was supposed to go into it. He doubts that he would manage to learn it in the heat of a moment so as he walks through the night, passing under a lantern every few steps he takes, he considers what he can do to get a locked door to open.

He is not strong enough to pry it open.

He has never learned how to do that trick with a credit card and isn’t sure if it would even work on this door even if he knew how.

There is no spell he knows that would be useful to open a door.

The only thing Dorian is good at is music and talking to people.

He makes his decision as he heads for the closest security guard patrolling campus at night.

“Excuse me, hi”, he says with the most honest and simultaneously nervous smile he can muster. The young man looks him up and down and seems to come to the conclusion that Dorian is worthy of his attention because his body turns towards him and offers a small smile back. He’s white withshort, brown hair, a long nose and arms full of tattoos.

“Can I help you?”, he asks.

“Well—this is so embarrassing. I—uh. I was in the gym earlier and I forgot my phone in there and my girlfriend wanted to call me tonight and I—uh. I already missed the last call so…”

He trails off as he tries to looks as bashful and stressed as he can—something that isn’t hard because Dorian still has to think about how Dariax is naked and probably dripping wet and how they’re most likely going to get into so much damn trouble.

“Oh wow, that sucks”, the security guard says and Dorian nods.

“Yeah, I’m—this is so dumb, I know you have better things to do, but… If you could just let me sneak in there for a minute and grab my phone? That would be a total life-saver, man”, he says and brings his hands up in front of his chest in a pleading gesture.

“Well, I guess we can make an exception. Don’t want to be the cause for trouble in paradise, right?”, he answers with a smile and Dorian forces himself to laugh.

“Thanks so much, I’ll drop off some cookies next time I see you around”, Dorian says and the security guard chuckles and makes a joke about bribery that Dorian doesn’t actually find funny but laughs about anyway. Since he officially ‘lost’ his phone he has no idea how to let Dariax know what his plan is.

All Dorian can do is hope that Dariax isn’t standing right behind the door butt-naked. Dorian supposes that he could always claim not to know him then—something that would only hold up for so long.

They walk towards the gym and Dorian can feel his heartbeat picking up.

What if he gets suspended? Kicked out? Sent home?

When they arrive in front of the gym everything is silent. Dariax is not banging on the door from the inside, calling Dorian’s name. Dorian decides to take that as a win as he nervously watches the guard fiddle for the master-key before opening the door.

“So, where did you leave your phone?”, the guard asks him and Dorian looks around hastily to see if he can spot Dariax anywhere.

“Uh—over on the benches, I’ll be right back!”, he says with an apologetic smile before rushing through the gym and towards the benches on the other side of the building.

“Dariax!”, he hisses into the darkness towards the corridor that leads to the locker-room and the pool.

“Hey bu—“

“Pscht. There’s a guard there. I had him open the door, you have to sneak out!”

Dorian starts crouching down on the floor and drops his bag so Dariax can reach it. He’s peaking his head out of the dark corridor and Dorian hopes that the security guard doesn’t spot him as he reaches his arm out towards the bag with Dariax’ clothes inside it.

“Did you find it?”, the guard calls over and Dorian can hear his footsteps coming closer. He hastily fishes for his phone and slides it under one of the benches.

“Not yet, it’s pretty dark in here”, he says. The rustling in the corridor next to him tells him that Dariax is hastily getting dressed.

“I have a flashlight, one sec”, the guard says and crouches down next to Dorian who feels bad for lying to the poor guy. He’s so friendly and forthcoming—Dorian decides that he actually has to get this man some cookies.

“Oh, there it is!”, he says and points to the left as the light of the torch reaches his phone.

“I’m afraid my arms too short to reach that”, the guard says and scoots back so Dorian can extent his arm and grab his phone. He tries hard not to look behind him to check if Dariax already made it out or not. He gets up, stuffs the phone into his pocket and dusts off his pants before turning towards the guard with an embarrassed smile.

“Man, thank you so much, this is really clutch.”

“No problem. I hope it works out with your girlfriend”, he answers and leads Dorian back towards the door.

“Thanks. If I see you again I’ll keep you posted!”

They step outside into the cool night air and Dorian can’t see Dariax anywhere. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are terribly sweaty. He wipes them off on his pants and decides that he needs a hot shower and his warm bed after this terrible disaster. His body feels as if he just ran a marathon.

So much for a quiet, peaceful night.

As soon as the guard leaves Dorian looks around frantically. If Dariax didn’t make it outside, there’s no way Dorian can convince this guy to open the gym up again without telling him the truth—something Dorian desperately does not want to do.

“Hey, over here!”

Dorian turns around and sees Dariax waving out of one of the bushes. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, his face is flushed and his eyes glassy, but he has a wide, reckless smile on his face that makes Dorian’s heart leap into his throat and press on his windpipe.

“What the fuck, man?”, Dorian hisses as he walks over to Dariax who gets up now, slightly swaying on his feet. There are some yellow leaves stuck in his auburn hair.

“Damn, buddy, that was awesome! You seriously have a velvet tongue, how did you even do that?”

“I asked nicely. What the actual fuck, Dariax? Why did your friends think that was a good idea?”

Dariax looks at him sheepishly and shrugs.

“Ah—to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like they were fucking you over”, Dorian says and starts walking back towards the dorm. Some fine mist hangs between the trees, which look mostly black except for those who reach into the light of the street lamps. The orange and brown colored leaves remind Dorian of Dariax’ hair.

“Yeah. Sounds like it, huh.”

Dariax is quiet after that, something which Dorian, for some reason, finds even more disturbing than hearing Dariax’ sex-noises through a locked door.

“You okay?”, he asks after two minutes of walking in silence.

Dariax turns to look at him and the smile that appears on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. You know how it is, people just fuck you over. That’s how it works, I guess.”

“It doesn’t have to work like this”, Dorian says, his brow furrowed and his hands itchy to reach out and tussle Dariax’ wet hair for comfort. He doesn’t even know if Dariax wants to be comforted. Or wants to be comforted by Dorian specifically.

Dorian doesn’t even know why he feels the need to comfort Dariax, seeing as to how it’s his own fault for getting into such a situation in the first place.

“Hm, maybe. But I guess you showed up to save the day”, Dariax says, looking at Dorian thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I didn’t fuck you over”, Dorian agrees and holds open the door for them as they reach the dorm.

“Yeah. You didn’t. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

*

The security guard’s name is Orym, he knows Fearne from taking some druid classes on the side on top of his fighter classes and he enjoys blueberry muffins.

“So, how did it go with your girlfriend?”, he asks while chewing on the muffin that Dorian handed him a few moments ago.  

“We broke up”, Dorian replies with a gravelly voice and Orym pulls a face.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks again for helping me with my phone.”

“It’s no problem at all. Thank you for this muffin.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.”

*

Dorian is pleased to find that the steady trickle of loud people that Dariax used to invite to their room before is thinning. He still goes out drinking and partying a lot, and he still has guests over to play Mario Kart or some horrible drinking game, but overall Dorian’s having more peace and quiet than ever before since he moved into this room with Dariax.

On a Wednesday night Dariax is sprawled out on his bed flipping through his phone. Dorian wonders if he’s going through his contacts, considering whom to call on for some. Well. Drinking or sex, probably.

Dorian hopes it’s not sex. And if it is sex, then for sex that is supposed to happen far away from here.

“How come you never go out?”, Dariax wants to know.

Dorian looks up from the sheet music he’s working on. He’s humming along quietly as he writes down, erases, writes down again and corrects the song he’s trying to write. He finds that he actually likes working in companionable silence, even though he didn’t think this would be possible with Dariax as his roommate a few weeks ago.

Dariax doesn’t seem to mind not talking as long as there is some sort of sound in the room—and Dorian’s humming apparently counts.

“How do you mean? I go out all the time”, Dorian says and looks up from his paper, cocking his head to regard Dariax who’s head is now hanging off of the side of the bed so he looks back at Dorian upside down.

“Yeah but like, partying. Drinking. College stuff, you know. You just hang out with the scary lady and she seems to like partying.”

“First of all, her name’s Opal. And I guess she can be kind of scary, but only if you’re a dick. And second of all, I hang out with other people! I met this very nice faun in my bard class and we’re making music from time to time. And—I don’t know. Partying is just not. Uh... It’s just not...”

Dorian sighs and leans against the wall behind him. The room is so scrappy that some of the wallpaper is coming down in little flakes in some places. He absentmindedly starts picking at his pillow.

“I never really went to parties before coming here. It’s just. I don’t know. New. I’m not like you. You know, with all the drinking and partying and—and uh. Sex. I guess.”

He can feel his ears burning and his cheeks heating up as he mumbles the end of his sentence. Dariax blinks at him and drops his phone on his face.

“Ow, fuck—okay. Wait. Are you saying that you’re a party-virgin and an actual virgin?”

“Oh come on, man, why do you have to say it like that? I’ve been to parties! But not—you know? College parties! And I never really drank alcohol before. It seems... I don’t know. Shifty.”

“Shifty”, Dariax repeats and a shit-eating grin spreads over his face, lighting up his eyes with a shimmer of mischief that Dorian finds very disconcerting.

“So you are a virgin.”

Dorian throws his pencil at Dariax and misses.

“So what? There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! We can’t all walk around like you sleeping with people left and right!”

Dariax chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.

“Very true, I’m one of a kind. So, okay. But you kissed people, right?”, he wants to know.

“Why is that even relevant?”, Dorian hisses. He decides to throw his pillow next and Dariax almost falls off the bed trying to dodge it as he laughs.

“It’s not, I’m just curious! You’re always super uptight and mysterious, I know shit all about you and you’ve basically seen me banging someone at least twice!”

Dorian tries and fails to keep his poise as he flails his arms around.

“I could’ve lived happily without having seen any of that!”

“So that means you never kissed anyone?”, Dariax asks again, his grin wide and his eyebrows offensively wiggling. Dorian wishes he had some sort of cake that he could press Dariax’ face into.

“No, never. Are you happy now?”

“Would you like to kiss someone?”, Dariax wants to know and leans forward on the bed. He seems to have decided that sitting upright is the better choice in case Dorian decides to throw something else at him.

“I—I mean. I don’t know? I haven’t found the right person to kiss yet!”

“Ah, you’re one of those guys”, Dariax says with a wise nod that drives Dorian up the walls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know? Like a romantic. True love and shit.”

“I wouldn’t—I. I haven’t really thought about it much. It’s not that important to me.”

Dariax pulls a face and nods, as if he understands perfectly what it means to not much care about kissing, sex or relationships. Dorian doubts that he actually understands with the frequency in which he drags people into his bed.

“I guess it’s not bad to wait for someone special”, Dariax concedes with a lopsided smile. “My first kiss was a total disaster, I didn’t know what I was doing at all and the dude told me it was like kissing a bowl of rice pudding.”

Dorian stares at him.

“That’s such a horrible thing to say”, he answers and Dariax shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. He could’ve been nicer about it.”

Dorian’s brain is reeling.

Dariax had his first kiss with a guy. Dariax doesn’t only like women.

“Oh gods, I wish you hadn’t told me”, Dorian groans and presses the palms of his hands on his eyes until he sees little, colorful specs dancing on the inside of his eyelids. “What if I kiss someone I actually like and it turns out to be a completely terrible?”

He lowers his hands and stares at Dariax who stares back at Dorian with an intensity that surprises him.

“I mean. I guess you could just practice”, Dariax says.

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll ask the first random person I meet in the hallway—“

“I would do it. Practice with you, I mean.”

Dorian blinks. He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows that his cheeks are turning purple.

“I—uh. That’s. Well. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll—I guess I’ll just figure it out on my own.”

Dorian chuckles nervously and glances back at Dariax who looks at him for a second longer before flopping back down onto his bed.

“Sure thing, buddy”, he says quietly and it’s probably just Dorian’s imagination that he sounds a bit disappointed.

*

“Dorian. Hey, Dorian!”

Dariax’ voice cuts through a dream about flying through space naked and Dorian opens his eyes. He is met with darkness and turns his head over to look towards Dariax’ side of the room. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and the confusion and sleep to drain out of him.

“Huh?”

“Hey, sorry. I—uh. I kinda had—I kinda had a nightmare?”

“Sorry to hear that”, Dorian rasps and rubs at his eyes, “was it the one about the giant dwarven woman again?”

“Ah, no. Not this time. I—uh. Do you mind maybe just… I don’t know. Talking to me a little? Or, ah—humming? I would scoot over but your bed is probably a bit too small”, Dariax rambles and laughs nervously.

Dorian is too tired to get flustered about the prospect of cuddling with his roommate.

“You can scoot over. But don’t hog the blanket”, he mumbles and makes room in his tiny bed, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his blanket up, his eyes already falling shut again.

“Oh fuck yeah”, he hears Dariax whisper. There’s a rustling, the sound of naked feet on a wooden floor and then the mattress dips and Dariax climbs into bed with him, his body way warmer than Dorian expected it to be.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers.

“You sure this is okay?”, Dariax whispers into the dark and Dorian makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat before letting the blanket fall down over Dariax. His arms simply drops which is probably way too close to a hug in this position as they lie face to face on the mattress that was not made for two people to sleep on it.

“Thanks a lot, buddy. You’re the best”, Dariax whispers. Dorian knows that Dariax is pretty dense simply because he’s a dwarf, but while he drifts back off to sleep he feels the tension in Dariax’ body. This nightmare must have been deeply upsetting for someone as carefree and jovial as Dariax to ask for goddamn snuggles in the middle of the night.

Dorian starts humming. It’s faint and definitely not his best and probably not even a real song, but slowly, ever so slowly, he can feel Dariax relax beside him as they both fall asleep again.

What his sleepy brain did not account for when Dorian allowed Dariax entry into his bed was how they might wake up in completely different positions to the ones they fell asleep in and how his body was a mean betrayer set out to humiliate Dorian.

As he slowly comes back to consciousness Dorian realizes how incredibly warm it is. The next thing he notices is that there is a quietly snoring dwarf pressed against his side, one leg pushed over Dorian’s legs. Dariax, sometime during the night, has curled into Dorian so his nose is now pressed somewhere close to Dorian’s ribs. He can feel Dariax’ hot breath tickle his exposed skin.

This is the most skin-on-skin contact Dorian has ever had with someone who is not related to him.

Dariax’ arm is curled around his waist and Dorian has no idea how he’ll be able to get to the bathroom without waking Dariax up or alerting him to the fact that Dorian is suffering a terrible case of a morning boner.

Yeah, he definitely didn’t think this through when he allowed Dariax in here. If Dariax pulls his leg up a little more his thigh will absolutely come in contact with Dorian’s dick and he is not ready for that to happen.

Not even a little bit.

Dorian can’t help but notice that Dariax smells kind of nice. And the feeling of naked skin on naked skin feels so much better than he imagined it would. He should probably not think about skin on skin contact too much in his current predicament but Dariax decides that this is the right moment to move his leg.

Dorian makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat as Dariax’ thigh rubs against his erection and before he can really consider what his best course of action might be, he’s already shoving Dariax off of him.

Since these beds are tiny, that also means shoving Dariax off the bed.

There is loud thunk as Dariax hits the floor and bolts upright with a yelp, his hair tousled and untidy, his eyes barely open.

“I didn’t do it!”, he slurs loudly, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender and Dorian can’t help but wonder what in the nine hells Dariax has been dreaming about.

“Sorry, man. You were—uh. Getting a little close”, Dorian says and sits up, carefully pulling the blanket over his crotch.

Dariax blinks up at him.

“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he mumbles and sways to his feet to stumble back over to his own bed.

Dorian immediately misses the warmth and the feeling of naked skin against his but he pushes the thought away and clears his throat.

“Did you sleep okay after your nightmare?”, he asks.

“Hmhm. Like a baby”, Dariax mumbles into his pillow. His face is pressed into it and he didn’t even take the take to cover himself with his blanket. “You have the most beautiful voice.”

Dorian’s cheeks begin to burn and he grips the blanket tighter.

“Thank you.”

“’S no problem.”

Dorian glances over at his roommate. Dariax looks surprisingly peaceful like this and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again. The quiet snore returns and his mouth falls open slightly. When Dorian finally gets up to take a shower, he shivers slightly in the cold before carefully stepping over to the other bed and pulling the blanket over Dariax.

*

“You know what, I feel honored that you’re going to trust me with your first time”, Dariax says, looking endlessly pleased with himself.

Dorian sputters.

“Excuse m—“

“Your first time drinking, buddy”, Dariax explains and laughs as he sees the flush on Dorian’s cheeks.

They’re both sitting on Dariax’ bed—because Dariax doesn’t care about getting spots on his sheets at all—with a bottle of liquor that is bright red and looks a little radioactive.

“Well, I think I would just—uh. Prefer it… to try this out with someone I trust before I make a fool of myself in front of a whole party, you know”, Dorian says. When no answer comes, he turns his head to look at Dariax.

Dariax’ eyes are shimmering with something that Dorian can’t quite read but it makes his heart race in his chest. Dariax never looked at him like this before. His expression is almost soft with the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Glad to hear you trust me, Dorian. I trust you, too.”

Dorian clears his throat and looks away, the tension in the air between them suddenly too much for him.

“I am very trustworthy”, he jokes and grabs the bottle to unscrew it and smell the liquid inside.

“Ugh—it’s revolting”, he remarks and coughs a little.

Dariax chuckles.

“That’s how you know it’s good”, he says with a nod and gestures for Dorian to take the first sip.

Dorian has tried some champagne before, some beer. Some wine. But never more than half a glass. He never tried drinking any hard liquor and this stuff is burning his throat and sending heatwaves through his whole body immediately.

“Wow”, he coughs and hands the bottle to Dariax.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax says and

“It’s terrible!”

“Yeah”, Dariax says with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t think a thing can be both good and terrible at the same time”, Dorian remarks, his face still in a grimace as he tries to get used to the burning sensation of hard alcohol in his throat.

“Nonsense, those are like, all of my favorite movies!”, Dariax says and takes a huge swig out of the bottle before handing it back to Dorian.

Dorian feels weirdly honored that Dariax decided to stay in on a Saturday night just to hang out with him and test the waters with his roommate while no doubt all his friends are out there partying.

“Like what movies”, Dorian wants to know and takes another careful sip out of the bottle. His mind provides him with the terrible thought that this might as well count as an indirect kiss, something that is entirely idiotic and not useful at all.

“Okay, so, you know when someone asks you a question about yourself and suddenly you have forgotten all of your interests and hobbies and favorites and pretty much everything about yourself?”, Dariax says, his brow furrowed as he tries to think of a movie that is both terrible and good at the same time.

“Tell you what. I can say that two of my favorite movies of all time are Pacific Rim and Mad Max, and those are not terrible, mind you, they’re just good. But if I manage to think of one that is both terrible and good, I’ll tell you immediately.”

Dorian has neither seen Mad Max nor Pacific Rim. When he tells Dariax as much his roommate looks aghast.

“Oh my gosh, Dorian. Buddy. My boy. That is—no. No, I can’t let this stand. Grab your laptop, we’re watching Pacific Rim right now”, Dariax orders and looks at Dorian expectantly.

This is how Dorian ends up crying about giant robots. And maybe also brothers.

Dariax hands him a tissue and sniffs.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax asks and empties the bottle as the end credits start rolling. Dorian nods and watches as Dariax throws the empty bottle to the side before pulling out a second one from under his bed.

Dorian is definitely tipsy. He drank way less than Dariax, of course, but he can feel a faint buzzing in his head and his vision seems to be slowed. There is a feeling of heaviness in his legs as he accepts the new bottle—this time the liquor is bright blue and tastes even worse—and drinks.

The new sensations in his body aren’t unpleasantly.

In a way, his soul feels lighter like this, less anxious, less unsure about things, which is pretty nice.

“So, what’s your favorite movie?”, Dariax wants to know.

“I—hm. I don’t know. I’m not much of a movie guy. I suppose I liked Lord of the Rings when I watched it a few years ago”, he says, thinking about the movies he has seen and which ones he enjoyed the most. Weirdly enough it’s exactly as Dariax said—now that someone asked about what he likes, Dorian can’t seem to remember much about himself.

“Good choice”, Dariax says with an approving nod that makes Dorian feel weirdly pleased.

“I guess we could totally do a Lord of the Rings marathon, you know? Get some snacks, order pizza, get fucked up. Hey, we could make it a drinking game!”

Dorian isn’t sure why there’s a tingling sensation under his skin, or why his heart starts beating faster in light of Dariax’ suggestion. Maybe it’s because he feels happy that Dariax wants to spend more time with Dorian. Maybe it’s just because the alcohol is getting to Dorian.

“What about your other friends?”, Dorian asks.

“What about them?”

“Well—wouldn’t you rather spend more time with them? You know—partying. Going skinny dipping. That sort of thing.”

Dorian knows that he’s fishing for compliments. He knows and he feels embarrassed about it but he can’t stop. Validation is something that he craves way too much for his own comfort, but the alcohol has lowered his defenses—or raised his stupidity. Either one of those.

“Well—you know when we went skinny dipping and they fucked me over, that was like. Not cool? And you got me outta there, even though you don’t really do that sorta thing, you know? So—that was not the first time I got fucked over by people I called my friends, but it was totally the first time someone bailed me out of stuff. So yeah. I’d rather stick with you, if that’s alright with you”, Dariax says, taking a few long gulps from the bottle of blue liquid.

Dorian feels a rush of heat under his skin. It’s not unusual for him to feel strongly about being praised or validated, but it usually doesn’t hit this hard.

He swallows and laughs nervously, grabbing the bottle from Dariax and taking a big sip that burns his throat.

“Yeah—yeah, alright”, he croaks and Dariax beams at him.

“I’m sorry, by the way. That—uh. That those people left you behind”, he adds quietly and hands the bottle back to Dariax.

“Oh, you know. I suppose it’s on me. I’m not very smart and I’m not good on my own, so I tend to follow people’s leads and they—uh. I guess they get bored with me, or something? Anyway. It’s not really important. Hey, how do you feel about watching Mad Max, too?”

*

“Hey, my friend is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want to come?”

“Are you kidding? Do I wanna take your partying virginity? Hell, yes!”

“Dariax...”

“Sorry buddy, I got carried away.”

*

Dorian is still thinking about rice pudding on Friday.

The fact that somewhere out there is a person who would tell someone else something mean like this makes him nervous to try and kiss anyone. What if he actually likes the person he’s kissing and gets told that his kisses feel like a bowl of rice pudding?

Or worse, something even slimier?

He’s trying to get another song for one of his bard classes done, but he’s unable to concentrate.

“Hey, Dariax”, he says and looks over at Dariax who’s watching cat videos on YouTube, “can I ask you something? About—uh. About... kissing?”

Dariax looks up at him with bright eyes.

“Sure”, he says and grins.

Dorian swallows.

“Uh—I was thinking. How—uh. How did you get better at kissing? Did you practice with anyone?”

“Nah, not really. I mean, not like that. I just went for it again and again until I got better at it. Guess it would’ve been nice to have someone around for practice, but I made it work anyway. No one’s been complaining for a while now.”

Dorian chews on his bottom lip and pokes the paper he’s working on with a pencil.

“So—uh. You said—“

“Yes”, Dariax shoots back immediately, as if he knows what Dorian is going to say next. Dorian feels the familiar heat rise up in his chest as he looks at his roommate who seems very intense all of a sudden, leaning forward and shutting his laptop, his eyes fixed on Dorian.

“I—uh. I don’t. I don’t really... I don’t like... guys?”, Dorian says and his voice sounds way too hoarse in his own ears. Dariax’ shoulders sag a little but he shrugs.

“Doesn’t really matter for this, right? It’s just kissing.”

“Right. Okay. Uh—so. If I—if I wanted to try this...  how do you—how do we make this work?”, he asks.

His heart is beating so fast, Dorian is afraid it’s going to break his rib cage and fly out of the window. Dariax puts his laptop to the side and pats the mattress beside himself, his eyes still fixed on Dorian’s face with an intensity that makes heat pool in Dorian’s lower abdomen.

He pushes the feeling aside and gets up from his own bed to sit down next to Dariax.

“I know what this is about”, Dariax says with a sly grin.

“Uh—you do?”

Dorian doesn’t know what this is about aside from his own nagging sense of anxiety and the fact that he can’t stop thinking about kissing Dariax—which is entirely Dariax’ fault because he offered this whole practicing thing in the first place.

“Yeah. You’re going to check out some ladies on that party tomorrow”, Dariax says, his grin widening as he scoots closer to Dorian. Dorian can feel Dariax’ body heat and he presses his back against the wall, his fingers digging into the blanket crumpled below his legs.

“Ah—yeah. You got me”, he lies and laughs nervously. Dariax winks and gives him fingerguns.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha! I’ll be the best wingman ever. Here, just lemme—“

And Dariax climbs into Dorian’s lap, straddling him, his face so close to Dorian’s that Dorian can feel his breath on his cheek.

He holds his breath as he notices all the freckles on Dariax’ face, his scruffy beard, his hazel-brown eyes...

His heart is stumbling in his chest.

“Thanks”, he rasps.

“No need to be nervous, I’m sure you’ll be way better at this than I was the first time around. Just lemme take the lead, okay?”

Dorian nods.

If he gets hard now, Dariax will definitely feel it.

Fuck.

Dariax raises his hands and tilts Dorian’s chin up while his other hand gently cups Dorian’s cheek. It’s already almost too much for Dorian. His lips open slightly and his eyes widen as Dariax gets closer still, his nose gently touching Dorian’s.

“If you want me to stop, just smack me real hard”, Dariax whispers and his breath tickles Dorian’s lips before the distance between their mouths is closed and Dariax is kissing him, his hazel-brown eyes closed.

Dariax’ lips are warm and a little chapped and Dorian gasps against his mouth helplessly—something that Dariax seems to take as encouragement. He tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and then his lips press against Dorian’s in earnest.

Dorian’s heart stops for a few seconds before restarting with doubled speed.

His whole body seems to be on fire all of a sudden and he can’t help but raise his hands to touch Dariax—just touch him anywhere. He needs to ground himself, hold onto something, or he might just get lost in the feeling of Dariax’ warm lips carefully moving against his.

It’s a slow kiss, almost sweet, but Dorian’s skin is set aflame.

I don’t like guys, he thinks as his whole body decides that he must get closer to Dariax, wrap his arms around him, pull him in, cup the back of his head so he doesn’t move away—

“This okay?”, Dariax mumbles against his lips and he sounds so out of breath as if he just sprinted a whole mile.

“Yeah—I. Yeah.”

“You wanna try with tongue?”

Dorian swallows. There is still heat pooling in his abdomen. He should say no. He should stop doing this. This feels dangerous and stupid.

But it also feels so good.

“Yeah, okay”, he whispers.

Dariax doesn’t wait for another invite, he immediately leans forward again to close the distance between them and as Dorian’s hands dig themselves into the back of Dariax’s shirt and his heart starts racing even faster Dariax slides his tongue into Dorian’s mouth and Dorian’s mind goes blank.

There is a sound that is dangerously close to a moan and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from him.

He holds onto Dariax like a drowning man before he manages to kiss back.

The second their tongues slide against one another there is a sound from Dariax too, one that shoots directly into Dorian’s lap. His hips buckle up involuntarily, his arms wrap around Dariax tighter and Dariax presses closer, his hips grinding down against him.

Dorian is lost.

And he’s so, so fucked.

It feels so incredibly good to kiss Dariax. He forgot why he even started kissing him, all he knows that he doesn’t want to stop, that he wants to get closer, wants to touch more skin—

He’s hard by now, and so is Dariax. Dorian can feel his erection through the jeans that Dariax is wearing.

Dorian buries his hands in Dariax’ hair and pulls. Dariax makes a helpless sound and bites down on Dorian’s bottom lip before sucking on it lightly and Dorian is afraid that he might come in his pants just from kissing and the delicious friction of Dariax’ crotch rubbing against his.

Shit, shit, shit, shit—

Before Dorian can make a fool of himself Dariax pulls back.

He’s panting, his eyes are glassy, his lips red and wet from kissing and he looks so pretty, Dorian is momentarily stunned by the revelation that he might not be into girls or guys or pretty much anyone.

But he’s definitely, terribly, irrevocably into Dariax.

Fuck.

“S—sorry”, Dariax gasps and clambers off of Dorian’s lap. “That was—I’m. I—uh. I got carried away a little. Didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

Dorian swallows and stares at him, his eyes wide and his heart pressing against his rib cage.

“It’s okay”, he rasps. “I—uh. I got a little carried away, too.”

Dariax throws him a lopsided smile.

“Well. I’d say you’re good to go.”

And he gets off the bed and stumbles over to the bathroom, leaving Dorian behind with a rapidly beating heart, tingling lips and the revelation that he has the world’s worst crush on Dariax.

[leon-scott-kennedy]

Frostbitten

Chreon, Rated-T

Read on Ao3

Leon had barely kicked off his unbroken-in boots and flopped face-first on his bed when his phone rang. He groaned. Getting called back to the training field might kill him. Every inch of his body ached and throbbed after taking a literal beating for the last ten hours; he couldn’t be bothered to change out of his sweaty clothes, let alone shower. USSTRATCOM training was tough and the instructors tougher, but this was precisely what he had signed up for, a chance to help people, to make sure that Raccoon City never happened again.

The handset slid out of the cradle when Leon smacked it in his blind search. It hit the floor with a clunk, half suspended by the cord.

“Shit.”Leon grabbed the phone and rolled onto his back. “This better be important.”

“Rough day?”

Leon sat up, a lump forming in the back of his throat. “Chris?”

Weeks ago, Leon tracked down Chris long enough to send an email warning him that Claire had gotten herself into some deep shit and needed a hand, and then handily tacked on his new number in a hastily added PS. But, unfortunately, Leon himself was a bit busy with his so-called new job, which so far consisted of him having his ass handed to him on a regular basis, and he hadn’t been in contact with Chris or Claire since Raccoon City two months ago.

Honestly, Leon had hoped the Redfield siblings had found each other and were off chasing Umbrella and saving the world together, but apparently not. Coupled with Leon and Sherry having seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet for weeks, Chris had been a little desperate when Leon finally managed to send an encrypted email.

“How’s it going, rookie?”

Leon snorted and flopped back on the mattress, tucking his free arm behind his head, his fatigue melting away. “Oh, you know.”

“That good, huh. I know you can’t tell me what’s going on, but are you okay?”

Always with the tough questions. Leon sighed, but his stomach gave a funny little flip. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“I definitely owe you one.”

“I think we’re about even.” Leon wasted nights alone in bed thinking about the night he spent buried against Chris Redfield’s chest, arms wrapped protectively around him as he fell apart when Raccoon City was still a smouldering ruin on the horizon. Leon yearned for that level of comfort and warmth. “Did you find her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I found her. But, we lost someone.”

Leon’s chest ached. How many people was that now? How many people had they lost in this war that they hadn’t even been aware they were fighting. Umbrella destroyed so many lives; hurt so many people. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Condolences - apology, solace, commiseration - hung thick in the air between them, so many words left unsaid. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry I left, that I abandoned you when you needed me; I wish you were here.

“How’s Sherry?”

“She’s good,” Leon lied. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought of the little girl he and Claire had managed to save from the city. The one thing Leon had done right.

Except, the first thing the government had done was take Sherry from Leon, separated them, interrogated him for days until they finally held her life above his head like a guillotine. His visitation remained few and far between, but she was alive and well taken care of, and that’s what mattered. Even if she’d traded one lab for another.

“Good. That’s good. Listen, Claire and I are back home getting things in order, but we both want to see you. Without you, I wouldn’t have found her.”

“Chris, seriously. It was nothing. I just passed on the information I had.” Leon twirled his finger absentmindedly in the phone cord. “I couldn’t get to her, but knew you could. I’m glad you found her.”

“You’re in DC, right?”

“What? Yeah. Listen, Chris-” Leon tried.

“We’re going to drive down for the weekend before we fly back to England next week. We’re putting together a team, but Claire really wants to see you. I want to see you. I need to thank you.”

Leon scrubbed his hand across his mouth and stared helplessly up at the stucco ceiling. Chris wasn’t going to take no for an answer, not that Leon wanted him to. On the contrary, he wanted to see them as badly as they wanted to see him.

“The weekend should be fine,” Leon said. “I usually have them off unless they decide to airdrop me into the center of a national park with nothing but a combat knife and a flask. I mean, no guarantees, but, you know.”

“Jesus Christ, Leon. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Leon grimaced. “Unfortunately, that’s classified.”

“I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.” That made two of them, but Sherry’s life hung in the balance.

Chris and Leon hashed out tentative plans for the weekend. Claire and Chris would drive the nine hours down from Franklin County on Friday, which Leon found insane. Nine hours trapped in a vehicle with their sibling for a dude they barely knew, only to be met with disappointment because Leon wouldn’t be whatever they expected. All the same, he’d let them crash at his place for the weekend, and then they’d fly out of the Dulles International Sunday evening.

Warmth blossomed in Leon’s chest; hope. Things weren’t ideal. Yes, he’d been coerced into the service of his country, but he wanted to do what he couldn’t in Raccoon City; save people, make Umbrella pay for their crimes. Maybe he could have done that alongside friends, allies, or Chris. Instead, the acute loneliness tingled in the back of his mind, a constant reminder that he had been abandoned. Not on purpose, no, but his naivety showed weakness.

The call ended with a promise, like their last separation, a reluctance to part, but a promise of companionship, of warmth, of friendship that was almost destined to end in grief. Leon couldn’t help the anticipation that bloomed.

Leon noisily clattered the headset back into the cradle and took stock of his tiny bedroom cluttered with dirty clothes, plates, a half-empty glass of water, and first aid supplies. “Fuck.”

Cleaning the apartment wouldn’t be so bad considering his severe lack of possessions, and he had three days before visitors arrived. Not that either of the Redfield’s would care about the clutter and shortage of furniture. If anything, they would understand. So much had been lost the day Racoon City disappeared in a mushroom cloud. Still, he tidied every moment he had between beatings, lectures, and exams.

Friday morning, the apartment was shockingly spotless except for the freshly used coffee mug in the sink. Loading it into the half-empty dishwasher wouldn’t have been all that difficult if Leon wasn’t already running behind schedule. The commute to the training center took twenty minutes on a good day if he obeyed all traffic laws.

Today likely wouldn’t be one of those days since he was due for roll-call in seven minutes, which seemed pointlessly ridiculous as he was the only agent in training. But the government liked to make him jump through hoops, literally.

Each course they had him run became increasingly complex and ludicrous to the point that Leon failed more than ninety percent of the time. With each fall, one instructor that he didn’t know the name of, only called Sir, yelled “dead” as if it wasn’t already abundantly clear that one mistake would be a death sentence in the field. Something he probably knew that better than the assholes pulling the strings. None of the big wigs had lived the hell he lived, seen what he had seen, and relived what he relived every night alone twisted in the sheets of his bed.

By the time Leon trudged through the front door of his tiny apartment, two hours later than planned, his entire side was mottled blue and purple from the fresh thrashing at the hands of his close combat instructor. His hand to hand had improved the most over the last month with the help of his natural flexibility and agility that earned him a few jokes about how he should have joined the circus. But they were impressed.

Nothing about his training was normal, even he knew that. Nothing like the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team had been formed before, people had never been reanimated from the dead by a virus before, and they were trying to prepare him for the worst. A nightmare they had never experienced themselves, but he had.

The phone rang. Leon groaned, staggering as he pivoted where he had been about to face-plant on the couch, and headed for the phone in the bedroom.

“Hello?” Leon said, almost certain it was Agent Benford with a new brutal assignment. He sagged onto the bed in relief, curling onto his side when the increasingly familiar greeting of ‘hey, rookie” rumbled in his ear. “Chris.”

“Thank god. Where have you been? This is the fourth time we tried calling.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Leon groaned as his side twinged. “Got, uh, caught up at the... office.”

“You sound like you’re in rough shape.”

Leon hummed. “Been worse.” A sad truth.

“We were calling to say we’re an hour out, but now that’s more like ten minutes,” Chris said, and Claire shouted something unintelligible in the background. “Oh, right. Remind me to give you this number. Claire made me get one of those Nokias so she can keep track of me.”

Claire screeched indignantly, and Leon snickered. “I’ve got a pager,” he offered as consolation. All that much easier to be at the government’s beck and call, but if Chris ever needed him, or Claire, or Sherry.

Leon rattled off a few quick directions to get the Redfield’s to his place, then hung up the phone and rolled out of bed to shower. The hot water stung the fresh bruising, his muscles ached, but he felt human the more he scrubbed away the sweat and grime.

The buzzer for the front door rang as Leon eased a fresh t-shirt on over his head; his shoulder twinged, but he limped over to buzz them up.

A few minutes later, since the building’s elevator took years because of the ‘historic’ value as the real estate agent had put it, someone knocked at the door in a frantic staccato. Leon swung the door open, hair still damp, and was immediately tackled in a hug.

Fight or flight kicked in, Leon’s brain came back online in fits and started in time to hug the small woman hugging him tightly rather than throw her over his shoulder. Claire’s mouth ran a mile a minute. Apparently, he had been missed, and Claire didn’t appear to want to release him anytime soon if the creaking of his ribs were anything to go by.

Leon stared helplessly over her head at Chris, who laughed, but pried his sister off Leon so he could drag him in a hug too. Chris enveloped Leon in a bear hug. That level of high alert that itched in the back of his mind for months ebbed, not disappeared, but faded enough that Leon enjoyed the moment, squeezing Chris back just as tight.

“Come in,” Leon said as he stepped back and waved them into his tiny apartment. “It’s not much, but, you know.”

Claire and Chris shucked their shoes and jackets and wandered into the apartment. Claire scrutinized every little detail or lack thereof. Decoration wasn’t exactly at the top of Leon’s priorities. Nevertheless, he had what he needed: a couch, a TV, a coffee table that doubled as his kitchen table, and a mattress in the bedroom. No bedframe, but he wasn’t picky. Clean sheets and a blanket, and he was good to go.

“It’s, ahh...” Chris trailed off as he glanced around the sparse room.

“What are you, a squatter?” Claire cut in. She stood in front of the mostly empty closet she’d opened.

“Okay, I was going to say it’s a bit Spartan,” Chris said. He slapped a comforting hand on Leon’s shoulder. “Can’t be easy to start all over from nothing, again.”

Leon rubbed the back of his neck, shoulders slumped. “I did warn you guys. Not much to do.”

Chris hummed, his hand dropping from Leon’s shoulder as he wandered off to the kitchen. “You got beer?” The fridge was stocked with two six-packs of cheap beer, a bottle of ketchup, a carton of 2%, and eggs.

“I’ll order food,” Claire said, glancing around, but the phone wasn’t in sight. Leon directed her to the bedroom, where his mattress sat on the floor against the wall. “Jesus Christ, Leon, is that a milk crate?” Clearly, she’d found the bedside table with the phone and takeout menus.

Groaning, Leon sank down onto his couch and buried his face in his hands. The cushions sank beside him as a much larger body sat down. Leon peeked out from between his fingers at Chris, who smiled sadly at him.

“If you need anything-” Chris started.

“I’m fine.” Leon ran his fingers through his damp hair and slouched so his elbows rested on his knees. “Not a lot of time to do much these days, you know, between the daily ass kickings and memorizing a million and one protocols.”

Chris mirrored Leon’s posture. “You could always come with us.”

Leon shook his head.

“Leon-”

“I can’t,” Leon snapped in time for Claire to walk out of the bedroom.

For a second, Claire paused, eyes bouncing between the heavy tension that hung between them. “I ordered Chinese. Did I miss something?”

“No,” Chris and Leon said at the same time.

The food didn’t take long to arrive. The delivery guy, already familiar with Leon’s apartment, joked that he had company for once. The restaurant had even thrown in some free spring rolls for one of their best customers. Sad, considering he’d only been in DC for a little over a month.

The three of them settled on the couch together; Leon squashed in the middle of the sofa, pressed against Chris because Claire had claimed one end with her feet up and tucked her toes under Leon’s thigh. They’d settled for a cheesy action movie they found flipping through channels, something with a bus that couldn’t stop, but ignored it in favour of light conversion, mostly Claire. Neither Chris nor Leon were much in the way of conversationalists. Still, Chris offered a tidbit here and there, and Leon hummed along, nodding when need be, and occasionally offered the occasional dry joke that had Chris and Claire in stitches. Chris nearly snorted beer out his nose when he made an off-the-cuff remark about the first day always being the easiest.

Pleasantly buzzed from a few beers and noodles heavy in his belly, Leon began to nod off, his head helplessly bobbing with the weight of fatigue.

Distantly, Leon heard a chuckle. His head plopped down on the closest shoulder, broad and warm, and the last thing he remembered was Claire wiggling her toes under his thigh and giggling.

When Leon woke up to his bladder screaming, the apartment was dark. For a brief second, he panicked when he discovered his mobility restricted, but his foggy mind pieced together the clues to form a complete picture. He was still on the couch, curled into Chris’ side, nose pressed into Chris’ neck. The arm slung around Leon’s shoulder held in him what couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a secure embrace. They were barely covered by what Leon quickly realized was the thin comforter from his bed because Claire, curled up on the other end of the couch, had stolen most of the blanket, leaving Chris and Leon with a tiny corner.

Leon eased himself out of Chris’ protective hold and slipped off the couch, tucking Chris back under the blanket so he could escape to the safety of the bathroom in what was becoming a pattern. Wake up cuddled with a man he barely knew, panic, then flee.

The moonlight through the clouded window lit the bathroom enough for Leon to piss and wash his hands without hitting the light. He stood, hands braced on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were lighter, and his hair was a wild tangle after falling asleep with it still damp. Even if he looked less tired, he was exhausted. He shivered. DC winters were colder than he was used to.

Shuffling back into the living room, Leon found Claire stretched further out on the couch, having used Leon’s absence to steal the very little room Leon had occupied beside Chris. “That seems about right,” he said, then jumped when Chris’ head popped up from where it had been stretched out against the back of the couch. “Oh! Sorry, I can just...” Leon waved vaguely back down the hall towards his bedroom.

Chris lifted his corner of the blanket in invitation.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Leon argued, rubbing his arm. “I can just sleep in my bed.”

“Isn’t this your blanket?” Chris asked.

Leon shivered in the cool December chill. “It’s not that cold.”

“Leon.”

Leon slunk back to the couch under Chris’ watchful gaze and tried to find space, but Claire’s sprawl left no room for Leon to squeeze back into. He hovered for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed, but the choice was taken from him when Chris grabbed him around the middle and hauled him down over his lap. Leon squawked, slapping a hand over his mouth. His butt nestled between the arm of the couch and Chris’ thigh, his legs thrown over Chris’ lap.

For almost a full minute, Leon stared at Chris open-mouthed, unable to do anything but blink like a startled owl while his attacker shook with silent laughter.

“Cat got your tongue, rookie?” Chris snickered.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Leon snapped his jaw closed, pursed his lips and purposefully flung an arm around Chris’ shoulders before wiggling until he was burrowed tightly into the warmth of Chris’ side like a kitten. Still, it took a few minutes for Leon to relax enough to sink into the heat of the body beneath him, Chris grinning a challenge to him. Leon rolled his eyes and stuck the cold tip of his nose into Chris’ neck.

“Christ, Kennedy,” Chris said as a stilted shudder ran through him, but wrapped Leon in an inflexible hug like the first night they met, the night Leon’s anxiety and doubt demanded the comfort of another person, the night he still dreamt about. “What are you? Part snowman?”

“Popsicle, but thanks for asking,” Leon mumbled.

Tucked under a small corner of the worn comforter he found in a thrift shop his first night in the city, Leon tilted headfirst into the satisfaction and comfort of Chris Redfield. Most men would have balked at even the idea of cuddling with another man, but Leon had never been like other men. He’d learned early in life to take comfort where he could because kindness was often isolated incidents of empathy.

The smell of coffee tickled Leon’s nose. He was hot, a little too hot, and a little sweaty, but he was comfortable, safe. He pressed into the warmth, groaning quiet contentment when the heat squeezed back until a sharp snort and a giggle shocked him into alertness like a splash of ice water.

Leon’s eyes snapped open. Claire grinned at him from the far end of the couch, legs pulled up to sit cross-legged, hand curled around a steaming mug of coffee. “Morning.”

Ao3

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

I Melt With You - Bakugou Katsuki

All Parts:

Part 4:

You’re paranoid. 

Terribly, terribly paranoid, and even if you’re aware of it, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing you can do to quell the anxiety that wells up every time another person enters your space. Every time their skin nearly brushes yours, even accidentally, just for a split second.

It’s maddening. Nearly debilitating the way you’re flinching away from people. You can see your co-workers notice too, fellow nurses suddenly giving you odd looks every time you reject a high five. Even when you’re wearing your gloves. It’s just a panic reaction at this point- a fixation on trying to keep your quirk as least exhaustive an experience as it can be. 

On one hand, you still really dislike Bakugou- nearly hate him for bringing it up to you- but, on the other hand, he did manage to figure it out. He somehow managed to figure out what you never could, and all in a matter of minutes from your relatively short interactions. It made you think that maybe he could be really smart- if he didn’t spend so much time killing his own brain-cells with every juvenile insult he spewed at you. 

You wondered if that was just him, or he really did hate you that much. Surely he couldn’t be that much of a monster to other people, right? Right? 

Wrong. 

You remember Kirishima, how he apologized for Bakugou nearly the second he walked through the door. It hits you then that you’re definitely not the first person he’d seemed to mercilessly terrorize- you’re not sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

Actually, on second thought, maybe it makes you feel worse. No, it definitely makes you feel worse. So much worse, in fact, that just the sight of his face nearly sends you into an irrational rage. Even now, weeks after the last time he’d personally ruined your day, you were still mad. Still angry. Still cursing every time you saw those red eyes on every billboard, newspaper, and billboard in town.

Well, lucky for you, you didn’t have to look at those printed eyes anymore. Not when the real ones were right in front of you- scaring you shitless as you leave the hospital. 

You had left the hospital from the back exit, tired and crabby from your late shift, grumbling as you stepped out into the alleyway. You’d hardly seen him, just the slightest glimpse of movement behind the tall dumpsters, before he’s practically in your face.

“Jesus!” You gasp, curling your arms around your stomach. Your legs feel like jelly. “Don’t do that! Scared me half to death!”

“Oh, chill the hell out, ya fuckin’ baby. You’re fine.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, falling into step next to you.

He looks worse for the wear, just like every other time you’ve seen him, exhaustion coloring his complexion something sickly. There’s an angry purple bruise covering his cheek, a few cuts, and even more bruising dotting his scarred knuckles. A tiny, vindictive part of you thinks it serves him right, but you keep it to yourself. You’re better than that.

You want to be nice to him, truly you do, but he’s made it pretty hard. Concerning you, Bakugou’s pretty much dug his grave at this point, and he only makes it worse with his next works.

“You need to do something for me.” He orders suddenly. “Now.”

“A-are you asking me? For help? Is that what this is?”

“What? No- obviously fucking not.” He sneers, nostrils flaring. “Why the hell would I go and do something like that. That’s stupid. Weak.”

“Oh. Okay. So then two seconds ago, when you were telling me that I ‘need’ to do something for you, what was that?” You squint your eyes at him, eyebrow twitching with annoyance. “That wasn’t you asking for help?”

“No. ‘s an order.”

“Oh. Yeah. Okay- an order. Because you’re totally in a position to make those.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.” You spin on your heels, nearly crashing into his chest since he followed so closely behind you. Still, you figure the promixity is all the better for gesturing, so you don’t miss a beat, waving your hands emphatically. “My shift just ended, alright? That means I’m not on the clock, and you’re not a patient. I don’t have to suck it up and help you unless I want to. Understand?”

Bakugou seems to bristle at your tone, eyes narrowing as his lip curls. You just try to shrug it off. If he wants to be mad in the middle of the alley, fine- but you’ve had a long day and you’re going home. You spin around again, walking briskly into the street, and it takes him a few moments to catch up.

“I told you, Bakugou, I’m not helping you just because you tried to order me to.”

“I know.”

“Then what’re you doing?”

“Walking.”

It’s his tone; that same needling, challenging edge to it that has your blood boiling. If anyone else said that, you’d probably believe it. But he’s not just walking and Bakugou’s smirk makes that very clear.

“No. You’re following me.”

“Same fuckin’ direction. Sue me, leech.”

The street lamps cast spots that yellow out his already pale skin, and the longer you walk the more withered he looks. Bakugou seems utterly burnt out, and when you look really close, all his features are slumped. It’s a stark contrast to Dynamite’s turbo-charged public persona, and it makes you wonder why he’d even let you see him like this at all. You figure whatever it is must be making him pretty desperate.

Suddenly that same, sinking, sympathetic feeling has you letting up a bit. You slow your pace, catching his gaze as you internally curse your own soft heart.

“Okay. Fine. What’s up. What can I help you with?”

Bakugou squints his eyes, almost like he doesn’t believe you. You think that’s a little fair- most times, even you can hardly believe all that you’re capable of forgiving.

“Sleep.” He finally says, bitten out tightly under his breath. 

“You want me to help you sleep?”

“Yes. Obviously.” 

“Not obvious.” 

“Would be if you weren’t such a shitty nurse.”

“If that’s supposed to be a dig- save it.” You roll your eyes, trying to tamper down the irritation. “I did notice. That you look tired. Just didn’t mention it out of kindness, so don’t think you can start bringing my skills into question.” 

You turn down another side street, and Bakugou follows. There’s less light so you miss the way his eyes scan the lurking shadows; intense and immediate, like a habit he can’t help himself from indulging in. 

“You really live around here?” He suddenly asks, voice low and gruff.

“Yep. In the apartment complexes just up there.” You point off into the distance. “Why-”

“And your shift always end this late?”

“Yes?”

“God,” He laughs something disbelieving under his breath, rolling his eyes at you. “I was fuckin’ right. You really are the stupidest goddamn person walking the planet.”

“That’s- Do you ever think about your words? Seriously!” You huff, curling your fists. You hope it’ll quell your sudden urge to hit him. “Just because you think it, doesn’t mean you should say it! And who the hell are you to judge anyway-”

“You’re fuckin’ asking to be attacked. That’s stupid. ”

“By who?”

“Weirdos, idiot.”

“You’re the weirdo! You’re the one following me home right now!”

“I’m not following you-”

“Really? You’re not? Because right now, the way you’re walking? Maybe all of two steps behind me? On a dark street? At night? Sort of seems like creepy following is exactly what you’re doing!”

“I told you, you need to do something for me. Not leaving till you do.” He grumbles, digging a bruised knuckle into his temples. “And keep it the fuck down. Your screaming sounds like a dying animal.”

“My-” You seethe for a moment, hardly able to stand his attitude. Then you take a breath because you prided yourself on being a kind person, and kind people do not kill national heroes- even when they’re being asses. “You know, it is almost unbelievable how bad you are at asking for help.”

“Told ya, already. ‘m not fuckin’ asking for help.” 

“Then why are you even here bothering me? Go bother someone else!”

“If fuckin’ anyone else could do anythin’, believe me, I’d go to them instead.”

“God, do you even understand how rude that is?” You ask him incredulously, hand grasping at the door to your apartment building. “No, seriously, are you even aware of what you sound like to other people?”

“Not my fuckin’ problem that other people are sensitive.” 

Your eyes bulge at that, mouth nearly dropping in disbelief. You couldn’t believe him. You just couldn’t believe that a single person could possibly go through life with that callous of a mentality. It was insanity. Pure insanity. 

“So, leech, you gonna put me to fuckin’ sleep or not?” 

Just kidding- that was insanity. That sentence alone was proof of just how ridiculous your life had gotten since he’d crash landed into it. 

Bakugou seems to realize his words simultaneously, his cheeks flushing red under the outdoor lights. You almost laugh, but then he’s glaring, eyes sternly set and murderous. For a moment, you really believe he was gonna blow you up right where you were standing. 

“Say a goddamn word. Do it. I fuckin’ dare you. Leech.” He sneers. “Try me.”

“At this hour? No, uh, no thanks.”

Bakugou does seem to relax at your joke, albeit begrudgingly. He drops his shoulders, rolling his eyes, and clears his throat. “Now, seriously, you gonna fuckin’ do it or not?”

A part of you wants to say no- to hold your gift over his head, to lord it just out of reach until he figures out how to not insult you with every breath. Then you think of your job, of all the civilians who come in swearing up and down that Dynamite was a hero. And you believe them, truly, but you think that Bakugou has a long way to go. An especially long way.

But, even so, your fingers are itching again in your gloves. There’s that urge coursing through your veins, your thoughts a constant loop of heal, help, save and so it’s decided. Quickly. Almost like it was never even a question in the first place- and, knowing yourself, you suppose it never really was.

“Fine. I will. On one condition.”

“Condition? When the fuck did I say it was a negotiation. It’s not.” 

“It is and I’ll tell you why.” You spin to face him completely, jumping back when you find him much closer than expected. Your retreat till your back hits the door, but you feel no less cramped than before. “You need me. You do. Don’t bother denying it because you wouldn’t be here otherwise. And the funny thing is, I would’ve done it! Would’ve done it entirely free of charge if you just asked nicely, and-”

“Will you get to the fuckin’ point already?”

“See! That! That’s why there’s a condition! Because you’re needlessly rude! All the time from what I’ve seen. And that’s got to change. Especially if you’re gonna ask for my help more than just this one time.” 

“God- how many fuckin’ times do I need to make this clear to you? Hah?” Bakugou growls, leaning in even more. You can see it in his wild eyes- he’s trying to scare you, crowding you against the door. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you- You don’t make the fuckin’ rules here.” 

“In this I do.” You swallow nervously, trying not to let your intimidation show. “So you’re gonna listen. My condition is this- if you want me to help you, then you have to learn to play nice. That means no names, no insults, no threats, no complaints, and no attitude. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.” 

Bakugou swears under his breath, eyes blazing as he holds his stare. Truthfully, it makes you nervous, but you’re not one to back down. At least, not when there’s no threat of job loss involved. So you just squint back at him, jutting your jaw out in defiance. There’s a tense few seconds of silence, his eyes searching, but then he backs off. Nostrils flaring like a bull, Bakugou relents. 

“Fuckin’ fine. Whatever. Jesus.” He swears, hand curling into a fist at his side. “If you’re gonna be such a bitc-”

“I said, no names, Bakugou.”

He just rolls his eyes, face so very pinched, and you briefly wonder if he’s going to explode. There’s anger as he suddenly shoves you away from the door, yanking it open and letting himself into the building. Then he’s stomping through the lobby, and you’re hardly able to catch up by the time Bakugou stops in front of the elevator. 

“What fuckin’ floor, leech?”

“Once again, I said no names. None. Especially not that one.” You tell him sternly, trying to keep your voice down. “And you didn’t agree. You’re not following me and I’m not helping you unless you agree.”

If possible, you think Bakugou’s expression grows even more irritated, his eyes widening as he sets his jaw. Another few seconds pass, and when he sees you won’t relent, Bakugou nods. It’s tight and strained, stunted like the acquiescence physically pains him. 

“God, you’re lucky I’m nice.” You tell him, nearly stabbing the elevator button as you press it. “Really lucky.”  

“And you’re lucky I don’t have enough energy to beat the shit out of you right now.” 

“No threats, Bakugou. You agreed.” You say easily, stepping into the elevator as it opens. 

“Had to. Because your fuckin’ terms are bullshit.” 

“Hey, no complaints. You agreed to that too.” 

You think you hear something strangled leave his mouth, but it’s swallowed up by the sound of the elevator ascending. 

Now that you’re standing in better lighting, you can see Bakugou’s face clearly. He looked bad before, but he looks worse now. There wasn’t just one bruise on his face, there was multiple- his jaw colored burgundy and his nose and lip split open. There was no blood, but there wasn’t a lot of scabbing either. It was new. These injuries were new.

You think back to that first visit- when he told you he never really got hurt. You wonder what’s been going so wrong for him lately. It seemed like all he’d done since you’d met him was get hurt. 

“Stop fuckin’ staring.”

“I-I’m not. Not like that.” You say. “I’m assessing. You’re gonna need a butterfly bandage, on your nose- skin moves too much. And a cold compress for your jaw. Maybe some disinfectant on your lip. Probably should get your knuckles wrapped too and-”

“Jesus, I fuckin’ get it.”

You roll your eyes, ready to retort, but then the elevator dings. You walk out into the hallway, Bakugou trailing behind you like a shadow. It’s not until you’re at your door, twisting your key into the lock, that you pause.

You’re about to enter your apartment, with Bakugou of all people. A guy you’re not even sure can tolerate you. And yet you’re doing it- because he needs help. Because he looks like walking death and you’ve got a first aid kit under your bathroom sink. Because he’s pretty much proved himself to be an irredeemable asshole, but yet you still can’t bring yourself to leave him out in the cold.

Because you’re an empath, and that, by default, makes you an idiot.

You turn the key. Bakugou, to his credit, looks a little uneasy, but then you’re waving him through the door, and pushing it shut behind him. 

“So, you wait here.” You gesture towards your couch, moving aside a few pillows to make him room to sit. “I’m gonna go get all that stuff I talked about.”

“So, what, you’re just like playing fuckin’ nice nurse again, now?”

“Bakugou. No attitude please- I am nice, okay? All the time. Or, at least when others are nice to me.” You say, levelling him with an unimpressed look. “And even if they’re not, I still don’t like seeing them hurt. Not if I can do something about it.”

“I don’t want your fuckin’ help.”

“No, but you need it. And since you’re too stubborn to ask for it, I’m just gonna have to force it on you.”

“Do you even fuckin’ hear yourself?” Bakugou prickles, voice rising. “Acting like a goddamn savior. Like you’re so fuckin’ good and holy. It’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You say flatly. Then you’re pivoting on your heels, leaving him behind and you grab the first aid kit. You open the bathroom door, calling over your shoulder. “And if you have such a problem with it, then leave. Nobody is keeping you here.”

You hear Bakugou swear again, so angry and seething that you almost believe he’ll take you up on your offer; but then you hear footsteps across the floor, the creaking of your couch.

You reach under your sink, pulling out the kit and a few extra rags for a compress. When you look in the mirror there’s exhaustion lacing your features, your eyes worn and dark with bags. The sight makes a part of you want to forget it all- makes you want to surrender to the ache in your bones and tell him to leave; but that’s just a small part. The larger part is telling you that you’re not spent until you’re unconscious, and that right now, Bakugou looks a whole lot worse than you feel. It’s telling you to hurry up and help him and you agree. 

When you walk back out, supplies in hand, Bakugou’s slumped on your couch. He’s got his head tilted over the back, one hand resting on his stomach and the other thrown over his eyes. He shifts at the sound of your approach, dropping his hand and as blinks blearily. You think his eyes look a little duller than before- less like raging wildfire and more like smothered embers. If you didn’t know any better it would look like begruding acceptance- but this was Bakugou, and you knew better.

“So,” You start, setting all of your things down on the couch next to him. “You wanna go to sleep now? Or wait until after I fix up pretty much the entirety of your face?” 

He looks at you unsurely, eyebrows creasing.

“Wait, actually- how are you planning to get home?” You continue, hands on your hips. “Where do you even live? Around here? Close? Because you were out in like, 10 minutes, maybe, the last time I touched you, so it’s gotta be close. You live close right? Because-”

“God, cool it with the fuckin’ word vomit. Shit’s annoying. Shut up.” He grumbles. “I’m sleeping here.”

“Who decided? You?”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Bakugou.” You balk, striding closer to the back of your couch. You lean over him, forcing him meet your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about! With the learning to play nice thing! I would’ve let you stay here, I would’ve, had you asked. You can’t just bulldoze your way into my house and refuse to leave!” 

“Yeah? ‘n just what the fuck are you gonna do about it if I do?” He scoffs, curling his lip as he snarls. “Nothing. Because you’re so fuckin’ nice, right?”

“Don’t say it like that. It’s not a bad trait and I won’t have you insulting it. I’m not embarrassed of who I am.” You try to work through your frustration, centering yourself with a deep breath. “Look, bottom line is, ask next time. Or I’m not helping you until you do.” 

“Fine. Whatever.”

You try to shrug off his petulant response, taking another calming breath as you shuck off your gloves. You replace them with latex ones from the kit, pulling the material over your fingers as you grab the antiseptic wipes. You decide to start around the cut on his nose. It’s the largest and widest, spanning over the entirety of his bridge and into his right cheek. It’s a nasty thing, deep and red, all exposed nerves beneath a thin scab and you can tell it hurts him. Bakugou fights to keep from wincing, eyes scrunching slightly as you wipe the remnants of dirt and oil from his skin. 

“This from another villan?” You ask calmly, finding an easy peace in performing familiar tasks. “One today?”

“Cuts are from today. Bruises were yesterday.”

Blinking down at him, you’re a little surprised by how easy his answer was. You expected him to fight, to be difficult just because he could, but Bakugou wasn’t doing that. He was lying relatively and still and sated under your fingertips, the only sign of any tension are his minutely pinched eyebrows. Briefly, you check your gloves- for a moment there you were sure you’d accidentally touched him.

“Oh. Okay.” You reply, taking a small butterfly bandage from your kit. You press it over the cut with gentle pressure. “How’s the other guy look?”

“Fuckin’ terrible. Beat ‘em to hell.”

“I’m sure you did.” You snort, moving on to clean the cut on his lip. “Hey, you wanna know something?”

Bakugou peeks a red eye open, studying your face above him. He nods.

“I actually end up treating a lot of your victims, you know.” 

“Criminals. Not victims.”

“Mhm. Sure. Well, either way, they’re always covered in burns. Mostly minor, but sometimes pretty nasty ones.” You try to keep your voice light, even and steady as you dab at his lip. “Honestly, at this point, I’m pretty sure you’re entirely responsible for the hospital’s chronic burn-cream shortage.”

Bakugou does seem to smile at that, exhaling through his nose as his eyes flutter briefly. “Wouldn’t be fuckin’ short if people just stopped tryin’ to pull stupid shit all the time. ‘s not my fault they’re so fuckin’ bad at running away.” 

“Bakugou.” You balk, unable to keep the laugh from bubbling out your lips. “You can’t say that!’ 

“Why the fuck not? Hah? It’s true.” 

“Because! You’re supposed to be playing nice, remember?”

“Yeah. To you.” He mumbles, voice rough and raspy. “Because you fuckin’ schemed your way into forcing me. They didn’t.” 

“Okay- First, I’m like, pretty sure schemed and forced are the same thing, so we definitely don’t need to say them both. It’s just overkill. Second, that’s a borderline insult, so I’m gonna need you to watch your mouth. And third,” You cradle his jaw in your fingers, turning it to the side. “How the hell did you manage to get a bruise behind your ear?”

“I don’t know- probably the same way you somehow managed to become a nurse; even with such shitty fuckin’ bedside manner. You suck, leech.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Bakugou!”

He cracks his eyes open, something small and pleased settling at the corner of his mouth. There’s almost as much venom in his voice as before but his eyes are softer now. They’re kinder, crinkling just slightly at the edges. 

He’s joking. You realize. He doesn’t actually mean it. Not this time.

“You dick.” You reprimand, flicking his hairline lightly. “You absolute dick.”

His eyes just seem to grow a little brighter at that, just for a second, and then he’s shutting them again. There’s still a smirk on his face though- one you’d swear you’d slap off if he wasn’t actually being somewhat pleasant right now. For once in his life, it seemed. 

“Alright,” You announce, rounding the couch quickly. “Your knuckles look just as bad so give ‘em.”

“No thanks.”

“It wasn’t really a suggestion.”

“I don’t need anymore of your pity help, leech.”

“It’s not pity. Not even a little bit.” You sigh. “Look, I know you’re not gonna understand this, but I seriously cannot chill the hell out without at least trying to take care of people. My quirk makes my fingers literally itch when I see injuries. They itch and they don’t stop itching until I do something about it. Helping people, healing people, is hard-wired into me- it’s as much something I do for me as it is something I do for others.” 

Bakugou’s eyes widen at that. He sits a little straighter, fists clenching as he presses them into the cushions. A few beats pass and then he’s grumbling, throwing himself back as he thrusts both of his injured knuckles forward.

“God, you’re so fucking irritating.” He gripes. “If you’re gonna be such a weirdo about it, then get the hell to it already.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, instead kneeling next to your coffee table and settling on the ground. You take his hands in yours, bending all his fingers to make sure nothing is broken. When nothing is, you look up at Bakugou, planning to tell him the good news, but he’s already looking at you. Your eyes meet, and he blinks, once, twice, before averting his eyes quickly. You think that maybe he blushes too, but he turns his head so sharply you’re almost convinced you imagined it.

You just try to shrug it off, focusing your attention back on his hands. You notice how warm they are again, nearly feverish and strangely unblemished. When you start rubbing bruise cream over knuckles, kneading the joints between your fingers, Bakugou sighs slumps back into the couch. He closes his eyes once more.

“Are you falling asleep?”

“No. Can’t. Fuckin’ told ya already.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me why.” You set his hands back on the couch, moving instead to unravel a bandage. “Not that I won’t help you, but have you tried any other remedies? Melatonin? Or lavender? Maybe chamomile? Any of those?”

“Mhm. Falling asleep isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?” 

 He opens his eyes, squinting at you from above. “None of your fuckin’ business.” 

“Bakugou, I’m trying to help here.”

“I don’t want-”

“Yeah. I know. You don’t want it. Or you don’t want to rely on it. I get it. But you wouldn’t have even came here if you didn’t absolutely need it, right?” You insist, grabbing his hands into yours again. “God, you know, I’ve had toddlers who were more cooperative than you. Why’re you so difficult?”

“I’m not fuckin’ difficult.”

“No. You’re difficult. Very difficult.” 

“And you’re fuckin’ annoying. Do me a favor and go back to being nice.” 

“Nope. Sorry. Pretty sure you didn’t like me then either.” You start wrapping the bandage around his knuckles, taking extra care to apply the right pressure. “And I was only nice to you because I was working, you know. I’m only actually nice to the people who deserve it.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes at that.

You finish wrapping the bandage, securing it into place with a bit of medical adhesive. All things considered, Bakugou looks better than before. Or at least, better than the death incarnate he’d been portraying himself as.

“All done.” You smile, turning away to start packing up your supplies.

“Finally. Took ya fuckin’ long enough.” 

“God, you are literally devoid of manners, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah. ‘s part of not bein’ an absolute bitch.”

You gawk, spinning around to face him. Bakugou’s relaxed into your couch, arms laid across the back leisurely as he smiles. There’s that same softness to his eyes from before, the crinkling just at the edges.

“Wow.” You scoff, smiling sarcastically. “You really think you’re so funny don’t you?” 

“I do.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’re fuckin’ brainless.”

“Brainless? Me? Swear to god, you only know, like, three words and all of them are probably swears!” 

Bakugou just shrugs, looking abnormally pleased. Content even. You figure that’s probably right for someone like him- only happy when everyone around him is devolving into chaos.

“Actually, you know what, I think I’m done yelling for the night.” You say, shucking your gloves off. You wiggle your fingers at him, a smirk plastered across your face. “I think it’s time you’re euthanized, don’t you?”

Bakugou just blinks, minutely shrinking away from you.

“Because you said you wanted me to put you to sleep, right? To put you down. Like a dog.” You continue, nearing him, coming close even as his lip curls up. Bakugou is glaring fully now, fists clenched, and you stop just a few inches out of his reach. “Or, you know, in ruder terms- not a dog, but a bitch.”

Bakugou snarls, lunging at you as you duck away. He’s fast but you’re faster, vaulting behind your couch to create some distance. There’s fire in his eyes, blazing and hot in his irises, but it isn’t scary. If you look close enough, you’re almost sure it’s just warmth. That same rare amusement from earlier.

“You leech. Swear to fuck I’ll make you regret that. Say your goddamn prayers!” 

“Touch me and you’ll fall asleep!” You tease. “Or I’ll use my quirk and see into your brain. So I guess it’s more of a ‘pick your poison’ for you, really.” 

“It’ll be the same for you.” Bakugou growls, hands grasping the back of the couch as he leans in towards you. “Open casket or closed, it’s still gonna be your fuckin’ funeral.” 

“Really?”

“Really. Leech.”

“No thanks.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘no thanks’,” Bakugou mimics your voice, his features twisting. “I’m killing you. You’re dead. You don’t get a choice.” 

“No, I really think I do.”

“And just what the fuck makes you so goddamn confident?”

“This. You not attacking me.” You smile easily, voice daring as you stare right back at him. “If you really wanted me dead, I’d be dead. Isn’t that right, Dynamite?” 

The name sends Bakugou recoiling, shrinking backwards and scoffing in outright shock. You watch him stumble, legs hitting your coffee table and nearly causing him to fold. He recovers quickly though, albeit with his cheeks flushing wildly. 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“Nah. Thanks for the offer though.” You smile brightly, before throwing your arms above your head and yawning widely. “As fun as that was, I’m pretty tired. You ready to fall asleep, yet?”

“Jesus fuck, yes. That’s the entire goddamn reason I’m even here. Idiot.”

“No name calling. You agreed.”

“I didn’t agree to shit.”

“You did.” You affirm. “Now, c’mon, like last time, hold your hand out.” 

With surprisingly little dramatics or resistance, Bakugou listens. He thrusts one of his bandaged hands forward as he sits on the couch again. When you touch his fingers, you feel that faint warmth again. Like fire and embers coursing through your bloodstream. It’s uncomfortable, a relentless sensation that has you cringing. You briefly wonder what it would be like to always live with it. Like Bakugou seems to. 

His eyes flutter shut just like last time, and you can see the way he staggers. It’s like the fight leaves him entirely, and then he’s falling boneless into the couch. You can hardly place a pillow onto the cushions before he’s driving his head into it.

“Jesus,” You mutter in disbelief. “How long has it been since you slept? You look dead.” 

“Weeks.” Bakugou mumbles.

“Since the last time?” 

“Mhm.”

If his words alone didn’t confirm the severity of his sleeplessness for you, his response time did. Bakugou answered quickly, without fight, like he’d been wanting to spill for the entire night. And, you suppose, maybe he did; or was trying to. In hindsight, you begin to realize a lot of his screaming could just as easily have read as cries for help- not that you’d ever tell him that. You’d probably have to prepare a will if you ever tried telling him that.

“You want a blanket?” You ask a little unsurely, not exactly confident in your approach to this entirely different Bakugou. “All you’re getting is the couch, but I could probably scrounge up a few blankets.”

Bakugou doesn’t respond. All you hear in response are tiny little snores and slow breathing. 

You find it reminds you of the last time- the way you’re reaching into a cupboard and grabbing out a blanket for him. Except this time, it’s a little bit different. Somehow you’re settling the blanket over him with a little bit of genuine kindness instead of begrudging sympathy.

After all, you can’t help but feel a little bit of pity- no one would ever fall asleep that fast unless they really needed it. Especially not in a stranger’s house. 

--/--

enjoy my lovelies :))

taglist:  @fluffyviciousbunny @definitelynottrin @imsuperawkward @i-need-air @ahbeautifulexistence @brennabooz @jazzylove @flattykawadoorusmilkbread @katsuki-bakubabe @sorrythatspussynal @bakugouswh0r3 @cloudsgathering @un-limit-edd @thekatsukisimp @pollayra21 @the2ndl @officialtrashbusiness @waffleareniceandfluffy @monempathieetmoi @koiwoshinai

[fear-and-delight-l]

GENDERSWAPPED!LOSERS

HERE WE GO 

JILLIAN DENBROUGH 

-Jill is very avid about getting her sister, Georgia back. Well, at least the killer anyways. 

-Jill has never finished any of her writing, until she is an adult. 

-aRTiSt??

-Jill gives hugs hugs hugs!!!

-everyone wants her hugs. 

-ok, Jill is very sexually confused. Bradley Marsh is good looking...but so is McKenna Hanlon with her pink lipstick and her always good looking pigtails....then there is Sarah Uris, who is so cute with her blonde/brown curls and her little cheerleading outfit. 

-suffers from stuttering simp disorder 

-simp simp simp

-simp? Yes. 

-ok but I think she would like Plastic Hearts by Miley Cyrus lmao

-FLANNEL GODDESS!!! Has flannels in so many colors. 

-”R-R-Riley, stop m-making fun of m-my j-j-jorts.” 

-oh yeah. She is rocking the jean shorts. They either go to around her knees or near the middle of her thighs. 

-shoulder length brown hair. Screams bisexual. 

RILEY TOZIER

-just gonna put this out there, take it as you will, but her glasses make her look like a fish. Her eyes are HUGE 

-goddess or (what is a non-binary god? Godthem?) of dad jokes. But not the corny kind. The kind of dad jokes that include sleeping with him and “riding him like a horse.” 

-”so not fucking funny.” -Edith Kaspbrak, who’s dad isn’t even present in her life.  -yeah, bisexual.  -sexual for Edith Kaspbrak.  -And Sarah Uris

-And Bradley Marsh

-and Jill Denbrough 

-and Brenna Hanscom

-and Patrick Hockstetter (she regrets this. But when Patrick isn’t chasing her with Bowers and Criss and Huggins, she likes to notice that Patrick is definitely good looking)

-crazy wavy hair. Seriously, she wears it in a pixie cut, and it is CRAZY. But she help Bradley cut away his mullet. 

-the friendship dynamic between Riley Tozier and Bradley Marsh is UNSTOPPABLE!

-plays softball with Jill. She is pitcher, and damn is she good. (Jill plays third base, for reference)

-the girls on the softball team sort of like her, sort of not. She’s a loser, and they don’t like her because everyone thinks she’s queer.  -still a trash mouth 

-still a smartass 

-Rildeth? Edithley? Redith?

BRADLEY MARSH

-all right, here we go. 

-POWER BISEXUAL

-He came out to Riley, and Riley came out to him. 

-daddy issues  

-daddy issues

-daddy issues

-anyways, Bradley had a mullet that his dad made him wear, and when Riley helped him cut it....freedom!

-when he and the other losers are going to the quarry, he likes to help McKenna pick flowers so Sarah will have some to turn into flower crowns  

-is totally charmed by Jill  Denbrough. He is a simp for how charming she is. Bravery, art...

-Bradley also likes to draw. 

-Brenna may be totally smitten with him....

-Bradley is the same age as all the other losers, but the losers all see him as older. 

-hates his father, feels weak around him. 

-he and Riley often share cigarettes. (I love the friendship dynamic here.)

-Bradley has little freckles, and when he and Brenna get together as adults, Brenna likes to kiss all of them. 

-Bradley loves to hang with Sarah, and she is such a sweetie. She gets annoyed, but when she is around Bradley, she is calm. 

-Bradley likes to put his arm around Sarah, ALWAYS

-I’m in love

SARAH URIS 

-WE LOVE OUR JEWISH CHEERLEADER LESBIAN

-yes, Sarah Uris is cheer captain. The other cheerleaders are skeptical of her, but treat her ok nonetheless. 

-Sarah Uris is a softie who will tell you to fuck off. 

-bridwatcher. Sarah loves her birds. She likes to sit with Jill. Jill draws birds while Sarah quietly talk about the birds. 

-Brenna loves to play with her curls, braiding them and doing fun styles with them with the help from McKenna. 

-sundresses one day, shorts and a shirt the next. 

-her hair is so nice! Think...classic curls. Google for reference. 

-the cheerleaders don’t go to track meets or softball games. So, since Brenna and Edith are both in track and Jill and Riley are softball players, she goes in her own cheerleading outfit, and even snags one for McKenna, (who isn’t a cheerleader.) and they both cheer at track and softball. 

-must I remind you that Jill is a simp for BOTH OF THEM. AND BRADLEY?? HE CHEERS THEM ON TOO.

-one time Bradley actually got into a cheerleading skirt??!!

-anyways, back to Sarah.  -she loves to give everyone kisses before leaving. Here’s how she gives them:

Jill: cheek kiss, runs a hand through her hair.  Edith: takes Edith’s face in her hands and kisses her nose. Edith sometimes backs up a little when she feels a little panicky about germs, but always accepts Sarah’s kiss.  Bradley: forehead. She ruffles his hair, and sometimes, Bradley kisses her chin as she is kissing his forehead.  McKenna: near her lips. Like, the corner of her mouth. 🥺 Brenna: cheek kiss. She holds brenna’s chin while kissing her.  Riley: straight on the lips. Or the forehead if you song ship stozier. -ok, I am a huge fan of Sarah+Riley....but then there is Edith. Poly??? Possibly 

-anyways, Sarah loves to make flower crowns and put them in bradley’s hair. 

-she and Brenna are very close. If Sarah isn’t next to Bradley, or has Riley’s arm around her shoulders, she is with Brenna, either holding her hand or showing her stuff about plants or birds. She gives Brenna constant praise about the barrens 

-very grumpy a lot.

BRENNA HANSCOM

ok, Brenna is straight. I didn’t change that.  -Brenna thinks constructively, and is a visual learner. Constantly thinks about the future. 

-ok, she is so so so sweet. Likes to wear this cute pink skirt, but only around the losers. 

-POETRY

-She loves to read and wrote poetry. It’s so cute I just can’t aaaah-

-ok, so she’s on the track team. Edith convinces her in 10th grade. 

-HAIR CLIPS! she has them in her hair, and tons extra in her backpack. 

-Bradley loves it when Brenna plays with his hair and puts clips in it. 

-she and Bradley are very good friends. 

-she may be straight, but isn’t uncomfortable when Sarah holds her hand or Riley talks about her gay situation or when Jill tells her she’s pretty. She just isn’t gay but she loves and supports her gay friends. She even kissed McKenna in a game of spin the bottle

-poor baby has body insecurities...

-ugh, she hates Henry Bowers. But she loves ice cream! She likes vanilla because it’s sweet and plain. 

-when they have sleepovers, everyone always has a disc of New Kids on the Block to play for her (AAA!)

-Riley literally swore to protect her. Even though Riley’s sarcasm can be demeaning, she trusts her. 

-Brenna Hanscom, a sweetie that will fight for you.

McKenna Hanlon, the badass vegan who definitely has WAP. 

-ok, I didn’t change her race, she is still black. 

-McKenna is a sign of hope. Everyone feels so uplifted around her. 

-she has this signature pink lipstick she wears everyday the Greta Bowie makes fun of, but she still wears it. 

-she loves bubblegum. McKenna has it ALL THE TIME. 

-inspiration? Yes. She is a goddess. 

-ok, she is so nice, but that gun she has? Pennywise doesn’t stand a chance. McKenna is a fighter. 

-McKenna has these cute little pig tails that she wears with purple ribbons. Jill loves to listen to her talk. 

-definitely the least insane of all the losers, but girl knows how to have fun!

-not a huge smoker, but occasionally will share one with Bradley. 

-the friendship between McKenna and Bradley is impeccable. They are a badass duo. 

-I don’t know what her sexuality is. She definitely doesn’t. Although she and Jill got caught making out in a closet. They said it was no strings attached....suspicious.

-she is indeed vegan. She just has a special love for animals and can’t bring herself to eat them. She isn’t protesting everyone to go vegan, she just eats how she wants. She occasionally slips and goes for ice cream though😉

-at the rock war, after she recovered a little from Bowers, SHE BEAT HIS ASS!

-my queen, gosh I love her!

-she is so much fun to be around. One time, in the barrens, she installed a swing so she could sit in somethin because Riley and Edith and Sarah are always in the hammock together. (It’s bound to break). 

-need a therapist? She’s ya girl. 

EDITH!!

-ok, so this looks very soft girl, but Edith is fiery!  -her mom makes her worry a lot about disease and what not, but her anxiety about what her mom may do is worse. 

-seriously, she is scared of her mother. She doesn’t even know if her sickness are real. 

-anyways, don’t fuck with her. She will bite you. 

-no seriously, she will bite you. One time in a fight with Hockstetter, she bit him. She was worried she might have gotten something in her mouth, but Sarah calmed her down.  -she may bicker with Riley, but really, she loves her. Her and her stupid glasses, 

-anyways, she is a sweetie. She runs track, but as long as Riley is waiting on the sidelines with her inhaler at the end, she is alright. 

-someone give this girl a hug. 

-internalized homophobia towards herself. 

-she and Bradley are good, they just aren’t as close. Edith is closest with Jill. 

-Edith looks up to Jill, big time. 

-Edith hates her mom very very much. 

-she wears cute little tops with shorts or skirts. Occasionally she will wear overalls. 

-fuck greta Bowie campaign? Yeah, Edith started it.

-Fanny pack! She has an extra pair of glasses for Riley, Bobby pins for Sarah, an extra pen or pencil for Jill, a mini stick of Bradley’ favorite deodorant, hair clips for Brenna, and McKenna’s favorite bubblegum. 

-Riley calls her Eds. She hates it because it sounds like a boy name. She hates it even more when Riley calls her Eddie. 

-kisses tears away. Crying? She will kiss your cheeks and wipe those tears away. She did that when Brenna got cut by Bowers. 

-inhaler? Yes. It’s her little beacon of safety. 

-ice cream and comic books with Riley, bird watching and flower crowns with Sarah are her favorites! 

-doesn’t know her sexual preference, she’s just not straight. 

-butterflies always land on her when she’s outside. One landed on her nose once and Riley and Sarah started rock-paper-scissoring for who got her. (That was long forgotten since Riley is a sore loser.)

-my baby has long hair is very slight waves. It goes down to her breasts. 

-likes to wear Jill’s Flannels. 

-OK SHE IS SO CUTE IN A PAIR OF BAGGY JEANS AND A TANK TOP, WEARING SOMEONE’S JACKET OMG

-Edith is cold? Never. She always has someone’s something, whether it’s McKenna’s iconic leather jacket or Jill’s flannels

................................................................................................................................

Ok! Those are my headcanons. Feel free to repost, I don’t give a damn. If you want drawings or more headcanons of them, I am always open. I had this posted on my old account but that got taken down....I was previously coffeeandweasleys

@im-a-rocketman​, @nate-isnt-great​ @imreddieimreddieimreddie​ @ur-not-reddie​

[vanilla-vivillon]

Happy Wesper Week! We are doing a Wylan POV because I can’t write charm at all. This is a modern AU bachelor party. The grisha powers exist but everything else is made into there real life equivalent

TW very brief mentions of sex trafficking.

What am I doing here? Wylan thought to himself

When his boyfriend Jesper insisted on throwing there good friend Matthias a bachelor party Wylan thought maybe they would go to a nice bar or play some party games

Not get crazy drunk, Not set fire to the Dutch Garden, not get chased by cops, not perform a gas station heist and not catch one of his best friends making out with a gas station cashier

However it seemed the universe didn’t care for the thoughts of little ole Wylan Hendricks

“Let’s get this party started!” The Australian yelled

Wylan had to remindhimself he loved his boyfriend Jesper

“Can you not shout?” Matthias, the groom to be, begged

Wylan, Jesper, and there friends Kaz and Kuwei were throwing a bachelor party for Matthias

It took a lot to convince the Norwegian that this was indeed a great idea

Wylan had never been to a bachelor party before but he was excited for his boyfriend who adored them

“Do we really have to go to this bar Jesper?” Kaz groaned seeing the crazy bright neon sign

After years of knowing Kaz Brekker Wylan could tell that Kaz was cursing Inej for telling him to come

Nevertheless the boys all walk in and start ordering shots

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The boys chanted egging on Kaz and Matthias drinking contest

Well it was mostly Jesper and Kuwei chanting Wylan after having a couple drinks was staring at the twinkle in Jespers eyes

He really was beautiful Wylan thought to himself

Wylan attended the University of Amsterdam to mostly escape his father.

There he met his lifelong friends

Matthias a grumpy international exchange student who grew up in a very prominent and dangerous cult in Norway. He wants to be a Norwegian ambassador

Nina Zenik, a heartrender turned corpse witch who was actually a russian spy back in the day. Now she’s working to become an ambassador

Inej Ghafa, she started a non profit to help stop sex trafficking whitch takes her all over the World but she used to. be an acrobat and after that worked with Kaz as his spy

Kaz Brekker, someone who Wylan after years of knowing him isn’t quite sure if there truly friends, or the semi illegal activities he gets up to. Wylan thought his hacking days would be done after University but Kaz has built an online criminal empire

Kuwei Yul Bo a scientists apprentice from China. He was currently working on his masters degree along side Wylan.

And Jesper. How to describe Jesper Fahey. He was an exchange student from Australia. A fabricator with a gift with Guns. While Jesper loved his pistols he actually works for a nonprofit dedicated to gun safety and regulation

After a highly illegal heist on there trip to Norway during college they all bonded as a group

Especially Wylan and Jesper

Jesper with that twinkle

Jesper with that laugh

Jesper with the way he looked at him now

After many more drinks Kuwei had the idea of the century

“Yooooooo y’know what’s a good idea?” Kuwei said bringing his head up from where it was previously glued to the table

“More shhhhhhhhhots?” Jesper suggested clearly as drunk as Wylan

“A couple blocks away is The Dutch Garden, wanna see some prrrrrrrrrrretty flowers?”

Fun fact this is a real place in Amsterdam

Wylan turned towards Kaz expecting him to veto it then and there but to Wylans shock and horror Kaz said “Hell yeah”

“But, but, it’s super late it’s gonna be closed!” Matthias spluttered out

“We can sneak in from the back fence” Jesper said

When Jesper drank his Australian accent whitch had soften over the years of living in Amsterdam came through in all of its glory

When Wylan first met Jesper he thought he was completely out of his league

And that damn accent drove Wylan Insane

While Wylan was contemplating the wonder that was Jesper Llewelyn Fahey it seemed the group made a decision without him

And Wylan thought for the first time in this bachelor party

What am I doing here?

“C’mon Wylan just climb!” Kuwei whisper screamed at Wylan

The drunken lads had made it to the Garden and had found an area where there was a fence they could climb with relative ease

All of the others made it to the other side

Except Wylan

“Don’t you want to seeeeeee the flowwwwwwwers?” Kaz insisted

If Wylan needed any more proof he was the soberest man out of all of them Kaz saying the word ‘pretty’ that isn’t referencing Inej was a clear sign

“Baby pleeeeease” Jesper begged

Oh

Oh no

Not that face

Wylan thought of himself as a sensible person who doesn’t succumb to pressure easily

But when his boyfriend made that face

Where his cool grey eyes went big

And his face had a slight flush to it

Wylan

Broke

“Fine! But if we get arrested it’s on you guys!”

With the ease of a spider who’s leg got chopped off by a middle aged housewife who’s husband is cheating on her climbing up a wall Wylan somehow got across

It wasn’t pretty

And it wasn’t gonna make Kaz proud

But it was completed

Panting Wylan on the ground said “I think this is my biggest accomplishment”

“Not…. Putting away your father? Or growing past your Internalised homophobia? Or writing your first essay on your own?” Matthias suggested clearly bewildered

Hey so i know Wylan can’t actually read. But seeing as this is modern day and plenty of dyslexic people can read with help, I figured that Jan would refuse to take Wylan to a doctor or get him help with his dyslexia believing it was weak making Wylan unable to read. Buuuuut when he’s older it makes sense to me he does learn. I’m not trying to invalidate his experiences or “fix” him but for the sake of a modern AU I had to change some things.

“Nope. It’s climbing this fence” Wylan laughed as Jesper helped him up

“Everyday you remind why your my favorite human” Jesper said with a laugh

“Ewwwww it’s like you guys like to remind how I’m the only single one” Kuwei said with a throwing up motion

“Thanks Jesp- wait human?” Wylan asked confused

“Well my favorite thing is Milo of course” Jesper winked

“The- the goat in Russia?” Kaz inquired not quite wanting to believe what Jesper was saying

To Wylans knowledge Kaz, Inej and Jesper did some job in Russia before he ever met them

“Why of course” Jesper slung an arm around Wylan who was not quite sure how to feel about this goat

Kaz went to go look at some purple flowers and contemplate his life choices

“Oh my god guys…….” Matthias started “the flowers! They’re- they’re”

“Cmon Matty, share with the class” Kaz said apparently bored with the purple flowers

“They’re so preeeeeeeetty” Matthias eyes welled up with tears

“Oh Saints tell me he’s not crying” Kuwei Moaned

Jesper walked over to where Matthias was stroking a hydrangea

“They are soooooooo pretty” Jespers eyes also Welled up with tears

“Fuck this shit” Kuwei said taking out a lighter and cigarette

“Hey! Smoking is very bad for you Kuwei!” Wylan lectured

“Wylan. I’m an inferni. Smoking foesnt affect us” Kuwei rolled his golden brown eyes

“Yeah but we’re in a highly flammable garden! And the rest of us aren’t inferni!” Wylan said

It seemed during Kuwei and Wylans arguement Kaz had also joined the cult of flowers that Matthias and Jesper were fixated on

“Wylan stop smoke shaming me!” And the scientists went back and fourth

“KUWEI YOU PIECE OF-“ Wylan started then sniffed the air “is that, is that smoke?” Wylan asked

“Holy shit dudes there’s a fire!” Kaz yelled pointing at where the cigarette Kuwei droppped

It seemed that the cigarette lit fire to a big wall of flowers

“This is why I never wanted a bachelor party!” Matthias moaned

The boys could hear voices coming towards them

Then all of the men looked at each other

And all of them yelled “RUN!”

All of them starting sprinting to the fence

And Kaz with his limp scrambled up that fence the fastest

Guess his determination to not get caught was strong

Wylan started climbing as fast as he could whitch wasn’t very fast

“Cmon Merchling!” Jesper said at the top reaching out a hand to his boyfriend

Wylan took it and stared at the steel eyes that had first enraptured him years ago

“Hey Stop!” Looking back Wylan and Jesper saw three security guards running towards them and yelling at them to stop

Jesper yanked Wylan up and they both fell off the fence in a pile

Jesper took Wylans hand and they all started booking it to Wylan’s car

Wylan who had sobered up in the whole endeavor determined that he was probably sober enough to drive

Piling in they all shoved themselves in the car

Wylan turned on the gas and starte to get the car back on the road

“I can’t believe we ran from cops!” Matthias said in between panting

“That was awesome!” Jesper exclaimed from the passenger seat

Wylan laughed

He had never been a spontaneous person

It seemed this night was a lot more fun then he thought

Until he heard the sirens

From the backseat Kaz turned

And three police cars were zooming towards them

“I am not going down for arson!” Kuwei yelled

“Wylan stop driving like a grandma and go faster! There gaining on us!” Kaz screamed at Wylan

“I can’t there’s a stoplight!”

“Run it!” Jespers shrill voice screamed at him

And Wylan did what he swore to never do

He took a deep breath

And ran that light as fast as he could

They were flying

Wylan had never seen how fast he could make his car go

Turns out it was fast

Wylan used some of his dads money to buy a sports car just to rub it in Jans face

With the top off and blood rushing through Wylans head he had never felt more alive

His boy beside him

His friends behind him

“WOOOOOOOOO!” Kuwei yelled throwing his hands up

Jesper joined Kuwei as the car sped down the street

Matthias was looking a little green

“Matty you okay back there?” Wylan shouted back at the Norwegian

“No!” Matthias shouted over the roar of engine and Jesper and Kuweis yips and yells

Some point during this Kaz called Inej

“Inej I hate thissssss!” Wylan couldn’t hear what Inej said back but from the pieces Kaz gave it was obvious

“No im not drunk!……. Psh of course those aren’t sirens…… Inej we might’ve bended the law but I swear it wasn’t my fault!…….. alright bye. ….I love you to….”

After what seemed like an eternity Wylan finally lost the police

Laughing the Wylan pulled into a gas station for refill

Wylan stepped out of the car and began to refill his car and thought for the millionth time what am I doing here?

“Wylannnnnn” Kuwei moaned

“What Kuwei?” Wylan said already exasperated

“Wylan I’m hungryyyyyy”

“Then go grab some chips or something!”

“But I don’t want to pay for it!”

“Then I guess that sucks for you!”

“You got like a million dollars from stealing me from Norway! You owe me!”

Ghezen Wylan hated drunk people

“Let’s perform a heist on the gas station!” Matthias said apparently done feeling sick

“What? No! We aren’t stealing from the gas station!” Wylan lectured

“It might actually be fuuuuuuun Wy” Kaz begged

The rest of the party were already getting out of the car ignoring Wylans protests

“We will do a simple distract act, Kuwei will go in first and lead the cashier away, and then we go in and steal chips” Kaz explained

It seemed even drunk Kaz could scheme

“This is insane!” Wylan exclaimed

“You said that about rescuing Kuwei from the Norwegian government but that ended up great” Matthias replied

They were gonna do this with or without Wylan

With a sigh Wylan thought what am I doing here?

Kuwei had gone in and had given the single

Wylan had walked in after pretending to look at some sodas and after Kuwei went into the back room with the cashier Wylan sent a quick text to the rest of the guys to come In and get raiding

Like clockwork Matthias, Jesper, and Kaz went in and they started ransacking the place

Wylan was in charge of Sodas, Matthias was in charge of Chips, and Jesper was in charge of Candy

Kaz had the most important job of all

He had to hack into there computers and wipe the security cameras

If Kaz couldn’t do that then Kaz would have to actually hack into the computers from his phone

It almost suprised Wylan how quickly efficiently, and quietly, a bunch of drunk guys could ransack a gas station

Wylan did feel guilty for a moment

But then he remembered how the CEO of the company the gas station is owned by has had multiple sexual misconduct allegations and Wylan felt better

Wylan got all the soda he could carry and rushed back to the car dumping them in the backseat

Soon after Matthias followed then Jesper and a little while after Kaz

Wylan did a quick headcount “wait where’s Kuwei?”

Wylan checked his phone

No texts from him

Shit shit shit

“Someone has to go back in” Kaz said

“I’ll go after him” Wylan said with a sigh

He loved Kuwei like a brother

But like an annoying little brother constantly getting himself in messes

Wylan Walked in and saw the e cashier wasn’t back

Wylan walked through the store and then heard something towards the men’s bathroom

Walking closer to the door the noises were getting a bit louder

Wylan opened the door slamming it against the wall

There stood a wide eyed Chinese kid and from the green uniform Wylan guessed was the cashier

The cashier who was standing between Kuweis legs. Kuwei who was sitting in the edge of the bathroom sink

There’s arms were around each other

Wylan was confused

What was Kuwei doing?

Oh

Oh

“Get your ass in the car Kuwei!” Wylan yelled

Kuwei gave whispered sorries to the cashier while collecting his jacket he apparently threw off

Wylan dragged Kuwei by the arm outside the store

“Kuwei. When we say distract the cashier, that means distract, not make oht with him!” Wylan lectured

“Cmon Wylan you saw him, he was cute!”

“Your drunk Kuwei!”

“Aren’t we all a little drunk in life?”

“That makes absolutely no sense” Wylan said with a sigh “just go to the car”

Kuwei happily skips away

Wylan had just dropped off Matthias at his and Ninas apartment after dropping off Kaz and Kuwei

Leaving just Wylan, Jesper, and an unhealthy amount of snacks in the car

“Hey Wylan” Jesper said

“Yes Jes?”

“I love you”

“I love you to Jesper”

“No wylan” Jesper took Wylan’s face in his hands

“I really love you” Jesper Pushed a ginger lock away from Wylans face

Jesper then reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled purple flower and tucked it into Wylans hair “I really really really love you”

Wylan blinked. Jesper was so drunk.

Wylan gave Jesper a soft smile and placed a kiss on his mouth

“I love you to Jesper”

And suddenly Wylan knew exactly what he was doing there

Finnally finished this in the Nick of time! @neilperryisalive I hope you enjoy this! I was seriously worried I wouldn’t be able to finish it but I did! I’ve never written Wesper but I really enjoyed it. My ask box is open and I take any Grishaverse requests