#questionable leftovers gotta be sniffed

[judesficrecs]

hes so cute when he gets flustered please!! he IS the prettiest boy jn hawkins and im glad he knows that 😌

🍭 this one sounds so much like steve so steve harrington with listening to music together while they both take the day to clean around the house (maybe even getting a little distracted to dance instead)

yessss omg so cute and so very steve!! thank you for requesting anna my darling ily ily <33

steve harrington x reader, 1.3k, steve does a lil dancey dance :)

With both yours and Steve’s busy schedules during the week, it was safe to say the house got a little out of sorts most of the time. Laundry piled up, the fridge had to be picked through for food past its prime, dust bunnies needed to be swept out of corners, and so much more. That’s why Saturdays—while also used as lazy days—were designated for cleaning. 

You and Steve would roll out of bed whenever one of you deemed it the right time to untangle yourselves from each other (and if Steve had his way, it would be never) and slowly make your way out to the kitchen. Steve always liked to take charge of making breakfast for the two of you, sitting you down at the counter and telling you to just sit there and look pretty.

Occasionally he’d wander away from the pan on the stove for a kiss or two. Or three or four or—yeah.  

Steve had switched on the little radio in the living room today, cranking his favorite pop station full blast so you could both hear it as you tidied up around the place on your own. And to your pleasure, he’d also brought out his slightly too small gym shorts from high school due to the pile up of laundry, only yelping in surprise a little bit when you gave him an occasional pat on the butt as you passed each other in the hallway. 

You’d just gotten done with vacuuming the entire house, casting the heavy thing aside in favor of flopping on the couch, eager for even an ounce of a break before getting started on clearing off the kitchen table. Your eyes drifted shut, a sigh heaving out heavy through your nose as you settled a bit deeper into the cushions. 

Steve ambled in right at that moment, having just finished putting all the laundry in the dryer and feeling in need of a kiss from you, spotting you all relaxed and comfy. “Hey, hey, we don’t take breaks in this house, you slacker,” He chided jokingly, bracketing your head on the top of the sofa with his elbows. When you opened your eyes, he was nose to nose with you, looking at you upside down with the fondest of grins. “Hi. You’re pretty.” 

“I’m all gross and sweaty.” You whined, covering your face. Steve always made sure to tell you that you were pretty or compliment you in some other way, and even though you’d probably heard every variation of a cheesy compliment from him at some point in this relationship, they never failed to make you bashful. He made an indignant noise, batting your hands away from your face lightly. 

“Pretty.” He repeated firmly, sealing his statement with a quick peck to your lips. 

“You’re pretty.” You shot back, reveling in the way his cheeks instantly flushed pink. If you took a peek under the collar of his shirt, you’d most likely see the same rosy flush creeping up his neck. He shook his head, nose scrunching adorably. For someone who dished out compliments and praises like it was nobody’s business, he sure did fluster easily when you aimed one at him. 

You flipped around in your seat, kneeling on the couch as you took his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks gently. “I mean it, Stevie, you’re so handsome. Even upside down, even in those glasses—god, especially in those glasses. You’re the handsomest boy in Hawkins and I’ll shout it from the roof of town freaking hall if I have to.” 

“Okay, okay, stop it with the flattery, sweetheart, I got it,” He mumbled, nose nudging against your neck. His skin was hot under your fingertips, and you knew you’d successfully gotten your point across. 

“Say it.” 

“Say it?”

You nodded solemnly, giving his head a little shake. “I wanna hear you say it.” 

“I’m not gonna say it.” You pouted at him and he groaned. “Fine! I’m the handsomest boy in Hawkins.” 

“Can’t hear you, Stevie.” 

“I’m the handsomest boy in Hawkins!” 

“Damn right you are.” You smiled at him, pressing your lips against his briefly but firmly, feeling him melt into your kiss like ice cream on a hot summer day. You’d honestly spend every waking minute showering your boyfriend with compliments if it got him to relax this much. 

The first few notes of a familiar song poured from the radio that had been long since forgotten but suddenly remembered, Stevie Nicks’ I Just Called To Say I Love You filling the air and causing Steve to pull away from you. 

He wriggled out of your grip, leaving you to observe as he slid on socked feet to the middle of the room, nearly slipping on the clean floor and wiping out in the process but recovering quickly. He aimed a big grin at you. “Oh, baby—do you hear that? What’s that sound, you ask? I think…yeah, that’s definitely our song!” 

This song in particular was infinitely special to both of you for many reasons. But most importantly, it was the song that had been playing on the radio when Steve finally built up the courage to tell you he loved you for the first time in the front seat of his beemer, which at the time was a total coincidence, but such a fitting one that you both decided it would be your song for the rest of your lives together. 

“No New Year’s Day to celebrate, no chocolate covered candy hearts to give away,” Steve belted, using his fist as a pretend microphone. He pulled out all the stops singing the next few lines, waving his hand over his head like he was at a concert, swaying from side to side, even going so far as doing a little spin that ended in finger guns. You stifled your laughs behind your hand as you watched him put on a show for you, which only made him play it up even more, always happy to be the reason for that smile he loved so much. “Come on, sweetheart, join me!” 

“No, no, this is the Stevie show, I’m merely a spectator,” You giggled, shaking your head at his attempts to bring you to your feet. “Show me those Harrington moves, baby!” 

“I just called to say, I love you,” He crooned, holding an imaginary phone up to his ear. His other hand extended out to you, inviting you to come sway with him and you finally gave in, letting him pull you against his chest in one fell swoop. He pressed his forehead against yours, all traces of humor replaced with nothing but love as his honey eyes gazing deep into your own eyes for the next line. “And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.” 

You brought your hands up to cup his jaw, stroking your thumbs across his cheeks tenderly as your lips curved into a soft smile, one that Steve prided himself on being the sole cause and receiver of. It was hard to believe that you’d managed to be so lucky to find the one person you loved more than anything in the world—the one you wanted to spend the rest of your life with and grow old with—and it just so happened that it was your best friend. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” You murmured, punctuating each utterance with a kiss to one cheek, then the other, then finally his lips. Steve smiled against your mouth, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist at the amount of pure love he could feel radiating off you, as he was sure you could feel the same coming from him. 

“Kiss me like that again and I just might have to put on another show for you sometime.” He breathed, blinking owlishly at you. 

“Oh believe me, I will.” You nodded, planting your hands on his shoulders. “But first, we gotta clean out the fridge.” 

“And here I thought we were having a moment,” He sighed, shoulders slumping rather dramatically. “Guess expired deli meats are more important than poor old Stevie.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, looping your arm through his. “C’mon, drama queen. Poor old Stevie’s gotta sniff some questionable leftovers.” 

“Consider the moment now ruined.”

[disintegratedfingers]

Quirk: Unkown

Warnings for this chapter: Some family tension. Nothing serious.

(Proofread ✅)

Chapter 2: Uses

"Dad?" Opening the front door, you call for your father, itching with anticipation.

"Hey!" He announced, hip pressed against the counter. "How'd the exam go?" The rich smell of noodles floated throughout the room, sourced from a large pot on the stove.

"Eh well-"

"Oh, don't worry about it now," he waves a hand. "Save it for Mom, too! I'm making dinner to bring over in a bit. Get ready, okay?"

You nod, a weak sigh filtering through your nose.

You didn't necessarily want to tell your parents how the exam went... you barely got any points compared to the other students. Weak control of your quirk and lack of speed were quite capable reasons.

Not only were you dissapointed, but Dad was about to be... not to mention Mom's perspective. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you willed yourself to change into less beat-up clothing.

_______

Check-in was quick- the man at the front desk had memorized your names by now. With a subtle bow, your father led you to the elevator. He held a pot of yakisoba while you carried a bag with paper bowls and chopsticks inside.

"We had this last time we came..." You mentioned, slight frustration in your tone.

"Your mother liked it," Dad shrugged. "The lady gets what she wants."

"Oh?" You smirk. "Can I go pick up some takoyaki then?"

"Not you, hun," he nudged your shoulder as the elevator doors parted. "You're not sick and in the hospital."

No... no, you weren't.

Your mother was.

You wish you were in her place. It hurt to see - and feel - your mom in pain. She couldn't be at home because it could spread to you, and her health had been wavering from good to better to bad to worse in such little time. Not to mention that her quirk made it worse to bear.

You sniffed.

"Hey there," a voice sounded from down the hallway. You saw Dr. Cooper, your mother's main caretaker. "She's chatty today."

"Oh good," Dad bowed with a smile. "And I heard that her appetite's grown, too?" Dr. Cooper nodded, gazing warmly at your father. You felt the tension melting into something new.

'Things might be getting better... hope is here, hope is here.'

_______

"Y/n!" She called, eyes sparkling. "And- oh jeez what's it this time?" She pointed at the meeal being carried in effortlessly with your father's strength quirk. "I've been more hungry but that feels like a lot."

"I need leftovers for work," your dad replied, side hugging Mom. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. Gearing up to break out of here soon,"

"Yes!" You grinned playfully. "I'm so in."

"Even if you got the window open, there's a 500 foot drop," Dad pointed out, dishing up some dinner while you got settled in a chair beside the bed. "Anyways, y/n's got something to tell us."

You're eyes snapped open wide, face warming uncomfortably. Mom peered at you oddly, curiosity and fear seeping off her. You twirled chopsticks in the noodles, nervous, while Dad radiated with questions and warmth.

"Well," you thought back to the exam, piecing the words together carefully. "At first I was alright... I took down some opponents with help, but I didn't get enough points..." your hands hung in your lap helplessly.

Dad patted your knee reassuringly. "You don't know that," he offered. "Let's wait for the letter."

"That's what I wanted to hear," Mom's tone darkened. Dad nearly choked on his meal. You huff in frustration.

"Why you gotta be-"

"I don't wanna discuss this agajn," Mom set her bowl down in her lap, glaring at you. "It's risky even just trying to apply for U.A. I'm still not allowing it."

"Honey-" Dad winced before getting cut off again.

"Alright, fine," you stood up, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm pretty sure I failed. Happy?" The tension grew and thickened as your voice grew steadily icier. Letting out a shaky breath, you looked up at your mother.

She stared back with a firm guard up, even when her emotions shook with indecision. You clenched your fists. 'What else can I say?'

'Bad... don't mess it up... she's weak,'

Dad glanced at the two of you nervously, eventually deciding to defuse the situation.

"Why don't we finish this up quickly?" He suggested. "Y/n, eat the rest of yer noodles." With one last dark look at Mom, you stuffed the remnants of the meal into your mouth and stood up.

"I'm gonna walk home," you decided, earning a hesitant look from Dad. You turned, ignoring Mom's small wave and walked down the hall.

As soon as the door closed, a flood of regretful emotions hit you. They weren't yours.

You knew you're mother wasn't fond of the "hero" idea. To her, it was like sending a son off to war; she'd watch her child get beat to death, most likely before they even reached the battlefield.

But to you... it was like a dream-an opportunity.

Getting recognized for such grand acts and doing important work with others. In addition, you wanted to invest your quirk in something; it was difficult to understand and control, but maybe U.A. could help with that. Maybe you could make it useful. Maybe, you wouldn't just be sitting around or working at a gas station.

Things were tense now.

_______

The air cooled as the sun went into hiding, faint street lights guiding you home. Rock hard frustration had begun to wear off of you and the day was forgotten for a few moments.

Thanks to approaching darkness, the amount of people out had lessened. It was just you, the cicadas... and you're thoughts.

'I've never had to use my body before,' you thought back to the entrance exam; you crushed a weak bot with just your mind, but out of instinct, you exerted more force from your hand.

Your eyes widened in realization, a silent pride flowing through you. Even if you didn't make it to U.A., you were one step closer to understanding this quirk.

_______

Ooffff that took a while... Tumblr deleted my writing a lot due to some glitches- sorry!!

Things will begin to escalate very soon >:°

(Please let me know if links are being wierd 🙏)

<Previous. Next>

[melonba11s]

A Romantic Storm (Reupload)

MC and Ren settle down for the evening

Minors and Ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked

Contains: Gender Neutral MC, Ren.

You had watched the dark clouds gather over the upscale neighborhood all afternoon, so it didn’t come as a surprise to you when the first drops of rain began to fall. Then the wind picked up steadily, turning the drizzle of rain into pelting bullets that struck the window so hard, you almost feared the glass would shatter. 

You tried to focus on your task at hand, while you waited for Ren to come home. Dinner. He kept so many ingredients in the house that you were always overwhelmed when it came to making a decision. But he had asked you to make something before he left today. Well, asked. He more so told you too, but he framed it as a question. You had almost no choice but to agree, unless you wanted to be punished. 

But Ren was agreeable, to a point, and you had found yourself beginning to enjoy life with him. He called it love. You called it love. You knew he believed it was love, you weren’t so sure yourself. But you just continued on with it, as if this were perfectly normal. 

You finally landed on a decision after your 5th look through the cupboards, fridge and freezer. A bag of Mushroom and Artichoke ravioli from the fridge, a container of frozen scallops, and a few other fixings for a light yet simple olive oil based dressing. And you could also include some of the leftover eggplant that was beginning to go bad, from when Ren made Eggplant Parmesan the other night. 

As the weather outside grew worse, you busied yourself with your task at hand. Slicing the eggplant thin, before laying them to saute in your oil with garlic, a mix of white, red and black pepper, and oregano. You plucked a few basil leaves off of one of the plants you had asked Ren for and added those as well, before adding your scallops to sear. Through this, you let the ravioli boil and cook, until it began to puff up and float to the surface. 

You rushed to put it all together when you heard the garage door open, and a car pull in. He was back. As your tipped his serving into his dish, the door opened. 

“I’m back.” He said. He sounded… neutral. You hoped that was a good thing. He did your best to smile and tilt your head as he came in through the doorway, his eyes closed and his nose tilted to the ceiling as he sniffed. And then a smile lit up his face. You instinctively relaxed. You did well. 

“It smells great!” he walked forward, and planted a kiss on your cheek, before looking down at the plate. His tail was swishing from side to side, and you watched his ear flick a bit. You knew the body language well, he had gotten an idea. He looked from the storm outside, to the food, then clapped his hands together. 

“Wait here, okay? I gotta set some stuff up!” Before you could even speak, he was gone, hurrying away. You stood in the kitchen, listening as he scurried through the house. A few doors were thrown open, you heard the distinct clink of things being set on the coffee table. He came back into the kitchen and grabbed the plates, motioning for you to stay still. 

It didn’t seem like what he had planned involved anything painful for you, so you waited patiently for him to finish, as the lights flicked off. 

“Turn off the lights in the kitchen, and come out” he finally called after a few moments. Plunging yourself in darkness, you were now hyper aware of the storm outside. The wind howled like a lone beast, and a distinct crack of thunder made you jump. You made your way to the living room off of memory, mostly blind in the darkness until it gave way to a soft golden glow. 

The first thing you noticed were the candles. Candles everywhere. Several different kinds of  candles, clearly ones Ren had collected over the years. Their cloyingly sweet scent tickled your senses, a mixture of roses, cinnamon and pears. The couch had been piled up with blankets, with Ren already sitting there, staring into you as he eagerly awaited your reaction. Besides the glow from the candles, there was the contrasting glow from the TV, with the title menu of one of his anime DVD’s on screen. The dinner you had made was placed carefully on the coffee table as well. 

“W-Wow…” was all you could say, impressed that he had thrown this all together so fast. Ren got up and grabbed your arm, pulling you towards the couch. 

“You know… on my way back, the storm made me a little sad…” he admitted. “It’s hard to describe why, but it just felt like an omen that tonight's gonna be bad… But then I came home, and saw you…” his face was flushing now, as he sat you down on the couch, before joining you. 

“And I just realized how lucky I am to have you… And I can make this storm the perfect date. Just us, a nice movie, good food. We can turn anything bad like this into something good, I bet.” You closed your eyes as he nuzzled your cheek, before returning his hug carefully, ensuring he would accept it. 

So you both stayed like that, snuggled close together under the blankets and eating the dinner you made, as the sky outside turned into a murky greenish black. You could hear branches cracking outside, and occasionally the living room would be momentarily lit up in the brilliant white light of a lightning strike. But you were safe in here, sighing as Ren cuddled up, chest  to chest with you, planting occasional kisses on your cheek and forehead. 

“I love you…” He whispered, eventually. Perhaps it was because he could tell you were nodding off, the candles and TV beginning to blur. You felt his finger trace the heart carved into your thigh. 

“I love you too…” You mumbled back, pressing your cheek against him for a moment, before letting your eyelids close.

[rokhal]

ANGR fic: Olfactory

Gonna brute-force 15minutefics back into existence with Oxford English Dictionary's Word Of The Day. (research does not count against the 15 minutes. It was critical for me to know the merits and characteristics of mens' colognes from the 70's and 80's). (This was not in any way shape or form a 15 minute fic. Bad rokhal.)

Word: OLFACTORY

Canelo's on the day after Christmas was always chaotic; customers would cancel appointments at a minute's notice. Walk-ins would wail for assistance getting their cars road-ready so they could return home. Lucky mechanics would look for any excuse to break out the new tools their significant others had gifted them. Mysterious plates of cookies appeared in the break room. Robbie had to break the news to a hollow-eyed woman that three of her Celica's brake rotors had worn through, making her car unsafe at any speed.

Robbie scrubbed his fingernails with Gojo before returning to the locker room to strip off his greasy coveralls and go home. Alejo was already clean and tidy, hair combed, spritzing his throat with a tiny green bottle whose scent rocked Robbie back fifteen years into a half-forgotten version of himself, clinging to Papa's waist as he changed out of his heavy work jacket as Papa's hand cupped the back of his head and the world went dark and quiet and warm for a few moments, until Papa asked Mama what she'd cooked and Mama asked Papa how the new lineman was working out on his crew.

"Hey, kid," Alejo said. "You gonna move?"

Robbie realized he was blocking the door. He sat down on the bench by his locker. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the bottle.

"Present from mi vida." Alejo held out the bottle so Robbie could see the label: Brut spray cologne. Robbie fished out his phone and snapped a photo just like any other unique part he'd want to reference later. "You like it?" He had a little grin under his beard.

"Smells like my dad," Robbie explained.

Alejo's smile grew a little softer, a little warmer. He patted Robbie on the shoulder, and Robbie, for once, didn't flinch away. "Then I'm glad you found something to remember him by."

Robbie nodded hard. He sat on the bench, taking up space as the other guys cleaned up and left, until his head cleared enough to roll up his coveralls and shrug on his jacket.

The name of the cologne niggled at him for two weeks. Robbie had aftershave, he already liked his scent, he didn't need more, and it wasn't like wearing Dad's scent would magically make him...capable. Strong. Confident. Everything he'd imagined Dad to be when he'd been around. But maybe he could remember. Maybe he could pretend Dad had given him the bottle; that was normal, right? Dads gave their sons their leftover aftershave and stuff when they started shaving? But that was stupid, and slightly pathetic. Anyway, it was probably a hundred bucks a bottle.

Check, Eli snapped, exasperated.

Robbie looked it up on Amazon. It was less than twenty, with shipping.

_

When he got the notice from Amazon, his whole body buzzed with anticipation until he got time free to pick it up from the hub. He handled the little bubble-wrapped package delicately and stuffed it protectively into his jacket pocket. After picking Gabe up from the Valenzuelas, and dinner and homework, just before bed, he sat at the table opposite Gabe and opened it up. Gabe watched him, curious about this as he usually was about Robbie's passions. But even though Gabe wouldn't remember, this was for them both. "This is what Dad smelled like," he announced, and passed Gabe the bottle.

Gabe sprayed his hand and sniffed it, wrinkled his nose. The whole kitchen filled with its sharp spices. "It's really strong."

"It's gotta last all day," Robbie explained.

"It's like Christmas and. Um. Shoe store."

Robbie supposed it did have a bit of a rubbery note to it. "It just reminds me of Dad."

"You like it?"

That was an unexpectedly complex question. The puff of scent Gabe had released had Robbie half-expecting Dad's ghost to wander in from the hallway, yearning for the solid embrace he'd never feel again. "I'm glad I found it."

_

He'd worn the cologne every day for a month, having finally acclimated himself to its scent and suppressed the childlike longings it stirred, when Eli let slip, Feel like myself, fucking finally.

Robbie froze, staring himself down in the mirror. What.

What?

What'd you mean, you feel like yourself?

I had a good rest, Eli lied. What's it to you?

Robbie bared his teeth. Try again. Eli was silent, but Robbie made himself even more silent, until the stillness in his mind was a vacuum demanding thoughts to fill it. Eli broke first, a flash of a little green bottle on an unfamiliar bathroom counter. Robbie dropped the real bottle. It clattered, but did not break, in the sink. This was yours?

Beto had good taste, Eli explained. Cheap, too.

Jesus. Robbie shuddered, the herbal spicy scent rising from his skin. He threw the bottle in the trash.

You petty little bastard.

[anxiouslyfred]

Grotty Duke

Summary: Remus gets sick and expects to have to isolate himself even now he’s mostly accepted. Virgil and Roman have something to say about that.

/\/\

Remus had never been so glad to be called a common cold as when Virgil did during his introduction episode. That meant Anxiety was less wary of him, perhaps not going to run from his presence constantly now, and they stood a chance at becoming friends. Especially with Janus spending more time around Thomas to try and get accepted, Remus definitely wanted that.

It wouldn't change his current week though, as Remus knew to avoid everyone when he got sick. Even around the Dark sides where his humour was more accepted the illnesses that sometimes came had everyone doing whatever they could to isolate him to his room. Why would anything be different now he was known about and sort of accepted?

“Your grace, we have been summoned to partake in breakfast. Come on!” Roman called through the door, banging on it and ignoring the groan Remus knew could be heard through the door. So he still had to have meals and be around the other sides for a while. That was fine. They'd probably just dismiss any illness as something he was doing to unsettle them without speaking.

Virgil was watching Remus by halfway through breakfast. “Not that the quiet isn't a great change but what's up with you, Duke?”

“No need to plot nefarious deeds when we will all listen to your input, obscene as it might be.” Roman pointed out, exaggerating his grandiose words in a way Remus would normally try to counter.

Instead he just shrugged and sniffed loudly, dragging his nose over his shoulder. “Probably spiders. I haven't heard of spider rain happening recently so it's gotta be due.”

At least that got the attention away from him as Patton squealed and backed away from the table at the mere thought of spiders. While everyone was giving reassurances that there were none present Remus slipped away,  his leftovers appropriately lewdly placed.

He wasn't expecting another knock at his door half an hour later, or for Virgil to invite himself in when no response was given, not even a dying groan. “Thought so. Princey, he is sick. Make us some tea.” The call had Remus trying to suffocate himself with his pillow at its volume.

“No, a cold makes it hard enough to breathe. Don't you go helping the germs along.” Virgil tugged the pillow and blankets away from Remus, peering through the dark room at his face. “Maybe you should forgo the make up more often. I've not seen a more gruesome face than yours right now.”

“Gotta fit my role. Gonna grow this in a lab and infect all the imagination with this plague.” Remus croaked out still trying to grip the blankets but his sluggish movements weren't enough to keep them. It was an unwelcome change to realise his quick moving limbs wouldn't convince anyone he had extras today.

Virgil just nodded, brushing his hair back. “You do that just as soon as you're talking a mile a minute again, okay?”

“Why rrrrr you heerrrrre?” Remus groaned, rolling enough to actually look at Anxiety just as the door to his room opened again.

“I come bringing tea, and some horrible concoction that Logan placed in my hands.” Roman announced though his voice was hushed.

Smirking Virgil was already pulling the bottle now labelled 'horrible concoction' from Roman's hands to pass into the grabby ones Remus had started doing. “Because nobody deserves to be alone when they're sick. Not even grotty trash animals.” He answered the question, waving to the cabinet beside the bed when Roman raised an eyebrow between the tray he was carrying and the mess of the room.

Remus drank everything in the bottle before blinking over to the pair in his room. “Did- get tricked - drinking medicine?”

“Yes.” The simultaneous reply to his broken question, before Roman carried on, “And now while we are helping you recover I am going to get this room halfway presentable. You can't mess it up again until we deem you healthy.”

Remus flopped onto his back with a loud groan but leant into Virgil's hand when it started to stroke his hair.

Perhaps he didn't have to be isolated while sick.

[honeymoonjin]

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, sub!jungkook, dom!reader, pegging, anal play, rimming, multiple orgasms, crying during sex, jk being a good good boy, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, bath sex, ageplay/DDlg, fingering, unprotected sex, pet names, spanking, creampie, aftercare in both cases

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and jk’s ass

DAY EIGHTEEN

All things considered; you were rather lucky to be sharing a room with Yoongi when you wake up that morning.

The second consciousness returns to you, it brings a feeling of nausea so abrupt that you’re careening off the bed and rushing to bed over the toilet without a second’s thought, body running on survival mode.

You’re not sure what wakes Yoongi - the sudden absence of pressure and heat against him, or the sound of you throwing up all the food and alcohol you’d consumed last night – but it takes mere moments before you feel him gently caressing your trembling body, lifting your tangled hair back off your face.

“Just let it out,” he coos softly as you bend over miserably, the sour taste on your tongue making your stomach turn again, “you’ll feel better after, I promise. That’s it.”

The moment you finally have nothing left to empty out, you collapse sideways onto the cool bathroom tile, hand curling over your stomach. Yoongi gets up to flush the toilet and gets out a spare toothbrush from under his sink, pressing it into your hand already prepped with toothpaste. “I’m sorry,” you mumble lowly, nose running slightly as you sniffle. “I think I drank too much. That green apple soju fucking sucks, too.”

The doctor has the good graces to smile at your attempt of lightening the mood, but it’s strained, waiting for you to begin brushing the acrid leftovers from your mouth before speaking. “You’d better have a light breakfast, okay? Some toast and maybe a cup of herbal tea to settle your stomach. Can you stand? I’ll get you some fresh clothes from your room while you take a shower here.”

Your heart warms at his endearing bedside manner. “I’ll be fine, Yoongi.”

“It’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” Yoongi says with a mock sigh. “Come on; you can wash your hair, too. Feeling nice and clean will help.”

Sniffing one last time, you give him an agreeing nod and hunker up on your knees, before standing. God, but why do you still feel so nauseous? That fucking soju. Yoongi must see the discomfort on your face, because he gives your shoulder a squeeze. “Not to worry, I’m sure I have something here you can take which will make you feel better. You aren’t the first person to not handle their liquor in the villa.”

You give him a questioning frown, your throat feeling raw as you clear it lightly. “What do you mean? Everyone seemed okay yesterday.”

“Hoseok texted me,” Yoongi answers with a shrug. “I didn’t see it ‘til after you fell asleep, but apparently poor Tae was curled up with a hot water bottle last night feeling rather sorry for himself. I think he got a little trigger-happy on his Sprite and soju mixers.”

Your brows furrow in concern, your own condition forgotten. “Is he alright?” You mentally kick yourself for not being more attentive to him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel excluded now that he was voted out.

“He’s fine, I’m sure. Hoseokie and Jimin apparently actually spent the night in the bunk room with him, because both refused to leave. Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

“Holy shit,” you muse. “If you weren’t so busy filling me like a cream puff maybe we could’ve witnessed that.”

Yoongi’s mouth gapes at your jibe, and you let out a hiccupping giggle when he rushes you, jabbing at your sides. “You little shit! That’s how you repay me after yesterday?”

You chuckle, feeling significantly more cheerful than when you woke up. “I gotta keep you humble, Doctor Min.”

His shoulders jump with a fond huff. “You’re impossible,” he gives in with a begrudging smile. “Now go; shower! I’ll be back.”

By the time you’re downstairs, enjoying some lightly buttered toast and an aromatic peachy-tasting tea - laughing with Taehyung who has slunk downstairs like a viscous goop, slumped on the table sucking on a vitamin table - any concerns or worries about your brief vomiting spell have entirely left your mind.

--

Jungkook is antsy.

He cycles madly between intense eye-contact and complete avoidance of your existence, looking for all intents and purposes like a deer in headlights. You imagine it’s because he wants to do his prompt today, and you certainly could dispel the awkward tension by just asking him if he wants to go upstairs or texting him to dig a little, but where would the fun in that be? You much prefer cuddling with Taehyung and a chunky blanket, pretending to watch The Voice of Korea while you really watch Jungkook squirm instead.

Taehyung sighs wistfully as a contestant finishes with a belted high note, all four judges slamming down their buttons and giving the cameras big reactions once they turn and catch a glimpse of the singer. “I wish I could be on the show,” the masseuse says with another slow sigh.

You grin, poking him in the cheek with a single finger. “Is our puppy a good singer, huh? Do you reckon you’d win?”

“What?” Taehyung asks distractedly, his eyes locked to the screen. “No, I wanna sit in those big chairs and spin around. It’d be so fun.”

Your surprised laugh makes Jungkook jump in his seat, even as he sits on the opposite couch to the two of you and glares intensely at the pages of a comic book he’d stolen from someone, spending far too long on one page to actually be reading it.

Hoseok, who sits completely silently next to Jungkook - extremely strange for the normally bubbly man - is even more suspicious. Every few seconds, he shoves his phone under Jungkook’s nose, before pulling it away and typing furiously.

You had no doubt in your mind that he was giving the youngest contestant salacious tips, instructions, or both, judging by the way Jungkook’s cheeks get hotter with every message.

A lazy day after the drunken entertainment from the day before, the four of you had chosen to collapse onto the couch and stay there, flicking between channels as you idly enjoyed each other’s company. Namjoon had texted the groupchat and put a note on his door warning people that he was studying for an exam for a summer course he’d signed up for. This was the first you’d heard of said course, but his messages had contained several exclamation points, so you knew it was serious.

Jimin was also making the most of his privacy. The only glimpse you’d seen of him at all today was while you and Taehyung were cleaning your dishes. He’d rushed down in a fluffy white bathrobe, covering his face with his sleeve, bemoaning the drinking that had done serious damage to his clear skin. When he dropped his sleeve to bundle some ice into a paper towel, it looked fine to you, albeit pinker in the cheeks and forehead than his bare face had been before, but he swore the two of you to silence and determined he was going to lock himself into his room until he no longer looked like “an evil stepmother.”

Jin and Yoongi were nowhere to be found, though most of the house were almost certain they’d become something akin to fuckbuddies considering how often they disappeared together, and how rampant and shameless their sexual tension was whenever they cooked together for the rest of you.

It had taken a while for Taehyung to bounce back from his hangover, Hoseok fussing over him like a child as Tae clung to you for some tactile comfort. Spending a day by yourself hadn’t really been an option when you’d been cuddling with him for hours, but you were far happier spending some quality time with the masseuse.

It takes no more than three new contestants on the TV show to have their moment in front of the judges for Jungkook to break. Hoseok’s given up on the phone messages, instead whispering directly Jungkook’s ear as the boy clutches the open comic book in front of his lap  so hard his knuckles go white.

Laughing at the flustered camboy, Hoseok loses all tact and stops damping his voice, his natural level loud enough that you can make it out over the garishly aggressive appliance store advertisement on the TV. “Come on, Kookie, it’ll be great!” he insists, Jungkook cringing at the volume. “Switching things up will help your chances for fan favourite too, and surely you’ve done-”

Jungkook stands up abruptly, comic book still propped up in front of his crotch as his cheeks and neck go bright red. “If you like pegging so much, why don’t you do it, then?” he blurts with a cry, before the realisation of what he said aloud hits him. Choking on air, he just about trips back onto the couch in his haste to leave, stomping upstairs like a wronged teenager.

Everyone goes silent, a cheery female voice announcing that Subway’s quality is higher than ever being the only sound in the room. Mouth open, you blink over to Hoseok. “Should I… go check on him?”

“Uh- Yeah, maybe,” he admits, a slight pained look of guilt flickering across his face before he brightens up. “But it’s dangerous; you should take a strap with you.”

You pause halfway through standing up, Taehyung letting go of you and curling deeper into the pile of blankets. “Have you no shame, Hoseok? You humiliated the poor kid!”

Hoseok grins broadly. “He only reacted that much because he liked the idea,” he protests, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “And what about you, princess? Do you like the idea?”

You swallow, straightening up fully. “I haven’t really thought about it until now, I guess,” you offer up slowly. “I’m not- I’m not opposed.” But even as you say that, you begin to picture it. Jungkook on all fours in front of you, or perhaps spread out on his back, brows furrowed in pleasure, clingy and whiny. Though it was certainly new ground to you, most things were these days, and you’ve started craving fresh experiences, feeling more alive and excited about sex than you’ve ever really felt before.

A lightly huffed laugh leaves Hoseok’s lips. “I’d say you’re a little more than ambivalent, judging by that look on your face. Go upstairs now, princess; Jungkook’s ass needs you.”

You scoff, patting Taehyung’s cheek goodbye before leaving the way the maknae left earlier. Upstairs, Jungkook’s door is open the slightest sliver. A shy invitation.

You knock anyway, calling out his name. When his sullen voice invites you in, you slip inside and shut the door behind you. With his head hanging, shoulders slumped, poor Jungkook looks miserable. “Oh, Gukkie, baby, you’re okay,” you soothe, rushing to his side.

Folding his hands cutely over his crotch, he keeps his head down, but nuzzles against your stomach when you pull him into an embrace, running your hands through the long, heavy black locks of his hair. “‘M sorry,” he murmurs, lifting a single hand to ball his fist in the fabric of your shirt.

Your heart warms at the little action even as it aches for his sadness. “What are you sorry for? You don’t have to be sorry.”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you can just about hear the pout. “Embarrassed,” he explains shortly. “You probably think it’s gross.”

“Of course I don’t,” you deny in a soft yet firm voice, still stroking his hair. “Baby, if you want me to do it for you, I will.”

He looks up suddenly, chin propped up on your stomach. “Really?” he asks in hope, eyes glittering like entire galaxies.

You shrug. “I mean, I haven’t used a strap-on before, so it probably won’t be very good, but I wanna try if it’s something that would make you happy, you know?”

Jungkook’s mouth parts sweetly, before he lets out a dejected breath. “I don’t know,” he says with a sigh, letting his head drop off you again. “I still feel really embarrassed. Hobi-hyung was te-teasing me so much.”

You wince at the way his voice hitches and wobbles, like he’s on the verge of tears. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” you coo. “I think he was just trying to encourage you. But if he made you uncomfortable, I can go down there right now and-”

As you start to shift away, a hand shoots out and latches onto your wrist, snagging you in place. “No,” Jungkook interrupts quickly, before turning sullen again, lifting up his head so that you can just barely see his eyes, gleaming with unshed tears. “Can you just stay with me?”

Reaching forward to cup his cheek and bring his gaze up, you send him your warmest smile. “I’ll stay,” you promise, “want me to help cheer you up? I don’t like seeing my Gukkie so sad.”

His bottom lip quivers as he nods, fingers tightening around your wrist, tugging you back to his side. “Yes, please,” he asks politely, voice still so hesitant as his gaze drops like he’s too shy to meet yours, face pressing into your palm. “Want you to make me feel better.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes dart up, just for a second, and reveal a glimmer that isn’t tears so much as mischief. You realise quickly that perhaps Jungkook is pulling on your heartstrings intentionally, luring you in just like he did the day after the fight, when everyone in the house bent over backwards to give him what he wanted. But you aren’t mad; truth be told, every second that passes, you grow more excited about what’s to come. “Of course I will,” you reply warmly. “Can I give you a kiss, baby?”

One thing you aren’t prepared for as you carefully straddle his lap and press your lips against his is just how differently he kisses when he’s in this submissive frame of mind. You’d associated Jungkook with hunger, fierce passion and need. This Jungkook was needy, but in a very different way. Lips parted, he tilts his chin and lets you take over, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of your shirt, his long hair tickling against your cheeks.

And unlike the more dominant Jungkook that would kiss you until you couldn’t breathe, the camboy now seems impatient, hips shifting under you and whines leaving his throat as he breaks apart, lips swollen. “Will you fuck me, Y/n? I need you.”

Sucking in a breath, you’re nodding before you’ve even really processed his words. “How do I, uh, what should I-”

“The stuff’s in my nightstand drawer,” Jungkook offers up in explanation. The young man bites his lip, looking positively delectable. In a starch-white t-shirt that simultaneously swamps his figure but exposes his delicate collarbones with the v-neck, and his long locks tucked behind his ears, no imagination is required to see how easily he fits into this subby persona. Even as he’s physically much larger than you, and there’s no hiding his thick thighs and broad shoulders, his expression and posture alone convey plenty. “But, um… Could you- could you help prepare me first? I can if you’re uncomfortable, you know. No pressure.”

“I can,” you assure quickly, standing up when he wriggles meaningfully beneath you. “I mean, I want to. Is it, you know…?” You trail off, watching Jungkook scoot himself back so that his feet don’t quite touch the floor. He tilts his head in confusion. “Clean?” you hiss softly, cheeks flaming.

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide and mouth parted in a small o. “I- Yeah, it’s, uh, clean, I-”

“Sorry,” you grimace, “that totally ruined the mood, didn’t it? I’m new to this.”

“You don’t have to, honestly,” Jungkook says with a small voice, fiddling with the loose threads in the rips of his jeans. “I can do it.”

You’re really fucking this up, huh? “No, no, I want to, it’s fine!”

“I swear, I won’t be offended if it weirds you out-”

Without a pause to think, your lips are moving. “Pants off, Gukkie, I’m going to finger you,” you announce in a firm voice, chin jutting forward in your determination.

You hadn’t even intended to use it as power play, more so just insisting what you were okay with, but his reaction is undeniable. Jungkook visibly melts at your command, eyelids fluttering for a moment and shoulders going lax. Even his socked feet turn inwards, the complete posture of submission. The image of it sends heat through you, and you feel alive with it.

“Th-thank you,” Jungkook stutters, chest hitching. “How do you want me?”

Even though you don’t know the least about fingering or prepping, you’re quickly growing addicted to the way he responds to your authority, so you make a split second decision. “All fours, baby. And clothes off for me.”

Jungkook bites down a whine - how you wish he wouldn’t muffle himself - but obeys quickly, stripping all the way down to his socks, toeing them off hastily before getting on his knees. Clearly a position he’s used to, the camboy wastes no time in presenting himself, upper torso flat against the bed and back arched up to expose himself. With a cheek pressed against the mattress to look back at you, his hair slips over and covers his face.

Before he has the chance to huff, you reach forward and tuck it back behind his ear, tapping your finger once on his nose to make him scrunch it, a toothy grin on his face. “Y/n!” he protests with a hiccupy giggle.

“What?” you ask innocently. “I’m just trying to help out, baby. Can I ask you a favour?”

Jungkook’s grinning so widely that his eyes crinkle. “You’re the dom, Y/n, you don’t need to ask favours, you know?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right,” you muse. It’s so easy to forget that the control is yours, especially when you’re a bit out of your depth. Resolving yourself to be more authoritative, you clear your throat and school your expression. “Mouth open, Gukkie.”

Following your command so quickly that there’s an audible sound, Jungkook braces himself up a little with his forearms so that he can face you better with his jaw wide open and tongue lolled out on his bottom lip.

When you place your first two fingers of your dominant hand on that pretty pink tongue, you don’t even have to command him to suck before he’s wrapping his lips around them and hollowing his cheeks, blinking up at you for approval.

You try and use the past couple weeks of dirty talk from the guys to inspire you when talking to Jungkook, using your other hand to comb the hair back from his face again. “That’s it, baby,” you croon, “nice and wet; soak them for me. What a good boy.”

Keening under your praise, still bent over on his knees, Jungkook swirls his tongue and salivates over your digits diligently. It feels strange; the hot wet cavern, the muscle covering every inch of your skin. Your stomach flips in arousal when you begin to tug your fingers out and he pulls off them with a pop, drool on his chin and pupils blown wide.

“Alright, Gukkie, stay there,” you indicate, holding your spit-slicked fingers aloft as you get on the bed behind him. Cock dangling hard between his legs, he’s hunkered down, heels pressed against his upper thighs. You could easily reach him from here, but there’s something rising within you, an urge to play with him a little rougher.

He jumps and lets out a surprised cry when you rain down your other palm on his asscheek in a swift spank, head falling back to the mattress.

“Did I say you could lie down? Ass up, Gukkie,” you spit sharply, satisfaction curling around your ribs as he lifts his hips without delay, back arching beautifully to present himself once again. A roughly hand-shaped pink flush on his otherwise unblemished skin makes you bite your lip. “Colour?”

Jungkook pauses for a moment, fingers fisting the sheets. You fear the worst for a second, but it seems like it just took him a second to comprehend you, because just as soon as the worry rises, he lets out a cute gasp of realisation and spreads his knees further. “Green, so green.”

“Good boy,” you praise, relief clear in your voice. “A single hair out of position without my permission and there’ll be more where that came from.” Though you secretly admit spanking the responsive boy feels good in some odd way, you’d feel a lot better knowing when he’d intentionally stepped out of line, and so giving him a specific avenue assuages some of your potential guilt over the impact play. He seems to understand too, nodding his head sweetly and visibly flexing this thighs to keep steady.

This isn’t usually an angle you’re used to seeing on a guy, but as you gently circle the tight muscle of his rim, you marvel at how Jungkook still makes it look good. Entirely free of hair, ass, thighs and back thick and sculpted, it’s clear the visual is an important thing, especially in his line of work.

You can feel his body go slightly stiff when he holds his breath, but the slightest pressure makes him tremble, his eyes loosely shut as he focuses on pure sensation. Wary of the spit drying off your fingers too soon, you swiftly but smoothly slide your first finger all the way inside of him. There’s resistance up until the first knuckle as he clenches, but once you reach a certain point it’s like his body is letting you in. So tight that you can feel his walls flex, it’s an odd sensation to get used to, but you know from experience that the first intrusion feels odd to receive, too, and that only building up stimulation helps get past it.

For that reason, you don’t pause much before you begin fucking your one finger into him, using your other hand to grasp the flesh of his ass and part him. “Doing so well, baby,” you compliment when Jungkook lets out a guttural, drawn-out whine. Minutely, you feel his hips rock, seeking stimulation in the right place. You know he’s probably aching for his prostate to be touched, but you haven’t the slightest clue on where to find it.

Instead, your next best option is external. Once you draw your first finger out and start to stretch his rim on two, you reach around and under him, hand wrapping around his cock.

Startled, Jungkook goes iron-tight around your two fingers and cries out. You freeze, worried you’ve done something wrong, but he rocks himself back, burying your fingers deeper inside him.

Even in your uncertainty on how to proceed, you know one thing: he’s actively chosen to move out of place.

This time when you drop his length and come back up to spank him, he moans, face going lax and dopey. “Fu-fuck, please,” he breathes, “I’m sorry, I need more.”

“You need more?” you ask, soothing a palm over the reddened skin. “I didn’t realise you were in any position to be making demands, baby.”

Jungkook swallows heavily. “Please give me more, I can take it, please.”

“That’s more like it,” you state proudly, before cringing at how cheesy the words sound to your own ears. Although taking control is fun, you don’t feel as at ease with a filthy tongue like you were used to the others being. Jungkook however, unable to see your reaction, just makes a needy noise in his throat, hotly anticipating your next move.

As you start to move your fingers again, however, they don’t glide like they did before. Unlike a proper lubricant, his saliva has evaporated away, and the dry friction certainly can’t be pleasant.

He’d said the supplies were in his nightstand, but that’s well out of your arm span, so, thinking quickly and not wanting Jungkook to feel uncomfortable, you pull your fingers out gingerly, bend down and spit directly onto his winking hole, some of it disappearing inside as the rest runs down to his balls.

Since he insisted he could take it, you hook three fingers inside him, his hole stretching around you as he groans. There’s so much pressure on your fingers as you plunge inside, the friction aided by your saliva, and you can feel the way he tries to relax himself, clenching periodically.

As much as the spit helped, you become paranoid that it’ll dry out again as you stretch him on your fingers. Still too far from the lube, the thought occurs to you that you could keep him wetter if you just used your mouth.

The thought isn’t entirely unappealing to you. Sure, he doesn’t have the same nerves that make you feel so good when someone goes down on you, but you’re sure he’d enjoy it, and you’re reassured that he’d cleaned himself.

The second your tongue traces his rim, pressing between the tight ring and your knuckles, Jungkook gasps, before letting out a moan so high and keening that you practically salivate.

With your free hand inching around to grip his thigh and steady yourself, you press your chin between his ass cheeks and lap at him, fingers speeding up now that they’re better lubricated.

His hips won’t stay still, but you can’t blame him. From the constant trail of cries and whimpers, there’s no doubt Jungkook is extremely sensitive. Slowly, the thought of stretching him out for a purpose leaves your mind, and you begin to take your time with him, enjoying the feeling and sound of him falling apart from your touch.

You could get used to this; the meaty thighs trembling, the heaving breaths, the moans of your name on his tongue. At one point, your middle finger grazes a slightly protruding spot inside him, a different texture to the rest of his walls. The second it does, he jumps like he’s been electrocuted. Aha.

“Oh, fuck, feels s-so good, please do that again, fuck,” Jungkook babbles hopelessly. Your grip on his thigh quickly morphs from steadying yourself to holding him steady, as he jerks with every repeated stroke of your finger against his prostate.

Unable to respond verbally, you stiffen your tongue and push it deeper inside him as your fingers speed up, all corkscrewing directly towards that sensitive spot.

So noisy that he buries his own face in the blankets, rocking back desperately onto your face and fingers, Jungkook’s pleading and praises are garbled, one long stream of need until he finally lets out one loud, sharp cry and paints the mattress white.

Lifting yourself up to watch him cum, you speed up your fingers to ride him through it, devouring the sight of his red, untouched cock twitching and shooting ropes of cum as his whole body shudders with it.

There’s the undeniable warmth of pride in your chest at watching him cum so beautifully, at hearing and seeing the pleasure you’ve given him. You’d give anything to make him cum at your hands over and over, and in the back of your mind you marvel at how so many things the guys did to you when they dommed you make sense now.

Slowly, he comes back down from his high, chest heaving rhythmically as he catches his breath, going slack. You guide him to roll over onto his back, avoiding the puddle of quickly-cooling cum, and sit beside him brushing back the hair that clings to his sweaty face.

A dopey smile puffing up his cheeks, and eyes hazy, he blinks up at you. “That was so good,” he breathes.

Keeping your voice sweet, you raise a brow. “Do you think we’re done just because you came, Gukkie? I don’t think so.”

His smile falters, eyes regaining some of their clarity. “I- Oh, you didn’t- Do you want me to...?” he trails off, eyes falling down to between your legs, still fully clothed.

Though you’d love for him to make you cum - truth be told, your nerves feel like they’re working doubletime right now, and you know it wouldn’t take much - you shake your head, standing up off the bed. Jungkook whines and sits up slightly as you pull away, but freezes once you begin to undress in front of him.

Unbuttoning your shirt, you feel his eyes follow your movements hungrily. “I never even gave you permission to cum, baby,” you point out. “I also didn’t ask you not to, so I won’t punish you. But you did ask for me to fuck you and make you feel better.” The fabric of your shirt falling to the floor, you leave your bra on and slip off your pants instead. “So I don’t care how sensitive you are or how many times you cum, I’m going to fuck you until you feel so good you cry. Is that understood?”

Where such vulgarity came from you don’t know, but it triggers the right reaction, Jungkook going limp against the bed, grabby hands flexing at the sheets as he nods as quick as he can, one drifting dangerously close to his still half-hard cock. “Please, I wan’ it. Yes.”

“Wait patiently, then,” you command in a cutting tone, discarding your underwear without ceremony, “and no touching.”

He lets out a quiet huff, leg kicking out and hand slipping under his back to stop temptation. You would laugh at the bratty display - or perhaps even punish him for the attitude - but you’re too focused on stepping into the black harness of the strap-on you got from  Jungkook’s nightstand, working out how to tighten the straps and sit it right.

It takes you a moment to get right, but it’s surprisingly comfortable once you get it into place - which probably is the point. Though it’s odd feeling weight extending from your pelvis, the dildo is supported by a leather belt-like strap that runs around your waist. Right on the outer line of each hip, adjacent straps run down, under the curve of your ass and connect to the central one that sits between your legs like panties, albeit narrow and stiffer than fabric.

You’d seen ones with a second dildo facing inwards to go inside the wearer as they fucked someone else, but this didn’t have one, so instead your only stimulation was the slight heat when the leather would drag against your swollen clit. Happy to forgo your own pleasure for the sake of pleasuring Jungkook, you reach in the nightstand drawer again to pull out the lube.

Unlike Hoseok’s travel-sized bottle, the base of the drawer is littered with sample size packets of multiple brands. Mixed in with foil condom packets, you spy oil-based lubes, water-based ones, some scented, self-heating, even one that claims to be strawberry flavoured. Reaching for a basic water-based one, you rip it open and use it to slick up the dildo.

Jungkook watches you raptly, hips wiggling against the bed either in impatience or the effort it takes not to touch himself. Hyper-aware of the appendage that dangles in front of you, and how slippery your hands currently are, you imagine hunkering on the bed without using your hands probably isn’t a very sexy look, so instead you stand to the side of the mattress and instruct him to come to you.

He does so with obvious enthusiasm and anticipation. The earlier haze of his orgasm dissipating, his eyes are alert and his lips are stretched in an unconscious grin. Splayed out on his back, legs dangling on either side of your hips, Jungkook looks so content to hand over his dominance to you that your heart swells slightly at the sentiment of it.

Clearly Jungkook isn’t feeling as soft as you. On the contrary, his cock looks so hard it must be physically hurting him, the tip weeping precum onto his belly as he arches his back to entice you. “Please, Y/n,” he whines, hitching a foot up onto the edge of the mattress to bare himself more fully. “Gukkie needs it.”

Though it’s more your own hesitation rather than any desire to make him beg for it, you can’t deny that the sweet entreating voice is music to your ears and core, and pushing aside all worries you find yourself guiding his opposite leg up with a slippery hand, before lining your synthetic cock against Jungkook’s rim.

Immediately, before you even enter him, he keens, and although you can’t literally feel him rocking back towards it, you watch it catch on the muscle and begin to slip inside, and the resistance can be felt as a pressure against your pelvis where the base of the dildo is fastened.

“De-deeper,” Jungkook makes out with a gasp, his fingers reaching up to clutch at your wrist, and you push past the resistance to drive the dildo inside him, slowly but smoothly. His breath hitches, back lifting off the bed as his body tries to process the intrusion, and instinctively - a word you wouldn’t typically associate with domming - you grip onto his waist to hold him still.

Though your palms and fingers are still slick with lube, you manage to keep them steady on his skin by slightly digging your nails in. Jungkook’s mouth parts in a gulped moan, and you feel the pressure in front of your crotch suddenly increase as he stiffens.

“Green?” you check in quickly, so quick to fear the worst.

Jungkook is even quicker to dispel your worries. “Green, fuck, harder, please,” he babbles, shifting as much as he can under you to spread his legs wider in invitation.

You let out a breath of relief but pair it with a snapped thrust to mask it as exertion. Jungkook lets out a cry of pleasure that sounds more like a hiccup, his body rocking on the bed with the force of it.

It’s hard to tell how intense or rough your thrusts are when all you have is his response and the feeling of the leather base pressing against you to go off, so once you start to fuck him in earnest, you’re sure to pay close attention to him.

Not that you’d otherwise be apathetic by any means. Whether his beautiful reactions are a skill learnt from camming or he began camming because of his reactions, you don’t know, but you think watching him like this could never get old.

His hair’s splayed back on the pale grey duvet like a dark halo, red hot streaks highlighting just how long the strands have gotten. His eyes, when he manages to open them, glitter like constellations and plead like puppy eyes. Though he has the bone definition of a god, gravity works against the strong lines and puffs up his cheeks instead, making him look small and sweet.

With lips so pretty and swollen, he pouts and whines and pleads, teeth poking out to nibble at the pinked flesh when the dildo hits his prostate and he muffles a whine.

It takes a surprisingly little amount of time to find a rhythm. Though you’re certainly inexperienced in the art of fucking someone else, it’s really a very natural motion to make your hips rock up against him. Albeit tiring, you find yourself able to pick up the pace until he’s writhing under your hands, his own nails scratching at the meat of his thighs with the restraint it takes not to touch himself.

Taking mercy on the poor thing, you lift one knee up on the bed to give yourself sufficient momentum to drop one of your hands from pinning him down and wrap it instead around his cock, doing your best to time your strokes together.

Jungkook lets out a low keen and goes stiff, back in a violent arch. “Fu-uck,” he cries, and his face would almost look scrunched up in pain if you didn’t know better, the poor camboy overwhelmed by finally being touched there.

“Does that feel good, Gukkie? Am I fucking you good?”

He nods hastily, bottom lip trembling as your thrusts don’t let up for a second. “Suh-so good to Gukkie,” he confirms in a wobbly voice, “please fuck Gukkie harder!”

Quickly tiring, you don’t know if you even can, but you engage your core like it’s a workout and speed up your hips, the insistent rub of the leather over your pussy lips and clit actually beginning to tighten a coil of pleasure low in your belly.

“Yes,” Jungkook wails when he feels the dildo spearing him quicker and quicker. You use your thumb to press at his slit, dripping precum in obscene amounts as he sobs and bucks between your hand and your fake cock.

Once his thighs start to tremble violently and he can’t seem to take in a full breath, you know he’s close. Steeling yourself for the final lap, you ignore the rub of the leather and the pressure of the dildo base against your pelvis, and focus fully on Jungkook and bringing him to a second powerful orgasm.

“Are you close, baby? I wanna see you cum again,” you request, punctuating it with a squeeze of his cock to make him cry out.

Such a polite boy, he composes himself enough to answer. “Baby’s so close,” he whines. “Gukkie can cum?”

You smile fondly even with gritted teeth from exertion, glad his eyes are scrunched shut with pleasure so he can’t see you melt for him. “Gukkie can cum, baby.”

You make good on your promise for him to feel so good he cries when he reaches that high shortly after receiving permission. Tears spilling over his cheeks, his moan comes out strangled but stuttered and airy at the same time, almost like he’s giggling at the feeling that overcomes him. Barely anything comes out of his cock, already milked from the first orgasm, but his body is wracked with sensation and his lips are stretched in a dopey grin, struggling to catch his breath.

If you were a meaner - or fitter - dom perhaps you’d fuck him past the point of oversensitivity, but as it is, you quite happily come to a stop buried deep inside him, lazily stroking his cock as it softens until he hisses at the contact.

Using the duvet to wipe away the last of the lube and cum off your hands, you lean forward and cup this cheeks to brush the tears away and press a kiss to the button of his nose.

He shivers happily, lashes fluttering, and lets out a hum. “Thank you for taking care of Gukkie,” he whispers, before wincing slightly and correcting- “taking care of me. Sorry, I tend to do that when I’m-”

“You don’t have to explain,” you reply easily, kissing each of his cheeks in turn, tasting the salt of his tears as he giggles again at the tickling feeling. “Did you enjoy it, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathless chuckle, chest still heaving. “Fuck, like you wouldn’t believe,” he jibes, throwing a hand over his eyes and heated cheeks when you pull away. “But really; thank you.”

You slip the dildo out of him carefully, hearing him make a low noise in his throat as his hole flutters, empty. Rubbing his thigh comfortingly with one hand - if you knew one thing from being on the show, it was that you needed to shower Jungkook in aftercare now - you unfasten the strap-on carefully with your other. “You don’t have to thank me. I had fun too.”

The crook of his elbow lifts just slightly to expose the glint of his eyes, disbelieving. “You did?”

You beam warmly. “Definitely. You’re so fun to play with, Gukkie,” you praise, “plus, I feel like getting a new perspective has been really enlightening, you know?”

“Ah,” he muses, “entertaining and educational. I’m glad my ass served you well.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of your throat; the quip a clear sign that Jungkook is returning from that hazy, contented plane of subspace you’ve grown used to. “Better put that on your CV.”

Jungkook sits up, affronted. Two fat drops of cum run down his stomach, quickly drying out once they spread over his skin. “My ass has been listed on my CV as a skill for years, Y/n, I’m not an amateur.”

“Oh, a professional ass man,” you tease, sighing at the release of pressure once the strap-on harness falls off your hips and to the ground, leaving your lower half bare. “Is that why you got on the show, huh?”

The camboy pouts. “I got on for many reasons,” he insists, “I’m very qualified, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you return immediately, and pause. “Fuck. We were meant to be bantering but I’ve just been complimenting you, haven’t I?”

He nods like it was intentional. “Yet another one of my skills.”

“You’re impossible,” you sigh, but even when he convinces you to join him in the shower, the conversation between you flows without a hitch, and your fondness for the boy only grows.

--

In retrospect, you probably could’ve worked out Namjoon’s prompt based on how he treats you that dinner.

Subtlety isn’t his strong suit, but you’re so hungry from earlier that you barely notice the signs. It’s not uncommon for the guys to pile food on your plate, but Namjoon’s repeated insistence of feeding you directly perhaps should’ve been the first flag.

The way he fills your glass of water for you, ruffles your hair, continuously calls you little… Yeah, you blame Yoongi’s delicious fish cutlet and rice meal for not paying enough attention.

Luckily for you - or perhaps for him - an opening appears when you’re cleaning up the table with Taehyung and accidentally fumble a small dish of dipping sauce all over your hands and front.

Immediately, Namjoon as at your side, taking the ceramics out of your hand and tsking gently. “Oh, love, that’s no good,” he coos in a low timbre, “you’ve gotten yourself all dirty.”

You could just offer to go rinse your hands off in the sink and change shirts, but you’re wired up from fucking Jungkook without your own release - the camboy was so chipper at dinner that everyone had surely cottoned on - and so a better idea comes to mind. “It’s running down my sleeve,” you offer with a faux pout, “I’ll probably need a shower to get it all off. Care to join me?”

Namjoon’s brows lift as he surreptitiously ensures no one else is in earshot. With a hand on the small of your back, he leans in and presses his lips against your ear. “How about Daddy gives you a bath, baby girl?”

You suck in a breath, nerves alighting. Oh. You can work with this. Straightening up, you latch onto his shirt sleeve near the cuff and soften your eyes. “Only if you take one with me,” you bargain, “I’m only little, Daddy.”

He pulls back quickly, and were it not for the hot flares of lust in his eyes, it would almost seem like he’d been shocked. “Go to your bedroom then, love,” he instructs, “and no running on the stairs.”

Of course you aren’t really an impulsive child but, as it is, his command  is actually difficult to follow. The urge to clamber up them as fast as you can, knowing you’re finally going to get fucked good, is hard to suppress.

You manage, however, and soon enough Namjoon’s in the bathroom with you, filling the tub. As you wait, toes wiggling against the cool tile in excitement, he unbuttons his cuff and rolls up the sleeve.

“Okay, clothes off, kitten,” he instructs, hunkering over the edge of the tub to dip a hand in up to the forearm, checking the temperature and stirring up the water, “it’s just about ready.”

You obey, tossing your clothes in a growing pile in the corner. Though it’s no bubble bath, he has drizzled some body wash in to give it a comforting scent, floral and sleepy like ylang ylang. When he pulls his arm out, there’s a ring of suds, and spots of water have already gotten onto his shirt. “You’ve gotta hop in too, Daddy,” you point out, smirking when Namjoon visibly falters at the title.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he confirms, shucking off his shirt and pants, “get in first, kitten, it’s all ready.”

The water is divine, a blooming heat that seeps down to your bones, warming you to the core. You immediately see your skin start to pinken, but the water isn’t unbearably hot, and it’s a pleasant flush.

The heat below contrasts with the cool air on your upper back and shoulders, causing you to shiver, but before you can complain you feel the water level rise, Namjoon’s arms wrapping around you from behind.

As you let him lean you back against his chest, you feel his hardness, but neither of you feel the need to comment on it. This is a porn show, and you’re going to fuck soon, sure, but for now there’s nothing better than a hot bath.

“Give me your hand, let’s clean this sticky sauce up, huh?” It isn’t until Namjoon begins to soap up a loofah and delicately scrub away at the black trails of dipping sauce that have run down your arms that you realise just how fantastic this prompt is. If you played your cards right, Namjoon would take care of you and pamper you all evening, fuck you silly, and then presumably put you to bed like a good Daddy. Holding your hands out obediently, you’re quite content to oblige.

“Sit up, kitten,” the academic commands softly with a press to your shoulder. Once the skin of your arms is unmarred again, Namjoon dips the loofah in the chest-level water, pulls it out dripping suds and water, and laves it over your back, making you sigh at the warmth. “Feels nice, hm?”

Your lips stretch in a lazy smile as you recall asking that very question yourself just earlier today. As much as you had fun domming Jungkook, and wouldn’t be averse to switching things up - quite literally - again, there’s no denying that your soul really sings when you’re the one being taken care of, played with, and pleasured. “Really nice, Daddy.”

The loofah gets dipped again, this time sliding over your chest and stomach. Letting your eyes slip shut at the relaxing treatment, Namjoon’s low timbre washes over you just like the aromatic suds of body wash. “I’m glad,” he coos, “I like taking care of you. You’re too little to do it all yourself, aren’t you? Need Daddy’s help?”

“Too little,” you parrot sleepily, “need Daddy.” With every word, with every touch of his large hands on you, you truly begin to feel little. Curling your toes against the base of the tub, you make a low noise in your throat and lean back against his chest again, head lolling back over his shoulder. “Will you give me a kiss, Daddy?”

He smiles at your entreating plea and wide eyes, eyes like crescent moons as he dips his head and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “All better now?” he checks as he sits the sopping loofah on the side of the bath.

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I’m not all clean yet, Daddy.”

“You aren’t?” he asks with mock surprise, dimple deepening and brows lifting. “Well, that’s no good, is my kitten still dirty somewhere?”

With a single decisive nod, you grab his hand and lead it down until the tips of his fingers brush your folds. “Daddy didn’t clean here, ‘s still dirty.”

You let out a blissful sigh when he cups you, middle finger curling up to barely dip inside you. Namjoon grins. “In here?” Rather than wait for your answer, he smoothly pushes it deeper, massaging at your inner walls. “Alright, kitten, just close your eyes and let Daddy finish cleaning you up.”

A smile graces your lips as your eyes flutter shut again, head comfy in the crook of his neck and shoulder. You could get used to this.

He doesn’t tease you, but nor does he fingerfuck you with intensity or vigor. It’s methodical and diligent, like he really is cleaning you out. One finger quickly becomes two, and his other arm winds around your waist on the other side to roll your sensitive clit, making you moan softly.

Raring to go from unfulfilled pleasure that morning, your nerves go into overdrive, a building wave growing quickly in your belly. When Namjoon adds a third finger, crooking them inside you thoroughly to stroke your g-spot, it takes less than a minute for you to fall apart, thighs clenching tight around his hands.

He works you through it, only stopping when you whimper from oversensitivity, but that doesn’t stop you from whimpering unhappily again when he pulls his fingers out and you’re left empty.

“You’re all clean now, kitten,” Namjoon states, running his palms over your inner thighs to relax them. “Time to get out.”

You sit up suddenly with a pout. “But Daddy!”

Narrowing his brows, you don’t miss the slight twitch of Namjoon’s lips at your sudden outburst. “No buts,” he reproaches, “I don’t want you pruning up.”

You huff, scowling when he deftly tugs out the plug and the water level steadily sinks. “You haven’t even fucked me yet, Da-mmf!”

Namjoon sends you a cutting glare, his strong hand cupped over your mouth. “I should wash your mouth out with soap for using that language, little one,” he warns, “now out of the bath.”

You whine behind his hand, but once he drops it you obey and scramble out of the quickly-draining tub. Your body feels heavier without the buoyancy of water, and you’re dripping onto the bathmat like a drowned rat, but Namjoon pays it no mind, getting out himself with powerful thighs and a heavy cock dangling between them, passing you a towel wordlessly.

You dry yourself off, pout never leaving your face. He’s really just gonna stay hard like that and not fuck you? “Daddy…”

“One more protest and I’m taking you over my knee,” Namjoon says with a sharp tone. “I thought my kitten was better behaved than this.”

You open and close your mouth, unsure how you can get what you want without using vulgar words. Then again, perhaps making him punish you would rile him up enough to fuck you, and you certainly weren’t against some spanking. Sucking a breath in to establish some resolve, you stomp your foot on the bathmat. “You’re so mean, Daddy!”

Namjoon gapes at you, the way you’re bundled in a towel from your chin to your knees, scowling at him. “You want it, don’t you?” he mutters quietly, receiving a small nod in return. Relaxing for a moment, he slips easily back into that position of authority. “That’s it,” he spits, taking you firmly by the wrist and leading you - still naked himself - into your bedroom, “I gave you plenty of warnings but you still won’t listen.”

You squeak as he rips the towel from you and tugs you onto his lap on the edge of the bed. Adjusting you so that your crotch is right above his aching erection, his legs are so long that your toes barely brush on the carpet, all your balance resting on him. This had been the roughest he’d ever been with you, or at least the most domineering, and your mind whirls with how much he’s coming into his element with this prompt.

He gives you no warning before he’s laying his hands on your ass, small pats to warm up the skin before a sudden, stinging strike laces your nerves. You cry out, wriggling in his grip, but he uses one broad hand to link your wrists together in the small of your back, your face pressed onto the mattress as you’re held up fully by him.

He’s carefully merciless, spanking you hard enough that it burns, tears pricking your eyes and lip swollen from when you bite it, but whenever your cries of pain and pleasure turn too much to genuine discomfort, you notice he gives you an extra second of reprieve and swaps out to lighter hits.

“Apologise to Daddy,” he commands gruffly as you sob beneath him, swatting you without pause.

You sniff and swallow before you can compose yourself enough to reply in a wobbly cry, knees buckling and trembling. “Suh-sorry, Daddy, I’m so sorry, I learnt my lesson, ple-ease!”

You could cry when you feel his hand land on you one last time, soft and soothing the stinging flesh. Namjoon shifts, and then you feel light kisses being pressed all the way from your reddened ass up your spine, making you shiver. “Thank you, kitten,” he murmurs in your ear, and gently sits you up, lying you on the mattress.

You hiss when you feel the fabric scratch at your skin, but it’s cool and soothing if you stay still, so you take deep breaths and feel your heart slowly return to normal, Namjoon running his fingers over your now-dry body.

Blinking up at him with what you hope are sweet puppy-dog eyes, you call his name softly to bring his attention to your face. “Are you really not gonna, you know…?”

He grins fondly at your attempt to evade the word fuck, silver hair flopping over his brow as he leans over you. “You took your punishment so well kitten, I think you deserve a reward, hm? Some special time with Daddy?”

You light up, sucking on your lower lip as you spread your legs to bare yourself shamelessly, hooking one foot around his waist so he’s between them. “Extra special time with Daddy,” you insist in a small voice, lip curling now that you’re finally going to get what you want.

With a light laugh, Namjoon centres himself so that he’s facing you head-on, your legs comfortably resting aside his hips. Stroking himself a few times, he taps his hard length against your already-swollen pussy lips. “Relax for me, kitten,” he guides, and you keen as you feel him begin to push inside you.

You try to stop yourself from clenching around him, but it’s been a while since you’ve fucked him, and as usual the biggest cock in the house takes getting used to. “So big, Daddy,” you breathe with a groan, brows pinched together at the stretch.

“You can take it, kitten, you’re doing so well for me,” Namjoon promises, holding you steady and open with a hand hooking your knee up high by his chest.

By the time he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your still-stinging ass, you feel so deliciously full that you can’t breathe. You lay back, eyes scrunched, and focus entirely on the feeling of his girth stretching you open.

“Feels good?” Namjoon checks in, and you nod, wriggling your hips against him to indicate he can move. “Hold on tight, then.”

Even though it’s barely been a day since you were last fucked, it feels like so much longer, and having Namjoon fill you up over and over is so satisfying on a deep level, that you don’t bother muffling your moans, letting yourself clutch at his arms and enjoy the ride.

While Namjoon certainly isn’t the most lithe or experienced member, his cock is a force of nature in and of itself, and this time, with the heat of desperation and the excitement of your altered dynamic getting to him, he fucks you without holding back.

If he’s like this on his third time, you think, he’ll be a beast before the show ends, but then the head of his cock strikes right against your g-spot, and the thought shatters as a cry is ripped from your throat.

“Oh! Daddy, yes, right there!”

He obliges you by adjusting his hips so that every stroke rubs against you just right, and your mind melts, colours and sounds and sensation blurring together in one full note of all-encompassing pleasure.

You cum without warning, not expecting it yourself, and Namjoon curses lowly in his throat as you clench around him. The orgasm is powerful enough to leave you shuddering hopelessly on the bed before going fully slack, drained.

Warm, fuzzy tingles settle in your fingers and toes and chest in the aftermath as Namjoon fucks you through it, not taking long himself to spill inside you. He drops your leg to the side and leans in, pressing slightly ticklish kisses to your neck and collarbone, hands on either side of your chest to keep his weight off you.

“So good to me,” he breathes out lowly, nuzzling your chin up to give him a better angle to sweetly kiss you on the lips, languid and unhurried as he slowly comes down from his own high.

This time when he pulls out of you and you’re left empty again, you don’t complain, too thoroughly fucked to do anything but let out a contented sigh. Namjoon cleans you up, apologising when oversensitivity makes you twitch at the slightest contact, and then washes up himself.

Just as you feel your mind lifting out of that mental space of feeling little, sitting up a bit on his bed and trying to work out if you’d be able to make it to your dresser to put on some pyjamas, Namjoon returns and does it for you, helping you slip into a baggy t-shirt that you like to use as a nightie.

“Are you going to stay?” you ask softly as he lowers the hem over your head, arms slotting through the holes.

“Do you want me to?” Namjoon counters with an edge of hesitation, scratching lightly at his opposite arm, still naked.

You nod, patting the bed beside you. “If you don’t mind.”

Namjoon gathers his clothes and slips them on, not really appropriate for sleeping. Once he sees your look of confusion, he tilts his head towards your bedroom door. “I’m just going to duck out for some comfier clothes for sleeping, are you going to be alright for a moment?”

By the time he’s come back, you’ve already quickly brushed your teeth - hobbling to and from your bathroom like a newborn deer - and slipped under the covers, getting comfortable. Namjoon returns in grey striped pyjama pants and a white shirt, but he has something in his hands.

“You might think it’s silly,” he offers by way of explanation, the mattress springs squeaking as he gets on beside you, “but I like reading before bed, and I thought maybe you’d find it calming.”

With a dubious smile, you look at the book in his hands. It has the clean edges of a cared-for book, with the creases in the spine of a well-read one. On the cover, golden embossed stars and swooping font read The Little Prince. “You want me to read it?”

Namjoon returns your smile, warm and dimpled. “I want to read to you.”

The two of you cuddle together without words, one of his arms wrapped around your back as you lean on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Propping the small novel up on his stomach, he peers over your head to read.

“Once when I was six years old,” he begins, “I saw a magnificent picture in a book called True Stories from Nature, about the primeval forest. It was a picture of a boa constrictor in the act of swallowing an animal. Here is a copy of the drawing.” He pauses, tapping you twice on the crown of your head to indicate you should look. “In the book it said…”

As he recites the novel aloud, you feel more than hear his voice, a low rumble in your ear like a rushing river or a slow-moving thunderstorm. It’s soothing, lulling you into sleep. His voice wraps around every word like a hug, enunciating each syllable with such care and colour and love, and always pausing when there were photos, even when your eyes slip shut and you begin to drift off.

Slowly, everything fades away. All sound is reduced to that regular heartbeat and warm rumble; all sensations are narrowed down to just the heat of his skin where it meets yours, his fingers lazily swirling patterns on your scalp. All thoughts simplify, the last six words in your brain, I could get used to this, before they wink out to nothing at all, and you sleep.

[delicatewerewolfsoul]

Cat's Fault - Yang Jeongin

–pairing: jeongin x fem!reader, best friend!jisung, roommate!minho

–genre: fluff, neighbors au!

–word count: 3,3k

–synopsis: after encountering your cute neighbor many times ... Who would you have to thank for the outcome?

-for bar (@yyxgin ) love you so much bestie 💓

It wasn’t that Jeongin didn’t really like cats, it was the fact that he didn't understand why they were so popular. That small animal, walking towards it’s prey for afar, the sneaky eyes already showing the reason they’re doing this, there was always a reason why they were put their body against their owners leg, rubbing their fur against it, as if the the contact would make the prey’s thought, change like magic and that’s why he chose to stare at them from afar, not getting into their business. His roommate, Minho, smiles from afar as he looks up from the small, fluffy gray feline next to his leg, to look at his roommate's face. All he spots is a face of disapproval, a disgusted face if you will, as he and Jeongin lock eye contact, Minho laughs at it, finding it extremely entertaining. 

“You know it won’t hurt you right?” Minho says as he rubs the back “Animals can sense that when a person doesn’t like them, or when they aren’t a good being, but I really bet they do like you, at least that’s what their behavior shows” he says as he stands up and gets his keys, walking towards the front door. “Anyways, I’ll be heading out to do some errands, I’ll be back in a few hours, be sure to feed them okay?” he says as he opens the door and Jeongin, whines but accepts at the end cause the devils shouldn’t starve as well. 

You step out of your room, quickly putting your hair on a messy bun, ready to make yourself some breakfast and start your day. You eat slowly and out your dishes in your sink to clean up later. It was a cleaning day since you didn’t really have to do anything. You had a break from work and no fresh errants to take care of, you decide it’ll be nice to take care of your house. You decide before doing anything, to water your plants on your balcony. You watch as the water disappears when hitting the soil that supports the plant and your neighbor comes to mind. A nice boy, with a bright smile that lights up the whole world, he was super attractive to you, but you couldn’t make a move, well, now you were thinking about it, you couldn’t even probably great him, too awkward, you bet the boy would be actually laughing at you after you two would talk. 

You step close to the last plant close to your neighbors balcony and you start pouring the leftover water in it. The door next to you opens, and he steps out, in some sweatpants and a white sleeveless shirt, with some wet clothes on his hands, from the laundry. “Good morning y/n, what a surprise seeing you here, you don't have to go to work today?” he says, stretching to hand the clothes high, his biceps flexing in the progress and you feel yourself getting a little lost, looking at them, until he hums in question that you understand what you did and take a deep breath and answer that you actually have a free day today, and that you decide to clean. You ask him about his day, trying to open a conversation hoping to make him open up to you and hopefully get closer. 

“Me? Oh, I actually have nothing to do today, my roommate had to head out so I have to stay here to clean a little, maybe cook… I hope, but generally nothing much” he says and the sound of a timer can be heard in the background, cutting your conversation short. He huffs disappointed, “I’m sorry, I have to go now, it was nice talking to you” waving at you and wave back at, pouting as his back disappears into his apartment, with a new failed attempt of getting closer to him. Jisung was so going to laugh at you later.

You step inside again and grab the vacuum cleaner and start cleaning the whole place, trying to get rid of the embarrassment of the whole incident. What you don’t notice is that you had a little visitor on your door, a small feline, exploring the new place out of curiosity, smelling the door and moving slowly inside. You turn off the vacuum and you hear plates clashing and you turn around to see a little animal on your table sniffing your plates that you were going to clean later. It then meows at you and you let out a little scream as it jumps down from the table, coming towards you and you jump at your couch naturally to avoid it, saying to yourself “Why is there a cat in my apartment?”, louder than you thought you did. 

Jeongin was panicking. He searched everywhere, in his room, in Minho’s room, in trash cans, even in the sinks but it was nowhere to be found, like it vanished into thin air. The cat was supposed to be fed but where did the cat go? He sits on the couch, the importance of the situation finally getting to him. He puts arms on his knees, and supports his head on his palms as he thinks what will happen when Minho returns and he finds their apartment minus one pet inside. Will he first lose his life first or his house?  That’s the question that was running in his mind right now and he felt his heart pumping quicker, what did the little feline actually go? At the moment he hears the scream and shoots up, shocked as well, wondering what exactly happened… Until he hears your question and he sighs in relief. 

He then goes to your door and knocks slowly “y/n, it’s Jeongin, can you open the door for me?” he says and you stop in your tracks as you hear him, turning your eyes at your door. Why did he need to be the one to come save you? This was so embarrassing you think, like an idiot screaming because of a small cat. Most people would laugh at your fear, saying it was stupid and unreasonable to fear a cat, but you had your reasons. He knocks again and you jump down the couch, running to the door. You open the door quickly and he smiles at you but before he can say anything,you step behind him, and grab his bicep and he freezes from the sudden contact. 

“Can you save me from that” you say, your voice kinda high pitched and shaky. The little cat comes closer to them happily, understanding the familiar scent of Jeongin, and he picks him up. “I’ll take him, I hope he wasn’t much of a problem” he says, noticing your balcony door wide and he facepalms. “He came through the balcony right? I’m really sorry, I think I let my balcony open as well” he says biting his lower lip. “No worries, if I didn’t let mine, he wouldn’t have came here, don’t worry about it” you say and you then just stay there, both looking around awkwardly, trying to find something, anything to continue the conversation until he can’t stand the tension anymore and announches, always with a big smile on, that the cats needs to be fed, but with the promise to talk more when they have time. That’s a progress right?

You lay back on your couch, your hands covering your face as you think how the whole morning went through, with the balcony door finally closed and the clean long forgotten. What a traumatic experience, how weird it must have been for him to see you getting worked up over a small animal, a fluff ball out of all animals, how embarrassing it is. A rather loud knock on your door startles you and you open it, to find Jisung there, shaking a bag with food in front of your face. You let him in and he puts the food on the table, cockily announcing that you don’t have to thank him, as if you would. He then notices the look on your face and he scrunches his eyebrows in question and you sigh, the moment you feared, finally here.

“You a cat was in my apartment moments before you came” you say and he gasps, having full knowledge of your fear and before he can ask what happened then, you continue, kinda sarcastically “don’t worry about it, my hot neighbor took care of it” you say and he laughs at the disappointed look you had on your face and he understands. “Hey, I there’s no way it was that bad, seriously” he says putting a hand on your shoulder. “Maybe he found it cute… You know, the whole ‘they want me to protect them’ thing” he proposes as he takes out the containers out of the plastic bag and you both sit down to have lunch. 

You explain all the incidents from the moment you went to your balcony, until minutes before his arrival. Jisung had a smile during the time, but you could see how he was holding his laughter as you went on and on. It made him happy that you had such big interest in that ‘hot’ neighbor of yours, that you had to make him listen as you explain to him what happened and why it happened for over 15 minutes. “So wait, you tell me that you both forgot your doors open after the conversation?” he says, putting his palms on the desk, coming closer. “Well yeah” you say furrowing your eyebrows. “He always does before, but he left kinda in a hurry today too” you say looking away. You wonder if he actually caught you staring and it makes you feel so embarrassed all over again. 

“Well, I think he maybe likes you too,” Jisung annouches and you glare at him, as a signal for him to stop joking. “I mean it’s true! I can see all the signs bro… And I’m intuition says so as well, you gotta trust me” he says passionately and you decide to tell him exactly what you think, not sugar coated, just raw truth “Jisung… We both know your intuition sucks” you say and he settles down on his chair, feeling defeated after your comment, actually agreeing himself that his “intuition put you two in trouble many times before. “What is there anyways to like about me? He only sees me half woken up, with sweatpants on and a messy bun while watering my plants, how can that be attractive?” you wonder feeling kinda hopeless, letting your body lose on your own chair and he laughs, finding the look on your face kinda cute, finding this moment, the perfect timing for teasing. “Who knows” he says standing up, “maybe he likes the unemployed tired mom style” he says and dodges the pillow that came with force from your direction. “Anyways, I got to leave now, Minho is waiting for me” he says, putting on his bag, and you smirk, teasing him too “oh? did your boyfriend call you?”. He rolls his eyes at the comment, knowing that the two of them spend too much time together. “He is not,how many times do I have to tell you? And so you know, I haven’t seen him since the day he moved to this building”.

“Minho lives here!?” you stand up shocked. His eyes went round “you.. you didn’t know? He moved here like a week ago? But I haven’t been to his place as well, he lives with a friend I think” he says and you huff. “That loser.. He’s been living here for a week and hasn’t even come to say hello”, “i'll make sure to say that… I still can’t believe you didn’t even bump on each other this whole time, anyways, I’ll call you” he says getting to the door. “Bye” you say waving at him as the door closes, your house empty once again.

“Long time no see idiot” Jisung says as he takes off his bag and sits on the chair opposite Minho, with a cheeky grin on, as he knows the nickname will annoy him much. Minho doesn’t show much reaction, instead he calmly says “nice seeing you too” as he lets his phone down and they start talking about their news and interests, catching up on each other's lives. They continue talking, and after a while you become the topic. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell y/n you moved in the same building with them” Jsiung says, laying back on his chair, crossing his hands in front of him. Minho raised an eyebrow at his friend confused at his statement “Didn’t tell them? What do you mean? I even greeted them once while I was stepping out of my house” he states, kind of frustrated and that also confuses Jisung. “But… They told me they didn’t know” Jisung says, rubbing the back of neck, his voice getting more silent, even though he wasn’t responsible for the misunderstanding. Minho runs a hand through his hair, shocked that you actually forgot the interaction “Bro, we actually live next to each other! They live left to us” he says and Jisung starts laughing, startling his friend, but also confusing him even more. 

Jisung collects himself after some minutes and finds the power to ask “Anyways, tell me again, who are you living with?” a smile on his face, because he knows the answer, but he couldn’t help himself, the whole situation seemed too comical to him. “Jeongin… What is going on?” answers Minho with probably zero patience left. Jisung between laughs explained to him that you actually had a crush on Jeongin with you knowing that he was friends with Minho and Jisung. “So.. To be clear, my cat went into y/n’s apartment cause these two idiots left the balcony doors open right? And Jeongin actually touched the cat? Please...That’s actually so funny” Minho says recalling the last time Jeongin properly touched his pet, and it was when the feline jumped on his bed,and he ‘accidentally’ cuddled the animal to sleep until he woke up to animal meowing and him pushing it away in result, so it wasn’t a fun experience. 

“We gotta do something… I feel like if we make them meet up without one knowing that the other will be there” Jisung concludes and Minho laughs, now having to help some idiots confess “the rest will happen naturally I guess, Joengin have been wanting to confess anyway, we’ll just push them… A little” he says and they spend the rest of their time, planning. Later that day you receive a message from Jisung to “be at my house tomorrow at 6pm, Minho will be here as well, don’t be late, or else I’ll come drag you here” leaving you with no choice but to accept your fate. You wonder what he actually has in mind again, his aggressive tone always meant trouble. But Minho being there would make it better… Right?

Jeongin hasn’t been so confused by Minho in his life before. He just told him they’re going to Jisung, and that’s obviously a very normal thing of course, they all hang out a lot, they’re friends after all, but something in Minho’s expression seems kinda weird. He was always so calm, and he really didn’t butt in people's business, even if he wanted to help in different situations, he kinda did in a way very subtle, that only people that know him would notice. So in the 3 years that they’ve been friends, he’s never seen such an intense look on his face, it was kind of scary tho, and it confused him a lot. 

“Care to explain why you sent that aggressive text yesterday? I would have come anyways, without being forced” you say as you enter Jisung’s apartment the next day “I know you’re planning something Jisung, just spit it out so we can be over “you say letting your body fall back on his couch, folding your arms in front of you. “We just wanted you to meet Minho’s roommate, chill. He’ll be here soon” he says, disappearing into the kitchen and after a few minutes you hear the bell, and then a very visibly frustrated Jeongin enters the room. “Jisung, what is wrong with him? He’s been having that weird throughout the whole walk here… Someone, tell me what’s going on” he almost yells towards the kitchen totally missing your presence in the room, until he hears “Jeongin you let out, shocked as well. They had some explaining to do.

Honestly, the meet up was going more smoothly than all of you thought it would. It was way easier to get a conversation with Jeongin, with a little help from your troublemaker friends of yours, and you learned loads about him. How he had school every morning, how you almost always left at the same time, his passion for games and music, along with how they all became friends. You both were so glad to actually be talking properly with each other, that you had such a big smile when answering, warm cheeks and you also stood too close to each other, that the other two boys felt like they were intruding. "What is so exciting and interesting that you two are talking about, so closely to each other, wanna share?" Minho says, putting his arm around Jeongin's shoulder, scaring both of you and him, now embarrassed, avoiding each other's eyes. "Anyways, it's getting late, I'll stay here today, so you head back home" he says and taps Jeongins shoulder, before standing up. 

After a few minutes, now with jackets around your frames, you're ready to go. Minho drags Jeongin to the side and then mentions "this is your chance, take it" shooting him a smile and Jeongin finally understands the meaning of this whole operation. You finally say goodbye and you start walking towards home. You both walk in silence, finally alone from your friends, feeling more shy and vulnerable that you were at that time. Your hands bump with each other, as you walk and he swears he sees you shyly smile at the coincidence and finds your reaction way too cute, not to smile back. He then takes your hand in his, and as he intertwines his fingers with yours, he hears you taking in a breath that makes him giggle, finally understanding your feelings as well. "You know… I actually don't like cats" he announces after a while of silence "I actually touched Minho's cat once, and yesterday it was the second time, only because you were afraid of it" he says giggling, rubbing the back of his neck after that little confession. "I've been wanting to come and maybe ask you to go for a coffee with me sometime but all the courage I had built up for that, left after minutes of talking to you. Would you actually want to hang out? Maybe alone this time" he says now, facing you and you can't help but nob, squishing a little his hand as you enter your building. 

Jeongin didn't like cats, but he came to like them, thanking these little rascals for helping him get the person he liked, treating them with a little more food, when Minho wasn't present to yell at him for overfeeding his kids.

Tagging: @fluffyskzclub

[caitlyn-winchester]

Pilot (Part 2)

Cordell Walker x daughter!Reader

word count: 1,554

warnings: dead parent, abandonment?, mentions of deportation

A.N. sorry I haven't been that active about updating this story. I had some school assignments to complete(and still do). this past week I just been very unmotivated to do anything. I'll try to post more! Thank u for your patience.

masterlist

“What are we doing out here again?” Bel asked me as we hopped over a fence that led to an open field.

“Just looking at the stars, I guess. My mom used to take me out here all the time, especially on a full moon.” I told her, sitting down on the grass

“Full moon, like tonight.” she realized.

“Yeah.” I pulled out my leather-bound sketchbook and markers. “She let me draw the starscape while she took some pictures on her camera. I've drawn every single full moon since I was ten, I've missed a couple since she passed. The first couple of months were difficult to get myself to come out here. She even made this sketchbook” I explained. Bel put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I was so lucky to have her, she is an amazing friend.

“She sounds amazing Y/N. I wish I could meet her.” She said and I just nodded. “Can I see your drawings?”

“Sure.” I handed her the book and she started to flip through the pages

“You're really good” she complimented

“Thanks.” I gave a small smile. I layed down on the grass and looked at the stars. It's been a little while and we’ve been talking, looking at the stars or I've been doodling the sky. We heard hard footsteps in the distance and looked over to see someone running in our direction. “What the hell? I breathed out and sat up. As the person got closer I recognized the person. It’s Ryan Marshall from school.

“Ryan?” Bel said when he was just about to pass us but he stopped when he heard his name.

“Hey guys!” he slurred. I rolled my eyes, great he’s drunk.

“Hey! You! Stop!” We heard from the same direction Ryan came from. Two police officers came running over and Ryan took off again. One police officer continued to chase ryan but the other stopped and looked at us.

“What are you ladies doing out here? Were y’all also at that party down the block.” he asked us pointing a flashlight at us. I put my hand out to block my eyes. Does he really gotta shine that thing directly in my face?

“No sir, we were just stargazing. We never stepped foot in that party. You can test us if you'd like.” I explained and Bel agreed with my statement.

“No, you guys don't seem drunk or anything. But you are trespassing.” he told us.

“Trespassing? I thought this was a public field.” I blurted.

“Last month this field was issued for game only during this season. You can only be on this field if you have a hunting license.” he explained “I’ll have to take you into the station for trespassing.”

“Can’t you let us off with a warning? We had no idea and you have no signs up!” I jabbed

“Sorry missy its protocol.” He read us our rights and asked us if we had any weapons and all the other police crap that's part of their ‘protocol’.

»»————-　★　————-««

Currently we are at the police station waiting for our parents to pick us up. Bel told me about her parents and how they might get deported since she was brought in. I feel terrible, I has no idea they changed the field over for a stupid game season. Just another thing I messed up. Luckily Stan Morrison was able to drop our charges since I explained exactly what happened and he understood. Unfortunately, we were taking in so our parents must pick us up since we are minors. We were waiting for probably a good thirty minutes when I saw my dad round the corner. I’m shocked he actually showed up, that’s a new one. I do really want to jump up and hug him but something in me is just mad at him for leaving us so I can’t bring myself to. Also being picked up at a police station was not my ideal first meeting of my dad after his absence.

“And here he is to save the day” I say under my breath.

“Good to see you too.” He said and approached us.

“Dad, this is Bel. Can we take her home?” I asked him.

“No. minors have to be picked up by their parents.”

“Well i’m not just leaving her here.”

“Then you can stay in a cell here tonight.”

Bel’s parents enter the police station. Dad takes his hat off and approaches them.

“It’s good to meet ya’ll. I've been out of town for a while so I don't really know Y/N’s social life. We should spend some time together.” he says.

“Stop it.” I whisper. He can't be serious right now.

“...Seems like the girls got into some trouble tonight so maybe we could help each other out.” he explains. Bella’s parents don't say anything as another police officer calls them back.

“Epic first meeting.” Bel sighs.

“I’m sorry, this is so embarrassing.” I apologize for my dad’s actions.

“For who? Lets go.” Dad shot at me and I just rolled my eyes. I grabbed my sketchbook off the seat and gave Bel a quick hug before leaving the station with my dad.

»»————-　★　————-««

The car ride home was an awkward one. Like what do I even say to him? ‘Nice to finally see you again after you abandoned us for almost a year’ I don't think that's the nicest thing to say. I felt sweet relief when I saw us pull up to my grandparents house. I took off my seat belt and opened the car door.

“Y/N,” dad warned. I stopped opening the door and started fidgeting with the edge of my sketchbook. “Want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?”

“I didn't know we were trespassing. There was no sign or anything to tell us pedestrians were not allowed on the field. Apparently they recently changed it or something, I don't know. Mom used to take me out to that field all the time. I didn't think anything of it.” I explained. He nodded in understanding.

“It's still dangerous. What if a hunter thought you were a deer and shot you? I don't like you out alone. I know you had Bel with you, but there's some bad people out there that can overpower you guys. I’d rather you be home for dinner with your family at night.” He told me.

“Oh like how you were home for dinner last night?” I challenged and he sighed. “Mom said you'd never be on a case too long.” I remarked.

“And I never meant to be.” dad said and I shook my head in disbelief. “This last case...it got complicated.” he explained.

“Complicated?” I scoffed. “A five minute phone call this summer, then nothing for three months! It’s bad enough we didn't have mom” I pointed out.

“We both gotta stop acting like she's going to come back.” he stated. I jumped out of the car and burst into tears. Uncle Liam was outside now and he tried to reach out to me but I ignored him. August was right in the living room when I entered the house.

“Y/N? What's wrong? What happened? Where’s dad” he asked me.

“Its nothing August. Just leave it alone.” I sniffed, trying my best to contain myself for my brother’s sake.

“Why were you at the police station? I thought you were just going to yours and mom’s spot?” he nagged on.

“I did. It's some kind of hunting ground now, you can’t go on it without a hunting license. You done with the twenty questions?” I snapped.

“Y/N, want to come have some leftovers?” my grandma asked me. Well she technically asked but she was actually telling me to get my ass over there.

“Sure Grams” I sighed and sat down by the kitchen island. She put down a plate of her famous pot roast and I dug in. While I ate she was cleaning up the kitchen.

“You’re not going to ask me what I did?” I inquired.

“No, because I know you’re a good, smart kid and you wouldn't do anything too damaging on purpose.” She offered me a kind smile. “Plus I know what tonight is with the full moon. I can put two and two together.” she laughed. Uncle Liam and dad walked in the house but I didn't hear them enter so I continued talking.

“Last month, they changed the field for ‘game hunting only’. I had no idea, so Bel and I got charged for trespassing. I can’t go out to that field anymore. Now I feel like another piece of mom is gone.” I confessed tears welling up in my eyes again.

“You can still go draw the stars, I know your mom would love for you to keep doing y'all's traditions. I'll even go out with you.” she offered.

“Thanks Grandma. I appreciate it, I really do, but it just wouldn't be the same.” I sighed.

“Not many things are going to be the same, Y/N.” she stated.

“I miss her so much.” I started sobbing. Grandma rounded the island and pulled me into a hug.

“I know you do sweetie.” she consoled, rubbing her hand in circles on my back, trying her best to comfort me.

A.N. sorry if you don't like to draw. Emily seemed like the type of parent that liked her kids to be creative, like August and photography. So I figured drawing could be what the reader and Emily did together. 

PART 3 OUT NOW

[litwitlady]

Omg I just know you’re gonna write the hell out of these sleepy prompts haha 37 or 3 for Malex :) can’t decide!

#3 - ‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer.’

On the radio, a twangy country superstar sings about lost romance and broken hearts. Dirt and debris soaking up most of the sound. It’s midday and the junkyard is quiet. Michael is bent over a brand-new Silverado, engine already wrecked. He swears as he cuts his finger on a jagged piece of metal jutting out where it doesn’t belong. Sucks the wound between his lips and wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s only 10am but the day has already gone on for far too long.

He tosses his wrench onto his workbench and reaches down into his beat up cooler. His fingers glance across the long neck of a cold beer before settling around a half-frozen bottle of water. Twisting the cap off, he gulps down the entire bottle, eyes never leaving the beer. The day stretches out even further ahead of him, sober and sun-drenched.

Back beneath the truck’s hood, Michael cranks away at the broken, jangled mess. After all these years, the work is monotonous. Dull enough to let him loose inside his own head. He tries to drown out his hectic thoughts by humming along with the current song floating faintly from the radio. The same twenty-five song playlist in rotation damn near every day. Except on the weekends which are dedicated to decades past – golden oldies Michael considers the soundtrack to his youth. Lonesome melodies haunting the empty, loveless houses he’d once passed through.

He hums through two more songs, getting lost in his work. So lost he doesn’t notice when he starts to sing under his breath. So lost he doesn’t notice when the lyrics no longer match those echoing out from the radio.

Would you meet me in the middle, could we both stop keeping score

Michael sighs and presses his knuckles into his eyes. Alex’s song sneaks past his defenses at least once a day. And he’s found no cure. Not screaming along at the top of his lungs. Not biting his tongue bloody. Not refusing to listen to music for days on end. Nothing has worked. It always finds him no matter where he hides.

Resting on the truck’s bumper, he pulls out his phone and thumbs through his contacts. Leaving grease smudges behind. He stops on Alex’s number and sits staring – wondering what might happen if he actually went through with the call. Behind him, a soft whining breaks through his thoughts. He ignores the tiny noise at first. The junkyard is filled with whines – bad engines, metal signs blowing in the wind, the rickety roof shifting above the makeshift workshop. But the sound continues, and Michael decides to go investigate. He could use a good distraction.

What he finds is a blue-gray pitbull puppy inside a rusty yellow VW Beetle – windows all busted out and flowers growing wild through the wheels. Little paws propped up against the door, tongue swatting up at his nose. Michael approaches slowly – the puppy trembling and clearly terrified at his presence, disappearing into the car’s footwell.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He sighs and turns his back. But the puppy starts to cry again – more desperate now, lonelier somehow. He spins on his heels and yanks the door open, puppy scrambling away.

‘Don’t be nervous, you can come closer. Not going to hurt you, little bit.’ He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the dog’s soft belly. Picking him up and cradling him against his chest. He’s warm and still shaking, but he nuzzles into Michael’s t-shirt anyway.

A dog is not what Michael needs. He finds an unused crate and lines it with newspaper, tossing in a couple of clean shop towels for good measure. Places the pup onto the improvised bed and watches him squirm around, sniffing at his new home. His temporary new home. Because a dog is not what Michael needs.

He tries to climb out, tumbling over backwards. Tries again with the same results. Michael finds himself smiling – almost laughing. And he forces himself to look away. Digging around in his toolbox for the screwdriver he needs to keep working.

But it’s no use. The puppy keeps mewing and Michael’s heart can’t stand the pitiful noises. He hoses off a dusty hubcap and fills it with clean water. Grabs his phone and dials Maria’s number.

‘Guerin.’

‘DeLuca.’

They haven’t talked much since the hospital breakup. Polite hellos and sad smiles whenever Michael enters the Pony. But she’s the first person he thinks of when he considers his current predicament. ‘Do you have any dog food – or something a puppy could eat?’

He hears her whisper something over her shoulder and then, ‘What – a puppy? When did you get a dog?’

Michael sighs. ‘I didn’t get a dog. But there’s a puppy out at the junkyard. He needs to eat and I’m working. All I’ve got is some stale breakfast bars.’

‘Call Isobel. Or a vet. I’m working.’ She hangs up. He supposes it was too early to start asking favors.

But she’s right – he should call a vet. Or, better yet, drop the dog off at a vet and get back to his very simple, not at all complicated mutt-free life.

He calls Isobel instead.

‘Michael, make it quick. I’m at the Women’s Action Committee luncheon and about to give a speech.’ Other people might sound flustered before public speaking. Isobel sounds like she’s at a day spa.

‘Would you mind swiping some leftovers a puppy could eat and heading over to the junkyard after?’ The puppy in question starts to yip. Finally hoisting himself over the side of the crate and splashing headfirst into his new water bowl.

‘Oh my god, Michael. You got a dog?’ He can barely hear her over the clatter of the luncheon.

‘There is a dog temporarily in my care. That’s all. Can you help me or not?’

‘Not until later tonight. I’m meeting with the mayor about the abandoned UFO museum. We’re hoping to start a women’s shelter. Call Max.’ Someone shouts her name. ‘Gotta go, Michael.’ She hangs up.

The puppy’s ears are soaked. Dripping in the sand as he busily noses about. Tail wagging so happily his entire body wiggles. That’s the first moment Michael knows he’s in trouble.

Against his better judgment, he phones Kyle. ‘Valenti, you’re a doctor. Help me.’

‘I’m not a vet! And I’ve got surgery in thirty minutes. How did you even get my number?’ He hangs up.

Michael refuses to call Max on principle.

That leaves him exactly one option. One terrible choice. He scrolls back up to Alex’s number. But he can’t make his finger press the call button. No matter how hard he tries.

He plops down in the dirt and pulls the puppy to him. He nips at Michael’s fingers playfully and chews a hole in his threadbare shirt. Michael likes dogs – he does. Has always wanted one, but never had the ability to properly take care of one. Having barely been able to care of himself most days. ‘Wonder where you came from, little guy?’ He scratches the puppy behind its ears. ‘Where all your brothers and sisters wound up? Probably safe and sound in warm homes.’ He swallows, hating the emotion that has crept into his voice. ‘Snuggled tight in the arms of some little girl or boy.’

The puppy licks his chin and Michael hugs the puppy closer. ‘But you got thrown away. Or maybe your ran away, huh?’

Scrambling out of his arms, the dog hops back to his water and continues splashing about. Michael returns his attention to Alex’s phone number. ‘He probably won’t answer anyway.’ The puppy ignores him. ‘He has a boyfriend now.’ He rolls in the dirt, little feet pawing at the air. Michael leans back against the Chevy and closes his eyes.

He hasn’t seen Alex in weeks. Has worked tirelessly to avoid seeing Alex for weeks. But he has seen Forrest. Fucking everywhere. The hardware store – the minimart – the gas station. Back at the library and even at the grocery store late one night. In the goddamn cereal aisle.

‘Guerin.’

‘Forrest.’ Michael’s heart beating so hard it breaks.

‘See you around. Enjoy the cereal.’ And Michael had smiled tightly. Watched Forrest leave and imagined him driving straight to Alex’s and crawling into bed beside him.

When he reopens his eyes, the puppy is gone. The junkyard far too silent. Sun so hot everything looks hazy. ‘Where’d you go?’ Michael calls, panic bubbling up in his chest.

That’s when he hears the frantic yapping. He climbs to his feet and jerks around the corner of the Silverado. Eyes scanning the yard as quickly as possible. But the puppy is fine. Better than fine, even. Locked safely in the arms of none other than Alex Manes. Barking and licking at whatever bit of skin is closest.

Alex grins down at squirming puppy and then back up at Michael. ‘Hey.’ The dog barks and bites at Alex’s ear. ‘Is he yours?

The sight is overwhelming. Too much for ordinary afternoons at the junkyard. Michael’s eyes soften. ‘He is.’

[johannstutt413]

(requested by anonymous)

The Doctor wasn’t sure there was anything that could salvage his day at this point. Sure, his shift was about to end - and thank whatever god watched over their calamity-ridden world for that - but what was he going to do with himself? No games he felt like playing, or shows he felt like watching...Hell, he didn’t even feel that hungry-

“Doctor?” There was a knock on his door. “Are you busy?”

“Just finishin’ up. Come on in, Bagpipe.”

She immediately did. “Do you have supper plans?”

“Uh...I wasn’t even sure I was gonna eat dinner, honestly-”

“What?! And just go to bed hungry?!” Bagpipe shook her head. “That just won’t do at all.”

The Doctor looked away from his computer to explain himself more efficiently...and saw the picnic basket in her hands. “You want to have a picnic? With me?”

“Sure do! Just the two of us, if you don’t mind. Wanna run a few things by you now that I’m more settled in.”

“Huh. Well, I’m not gonna turn you down after you already went and made a basket for us.” He got up from his chair and stretched, cracking just about every joint in his body as he did. “Ahhhh...much better. Did you already pick a spot for us, or are you open to a suggestion?”

She shook her head. “Wherever you have in mind works for me, Doctor...Do I have to call you Doctor?”

“Doc works, too. I’m not all that attached to my real name thanks to the amnesia.”

“Doc, huh? Alrighty.” She followed closely behind him as they left his office. “Do you like potatoes, Doc?” 

He smiled for the first time today. “I don’t get a lot of them, but I like them well enough.”

“Well I was thinkin’ we should start growin’ ‘em! That way we could have ‘em whenever we want, and it’d let me do some farmin’ again.”

“You really enjoy it that much?” The Doctor shrugged. “I can talk to some folks about it for you, but that sounds like a lot of work.”

Bagpipe nodded. “Oh don’t get me wrong, it is, but I’m real good at it, and it’s real rewardin’! ‘Specially if you’ll eat the potatoes I grow us...”

“Alright, here we are.” They’d arrived at an open deck with a large glass dome looking out at the sky behind the ship.

“Wow. This is mighty pretty, Doc.” She opened her basket and unfurled a plaid blanket. “Mind helpin’ me with the corners?”

He didn’t mind at all. “Hey, this blanket matches your skirt, doesn’t it?”

“Eh? Oh, I guess so. Didn’t even think of that...Maybe I shoulda found something else to wear.”

“Why would you go and do that?” The Doctor cocked his head innocently.

She sighed. “I’ve never understood city folk’s high fashion and all that, but...I wanna be cute, ya know? I don’t need to walk into a room and have the guys hooting and hollering like they do for Blaze or Skadi...But a lil’ attention now and again would be nice.”

“..Huh?” Going from innocence to confusion, his head flopped to the other side. “You don’t think you’re cute?”

“Wouldn’t folks say somethin’ if I was?”

He chuckled. “Some folks might. I dunno if they think that’s what you wanna hear.”

“Well, I do.” Bagpipe started unpacking the meal she’d made. “Alright, I found some potatoes, so I made a couple shepherd’s pies. Chicken, lamb, pork, steak, take your pick.”

“They’re still warm, too. Wow...These look amazin’, Bagpipe.”

She smiled. “Well, it’s all about how they taste, ain’t it? Let’s dig in.”

The Doctor started on the pork pie and did not regret his choice. “Man alive...You did such a good job on these.”

“As long as it ain’t fancy, I can make whatever you like, Doc.”

“Anything, huh?” He stood up, tin in hand, and sat closer to her. Much closer. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

Bagpipe nodded. “If I can tell you somethin’ right after.”

“That’s fine by me. You’re not just cute, Bagpipe; you’re adorable.”

“...Aww, shucks.” She blushed wildly, normally invisible freckles revealing themselves. “You’re not just sayin’ that, are ya?”

He leaned closer. “I wouldn’t pull your chain like that.”

“Doc...”

“Thing is, if you were just cute, I wouldn’t be sittin’ here with you right now.” The Doctor pulled back. “You know, there are plenty of good-lookin’ people workin’ here, but a lot of ‘em are mean, or shy, or somethin’ else that throws a wrench in tryin’a date ‘em. Then there’s you - you’re hard working, cute as a button, tough as nails, a great cook. I can’t find a flaw in you to save my life.”

She sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Doc, you’re bein’ too sweet on me. I don’t wanna spoil the mood, so I’ll talk to ya about that one thing later...But while we’re here, how about we call this a first date?”

“Shoot, I’m willin’ to shoot straight to callin’ you my girlfriend, if that’s something you’re in’rested in.”

“More than you’ll ever know, I reckon.” They looked at each other for a moment before Bagpipe tapped his nose with a finger. “Boop.”

The Doctor chuckled as she started tidying up. “What was that about...hon? Does ‘hon’ work for you?”

“Sure, darlin’.”

“...I just got chills.” He shivered. “So much better than ‘Doc,’ ain’t it?”

She moved the basket to the other side of her. “It sure is. Well, I should take the leftovers back home...You wanna come with me?”

“That a question?” He yawned as he stood up to help her fold the blanket.

“Gettin’ tired, darlin’?” Saying it out loud was pure bliss. “Only wish there was a proper hay bale to nap on.”

The thought came to mind before he had a chance to filter it. “Well, a bed oughta be just fine.”

“Well, that didn’t take more than a minute.” Bagpipe slid the blanket into the basket with a wry grin.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he sighed. “I’m just so happy, I-”

Basket over her shoulder, she grabbed him by both of his and pulled him within inches of her face, arms settling behind his neck. “You ain’t gotta apologize for sayin’ what we’re both thinkin’.”

“...I love ya already.”

“And I’ve loved ya for awhile now.” Her eyes flashed to his lips and back. “You gonna make a move, darlin’, or are we just gonna stand here?”

The light in his eyes only disappeared when they closed for the kiss.

[iximaz]

Blood-Forged ch4

Summary: Din takes his young charge to a new planet with a new plan to hide. It quickly goes sideways after he meets another Mandalorian who has never seen her own kind.

Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Baby Yoda, enby!fem!OC

Pairings: Slow burn Din Djarin/OC because it turns out I’m a thirsty hoe

Warnings: Eh, right now it’s just in light PG-13 territory. Mentions of family death, some blood/violence/bodily harm. Will probably end up becoming smut later.

Word Count: 2333 (indefinite chapter count coming)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (you’re here!) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Aysa’s apartment was small, but cozy. They had walked into what looked like the main room, a combined kitchen and living space stuffed full of squashy, mismatched, secondhand furniture. A door to a bedroom that had to be Aysa’s judging by the green-painted walls stood ajar at one end, while two doors that led to what Din could only assume were a bathroom and the building proper were shut tight. 

“You guys can take the bedroom,” Aysa said, pulling off her helmet and setting it on the dining table. “I imagine it’d be easier for you to sleep without your helmet.”

Din looked around and nodded. “Thank you. Though if the little one could sleep in here…?”

“Huh,” Aysa said, raising her eyebrows. “Even people who won’t remember your face can’t see it?”

Din shook his head. 

“Alright, then,” Aysa said. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He doesn’t cry or anything, does he?”

“Not often.”

“Good,” Aysa said. “Because I like being able to sleep.”

Almost on cue, Baby began to make little whimpering noises. Din swooped down in an instant, picking him up and bouncing him gently. “Got any broth?”

“Think so. Stock okay?”

Din nodded, and Aysa stripped off her gloves, going to the kitchen and pulling out a pot from the icebox. She put it on the stove to heat before glancing at Din. “What about you? No foods that your Way won’t let you eat or anything?”

Din shook his head, and Aysa turned on the oven before going back to the icebox. “Afraid I’ve only got leftovers,” she said, sliding a meat pie into the oven. 

“That’ll be fine,” Din said. He hovered by the table, studying Aysa’s helmet without touching it. 

Aysa glanced behind her. “You can pick it up if you like,” she said, though there was a faint hint of trepidation in her voice.

Din picked it up, treating it with the respect it deserved. “You’re very fortunate,” he said.

Aysa glanced up at him. “Hm?”

“Your mother’s beskar,” Din said. “I don’t know if the practice was the same in your clan, but in mine, it’s traditional for armor to be passed down between family members.”

“It was the same in mine,” Aysa said. She smiled a little ruefully. “Nobody to reforge my mom’s armor, though, so it stays like it is.”

“When we find my clan again, I’ll ask the armorer to reforge it for you, if you like,” Din offered. “I think she would be honored to do it.”

Aysa’s eyes stung with tears, and she nodded, hastily turning away so Din wouldn’t see her struggling not to cry.

He noticed, of course. He noticed lots of things, after all, but it was kinder to pretend he hadn’t. He turned the helmet over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. “Did it belong to anyone before her?” he asked.

Aysa shrugged. “I dunno,” she said, focusing too hard on stirring the stock pot. “Never really asked before it… happened.”

Din nodded. He inspected the interior, nodding in satisfaction when he saw the internal wiring was compatible. It looked much newer than the rest of the helmet, and he wondered if Aysa had done the work herself. The soldering work looked clumsy, which made him think so.

Still—not bad for someone without training.

“When the soldiers attacked,” Aysa began. She cleared her throat and swallowed back the growing lump. “Well—Mom took a blaster bolt meant for me. She shielded me with her own body, but it missed her armor.”

Din inspected the half a scorch mark on the bottom of Aysa’s back plate. So his suspicions had been correct.

“I had to play dead under her body when they ran past us,” Aysa said. She shivered. “We were separated from my dad. I never did find out what happened to him.”

Din set the helmet down abruptly, and Aysa startled, looking around at him.

“I lost my own parents in an Imperial raid,” Din said at long last. “They hid me in a bunker. I never saw them again.”

“I’m sorry.”

Din shook his head. “Don’t waste your breath apologizing for things that weren’t your fault,” he said. 

Aysa bit her lip, but nodded. 

“The Mandalorians saved me after that,” he continued. “They took me in as a Foundling—but they didn’t do the same for you.” He left his words to trail upwards, the barest hint of a question. He’d leave it up to her if she wanted to share.

“Scavengers,” Aysa said. “They helped me get the armor off Mom, packed it in a bag for me. Dropped me off at the next planet over with a couple of credits and the bag and nothing else.”

Din frowned, his shoulders tensing. “You were a child.”

Aysa nodded, not turning around. “The rest of the people who took me in, one after another—some were kind. Some weren’t. Doesn’t matter—I survived, and I managed to keep ahold of the armor, and that’s what does.”

Din studied her for a moment. He was hardly the type to go around dishing out compliments, and he wasn’t about to start now. All he said instead was “That’s good.” He tapped the helmet in an obvious change of topic. “If you’d like, I can wire your helmet’s coms up so we can keep in contact.”

Aysa glanced at him over her shoulder and smiled. “I’d like that.” She stooped to pull out the meat pie and dished some of it into a bowl; she looked around and grabbed a cutting board, putting the bowl, a fork, a napkin, and a glass of fruity cider on the makeshift tray. “Here,” she said, carrying it over to Din.

He took the tray, then glanced over at Baby, who was sniffing curiously at Aysa’s curtains. “I should feed him first.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Aysa said. “I’m not the most maternal person, but I do know how to get a baby to eat.”

“But—“

Aysa nodded at the cutting board tray. “Your food will get cold. And you’ve gotta be starving,” she added, raising her eyebrows. “If it really makes you feel better, you can always snarf it.”

Din smiled, but gave no indication of it that she could see. “Thank you,” he said, and disappeared into her room.

Organized chaos was probably the best way to describe it. Din paused just after shutting the door behind him to take a look around; it was clear the clutter had a pattern to it. 

A row of alcohol bottles were lined up haphazardly on the windowsill, but their labels were all turned forward and they all had their matching lids or corks. The papers strewn on the desk were apparently sorted into teetering piles by category: bills, invoices, medical notes, bank information, insurance. 

Din tugged the curtains shut before he pulled his helmet off and set it on the floor, running his fingers through his tangled hair. It always felt good to smell that first breath of air that wasn’t filtered through his helmet.

Books were stacked in strategically precarious rows on an old shelf, some tomes crammed in sideways on top of other books. As Din ate, he cast a curious eye over the titles. Lots of planetary encyclopedia books, but a fair amount of novels, political analyses, books on economic theory, electronics wiring.

Sometimes he wished he had the space for a proper library on his ship, but books took up weight and space, both of which were valuable commodities on a ship. Besides, it was unnecessary when he could simply download all the books he could ever want to read straight to his datapad.

The meat pie was good, and hot enough to nearly burn his tongue as he quickly ate, then chased it down with a gulp of cider. 

Before he went back into the main room, he paused by the mirror to inspect his face. No new scars, but his hair and beard were starting to get scraggly. He’d need to trim them both soon.

Din grunted and put his helmet back on, retreating into the safety and anonymity it offered him. He picked up the tray and went back out, pausing and grinning when he saw Aysa sitting with the Womp-Rat at the table, coaxing him into eating one spoonful at a time.

“Here comes the TIE Fighter,” Aysa said, her voice noticeably higher-pitched and more sing-songy. “Open wide…”

The kid willingly opened his mouth for her to spoon in the broth, and he giggled and clapped his hands together after he’d swallowed.

Din was sure he hadn’t made any noise when he’d come in, but Aysa spoke without turning to look at him. “Food was alright?”

“It was. Thank you,” he said, setting the tray on the counter.

“Bet you don’t have many home-cooked meals on the ship,” Aysa said, and Din shook his head.

“It’s mostly ration bars,” he said. “There’s a galley, but it’s barely large enough to fit in even without my armor.”

“That does sound problematic,” Aysa said. “And you’re not a real big guy, either.”

Burg’s comment of “Tiny” came to mind, and Din rolled his eyes at the memory. “No,” he agreed neutrally.

“Hey, not saying that’s a bad thing,” Aysa said. “Means you need less beskar to be all armored up, for one. Right?”

Din grinned, knowing she’d be able to hear it in his voice. “I suppose.”

Aysa set the spoon down. “Are you smiling, Din?”

The sound of his name from unfamiliar lips was… strange. Not unpleasant, just unusual.

“I guess you’ll never know,” he said. “Go eat. I’ll finish here.” He pulled the bowl of broth towards him, beginning to coax the Womp-Rat into eating.

Aysa watched the pair for a moment, smiling. Her stomach growled, and she got up to help herself to a small serving of pie.

“So does Baby eat anything else yet, or just broth?” Aysa asked, sitting back down and digging into her food.

“Frogs,” Din replied, sounding slightly strained. “Preferably live.”

Aysa choked on her pie and began coughing. Without taking his eyes off the kid, Din reached over and thumped her squarely between the shoulders.

“Thanks,” Aysa gasped. “Frogs?”

“I’m trying to get him to stop,” Din said, reaching out to poke Baby on the nose. Baby scrunched his face up and leaned away, only to lean back when Din offered him another spoonful. 

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have killed him yet?” Aysa offered faintly.

“Yet,” Din muttered.

Aysa made a small noise of sympathy. She dumped her empty plate in the sink and headed back out to the speeder pad.

Din eyed the plate in the sink. She’d barely taken several mouthfuls of food. She wasn’t kidding about not eating well, but he wondered how much of that was by choice.

Aysa returned with the crates from the speeder bike and set them down just inside the door, beginning to unpack one of them. She glanced up at Din; he ignored her, so she figured she was okay to continue. With one crate empty, she disappeared briefly into her room, returning with a thick blanket that she used to line it. 

“Baby can sleep in here,” she said, and the kid’s ears perked up at the sound of her voice. “Settle him down whenever, but I’m tired.”

Din said nothing; Aysa shrugged and disappeared into her room, reemerging a few minutes later with a pillow and blanket under her arm. She was wearing nothing but a pair of thin sleeping trousers. Din glanced up and was suddenly quite glad she couldn’t see him staring.

He hadn’t been wrong: her chest really was boy-flat, distinctive white scars just under where her pectoral muscles curved. Surgical, unlike the other scars that lined her torso. Most of them were heavy burn scars like the one on her face, but a few on her arms and stomach where the armor didn’t cover looked like cuts or blaster hits. Not too dissimilar to his own.

She was lean and well-muscled as fit a mercenary, but thin enough he could count her ribs. He frowned. Muscled she might be, but there was no way that meant healthy. When she turned her back to him, his frown deepened. Parts of her spine—or maybe all of it—had been replaced, angry red skin growing up over the metal segments embedded in her back. It didn’t look like an old injury by any stretch of the imagination, especially judging by the twisting, ropy scar that stretched from shoulder to hip, cutting across her body.

He couldn’t imagine baring himself like that. It was the height of vulnerability, a complete lack of regard for one’s safety.

It was not the Way.

Not for him, he had to remind himself. For her, this must be normal. 

Or—and this thought drew him up short—she was acting like this because she trusted him. It made a certain amount of sense. He trusted her as well. Not fully—they had only just met—but there was a certain respect that went to fellow Mando’ade that would grow stronger with time. The differences between their clans were a footnote in that larger picture.

Aysa lay down on the lumpy sofa and rolled herself into her blanket until the only parts of her Din could see were her toes and the top of her head.

Baby whined at him insistently and he quickly refocused his attention on feeding the child. As soon as Baby let out a soft, contented belch, Din gathered him up and set him in the makeshift cot in the corner of the room. Baby looked like he wanted to hold on, but he yawned as he was set down, big eyes slowly closing before he’d been fully laid in the cot.

“G’night,” came Aysa’s muffled voice from the corner.

Din’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Good night.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

I See You: Part Five

A/N: As you get ready to hear what Billy has to say, both of you go through some of the last conversations you had. *this one contains a prompt from @littledarlinhavefaithinme ‘s “10 Marvelous Things I Hate About You” challenge. Prompt is highlighted*

Warning: Language, violence, tiny bit of lemon zest. 

Word Count: 3,920

Crimson leaves fluttered and fell from the sugar maples that lined your street, the sun shining through them like stained glass before they touched down on the cobbled sidewalk. The crisp September air made you shrug a little more deeply into the thick cable knit scarf that Lexi had given you for your birthday- along with a bottle of vodka that she’d helped you finish- but the below average chill did nothing to douse your spirits. You paused to lean down and tie the laces on your boots, adjusting your phone between your ear and shoulder so you could carry on your conversation without interruption.

“Can’t you send me somthin’ romantic next time? Why’s it always gotta be these deep, dark, melodramas?”

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see as you finished with your laces and straightened up, taking your phone back into your gloved hand. “Because, Russo, you asked me to help make you seem cultured, not cliche. If all you want is some lukewarm, watered down garbage, just quote Romeo and Juliet at her. Chicks dig that bullshit.” You could picture him biting his lower lip to keep from laughing, that devilish look in those coal black eyes that you’d seen the first night you’d met. “But if you really want to impress a woman, you’ll show her your mind, Billy. So I’m sending you stuff that will make you use it.” You grinned preemptively, running your tongue along your top lip as you prepared to deliver your next line. “You’re the one actually choosing to read what I send you, ya know?”

There was a part of you, although you were perfectly content to keep Billy as a friend, that secretly hoped that he was reading all the books you sent him because it was you that he was trying to impress. You knew there were plenty of fly by night floozies and paper doll cut outs to occupy his empty hours, and that didn’t bother you. You knew he didn’t feel anything for them, knew he was only trying to keep an acceptable amount of booty calls on rotation by keeping them interested enough to put up with the extreme lack of commitment that Billy put into any of his “romantic” endeavors. But you’d be completely lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t at least thought about what it might be like to have something more than friendship with him. You reached the end of the block and stopped with a small group of pedestrians waiting for the signal to change.

“Yeah, yeah, you got me there,” you heard him expel a burst of air through his nose in a snarky, one-of-a-kind Billy Russo laugh. “Just sayin’, it’d be nice if you sent me somthin’ less...I dunno, serious?”

You mentally ran through the last few books you’d sent him- Wuthering Heights,  Frankenstein, and the one sitting on your kitchen counter, boxed up and ready to send to his next deployment in Kandahar, The Picture of Dorian Gray. Shit, he’s got a point. “What have you got in mind then? Any of these girls you see recommend any great works of fiction?” The light changed and the group of people around you started to move forward into the crosswalk on Charles Street. “You want me to send you one of those trashy romance novels with Fabio on the cover?” An older woman a few feet to your left caught your question and made a face, and you looked down to see a book sticking up out of her bag. swirling violet lettering reading Ravaged and the unmistakable luscious hair of the model you’d just mentioned in jest were just visible and it was clear from her scowl that she didn’t appreciate you deeming her literature of choice as “trashy”. You mouthed a “sorry” and shrugged at the disgruntled woman and choked back the giggles that were desperate to burst forth.

“The last one... Ashley?”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and rolled your whole head with a dramatic groan.Of course he doesn’t remember her name. Her bra size though, bet he remembers that. “Allison, Russo, her name is Allison. C’mon write ‘em down if they’re so hard to keep track of. Or, and stay with me here, ‘cause this one’s a doozy...you could actually get serious with one of them. Cut down the list of names you have to know.” You know my name, Billy.

“Right. Allison.” He ignored everything else you’d said and you wondered if he ignored Frank when he gave the same advice. “She suggested Hemingway, said he was-”

“Romantic? Hemingway? He was an abusive, alcoholic misogynist who squandered half of his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers. Sounds like Allison knows about as much as you regarding the classics. You two are made for each other.”

Again he ignored the relationship advice. “Hey, Picasso probably had some good leftovers.” You heard a zipper being pulled closed and the soft thud of his fist hitting the full duffle like a punching bag. He’s all packed up, I probably only have a few more minutes…

“Billy,” your tone shifted as you came to another corner, turning right down Mt. Vernon Street, lined with beautiful red brick buildings, bright shiny front doors, and carriage style lanterns. It wasn’t as busy; there weren’t as many shops and cafes as there were on Charles Street, so there wasn’t as much foot traffic. You took advantage of the less crowded sidewalk to stop and lean against a concrete stair rail to finish your conversation. “You know you deserve more than leftovers…” Over the years you’d lost count of how many times you’d tried to convince him that he deserved much more than what he allowed himself to have.

There was a pause on the other end of the line and you dared to hope that he was thinking about what you’d said- that maybe the ten thousandth time would be the charm. But before that hope could swell too much, he poked a hole in it with his response. “I dunno, cold pizza makes for a pretty good breakfast.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, unable to keep your mind from shuffling through millions of moments before it reached the one and only time that Billy Russo had spent the night at your apartment, and the pizza that you’d shared both for dinner and as your first meal the following morning. You recalled walking out into your living room to see him sprawled on your couch, one long leg hanging down onto the floor, one muscled arm bent and thrown across his face. The soft pewter blanket that you’d given him was tucked up beneath his chin, his dark hair spread out over the white couch cushions. You remembered how peaceful he looked then, and how your heart had turned to cement and dropped through your ribs, wishing that you could flop down onto the couch with him. You’d wished that you could climb beneath the blanket and waste the morning in his arms, showing him what it felt like to be with someone who cared for him. You opened your eyes and you were back on Mt. Vernon Street, a maple leaf caught in your scarf. Plucking it out you realized that a good 6 seconds of silence had passed, and Billy was repeating your name.

“You still there? This fuckin’ service…” his voice sounded distant as he pulled the phone away from his ear to check if he’d lost the connection. “Keeps dropping out, you there?”

“Yeah, sorry, Billy, I’m here.” You cleared your throat. “Breakfast pizza. Right.” The leaf fell from your fingers as you tried to recover quickly. “Just saying, pancakes and eggs and bacon makes for a pretty good breakfast, too, Russo.” You deserve more than stale pizza crust.  

“You’n Frankie, I swear you’re tryin’ to turn me into some soft, domestic type.”

The laugh that slipped out wasn’t forced or faked at all, and you were glad that the awkward moment was over. “That what you think of Frank? He’s a softie?”

Then it was Billy’s turn to chuckle. “Hell no, not Frankie. Toughest son of a bitch I ever met.”

“Besides yourself,” you stood up straight, taking a step away from the railing that you’d been leaning against, and resumed walking.

“Besides myself, that’s right.” He repeated, and you could hear the grin you imagined he was wearing. You heard rustling on his end and knew he was shouldering his overstuffed duffle, and then another few seconds of silence. You knew he was heading out the door, knew he only had a minute or two more before he had to leave or else he’d be late, which was completely unacceptable. But you also knew that he hated ending the conversation, so you knew you would have to do it for him.

“You all set over there, Marine? Headin’ out?” You knew you had no right to feel the tightness in your chest that you felt, knew that you were already missing him, missing his voice more than you should, but there really wasn’t much you could do.

“Yeah, just about,” he’d answered quickly , and you knew he was grateful.

“Alright then, Russo, you take care of yourself, you tough son of a bitch.” Stay safe, Billy. Stay safe, come home.  

He laughed. “I will, always do.” You heard his front door open, heard the jingling of keys in his hand as he pulled it closed to lock it up. “Lookin’ forward to your next terrible book recommendation.”

“Ha. You know, one of these days I am gonna send you a flouncy Fabio novel, and then we’ll see who’s laughing.” You suddenly felt the chill that had been in the air the whole time, as though talking to Billy had kept it at bay, and now that the conversation was ending, it was back. You sniffed, rubbing your nose with one hand. “I’ll talk to you soon, Billy.” You had a rule, when either of you left on a deployment, and that was that you didn’t end a call with “goodbye”, both of you hating the way it sounded. When you were both stateside and as safe as any civilian was, “goodbye” wasn’t a problem. It was a different story when gunfire and bombs were involved, when there were rockets digging craters and IEDs buried in the sand, or submarines gliding below the deep blue depths, threatening your aircraft carrier with silent missiles.

“Talk to you soon,” he answered, and you knew that as soon as he could, as soon as he was settled and had a free moment and an internet connection, he’d fire off an email to you. He hung up then, because if he didn’t the call would never end, and you knew it, too. You took a deep breath of autumn air, and pocketed your phone. I’ll miss you, Billy Russo.

That had been one of the last real conversations you’d had with Billy… with the Billy that you knew. The last deployment had changed him, had been harder, different from the rest. His emails were short and lacked the sarcasm you’d come to expect. The few times he’d been able to call you he’d sounded deflated, exhausted, and not just physically. As you led him to the park in silence under the city lights, you wondered how those changes had affected the man you’d come to love. You’re still in there, Billy, I know you are...

.  . .  . . .  .

Billy had spent his entire shift shuffling through every conversation he’d ever had with you; every laugh he’d caught through the phone line, every picture you’d sent while at sea, every single time he’d thought about you since he’d deleted your number. He’d smirked at the security camera on his way to the time clock, knowing that Frank had access to it, making sure he showed up when and where he was supposed to. But where normally he’d spend the night mopping bathrooms and banks, seething about what Frank and Lieberman had reduced him to, tonight he’d been consumed with you. What to tell you, what not to say, what to ask and not to ask… wondering if it could possibly ever go back to the way it was, if you could ever possibly forgive him… if he even deserved your forgiveness. A vivid memory took hold as he dumped the mop bucket and finished up at his final location for the evening.

Billy’s breath was hot as he lowered his mouth to one thigh. His lips and tongue and teeth trailed towards his destination as his hands found the soft flesh of the ass that had been driving him crazy all night. A few strands of hair fell out of place as he looked up, dark eyes on fire, to enjoy the view before him. His vision was blurred from the bourbon, but his hearing worked just fine. He grinned as he flicked his tongue against the slick heat at the apex of the legs his head was lost between, the soft moan of his name urging him on. “Billy… oh, fuck…”

His eyes rolled back as that bimbo’s voice was replaced with yours in his mind, and he increased the pressure he applied with his tongue. Ashley? Allison? Fuck it doesn’t matter… she had her hands in his hair, holding him in place, and he groaned, imagining your fingers gripping and tugging instead. He slipped his tongue into her, dreaming of what you would taste like, and the thought alone sent him for a spin. Finally, completely spellbound by his secret desires, he turned to kiss her thigh, but it was your name that fell from his lips. And it wasn’t the first time, either.

She stiffened, instantly pushing away from him and sat up, a look of pure disgust etched into her carefully painted on face. “Are you fucking kidding me, Billy? Fucking again?” She pulled her legs back from over his shoulders and stood from the bed, scoffing as she tossed her long blonde hair and shook her head. She bent down to retrieve her discarded clothing and started getting dressed.

Billy just sat up, a complete lack of guilt, embarrassment or whatever Allison thought he should be feeling clear in his eyes. He shrugged and shifted so that he was leaning against the headboard, reaching for the phone on his bedside table. I could call her… tell her I’m back…

He’d called you as soon as he’d had his boots back on U.S. soil, but he hadn’t told you that he was back. “Gettin’ out of this hell hole in two weeks,” he’d said while he drank a coffee in his kitchen. “Can’t wait to get the fuck out.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he lied through his teeth. Fuck, this is hard. He’d always been able to bend the truth to suit his needs before, but not with you, and he felt his stomach turn.

“Two more weeks? That’s not bad, Marine. You and Frank taking care of each other?” He heard the tingling sound of a spoon clattering into the sink and guessed that you’d just made yourself a coffee, too.

Billy set his mug down and rested his forehead in his hand, raking it back through his hair. His mind immediately went to that night, in that tent, after that mission had lead them straight into that ambush resulting in the greatest loss to their unit that they’d ever suffered.

“Did you complete the mission?” Rawlins barked the question repeatedly, even while his men bled and suffered- the ones that had made it back, anyway. His clean white shirt and well rested mind didn’t belong in that tent. Covered in blood, some of it his own but most of it Frank’s, Billy sat in silence. Wringing his hands, a dull hum drowning out the noise, he considered things he never thought he would- he considered a transfer to a different unit, considered leaving the military completely. This shit… its all wrong… this isn’t right, not what I signed up for… The abrupt sound of a metal folding chair crashing to the ground as Frank, still bleeding from a gunshot wound, launched himself at Rawlins out of rage as the entitled asshole asked his question again broke him from his thoughts. Aw shit, Frankie. In two strides Billy crossed to where Frank had just landed a brutal punch that punctured the man’s eye socket. He’s gonna fuckin kill ‘em. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and hauled him into the next room, tossing him through the door.

“You’re gonna fuckin protect him, Bill?!” Frank’s voice was uneven, his eyes flashing. “Sends us into a goddamn ambush when we told him, I told him and you’re takin’ his side?!”

“I’m protecting you Frank. This is never gonna be on him. We’re here to take the fall, Frankie, not Rawlins… and I’m done. I’m out… and you should think about it too.” He left Frank gaping like a big mouth bass, needing to be anywhere but in the room with the words he’d just said aloud.

“Yeah,” he answered your question. “Yeah Frankie’n me got each other’s backs, like always.”

He heard you swallow on the other end of the line before you spoke. “Hey, you okay Billy? Something you’re not telling me?” Shit, she’s too good at this… at knowin me…

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. It’s just…” he rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye. “Things are different this time… just… lookin forward to gettin out, ya know?”

“Okay, well… just keep your head up, Russo. Two more weeks until beers and burgers.” His chest tightened as you tried to reassure him, tried to give him some tiny spark to get him through. I don’t deserve her… she’s … this is why I have to do this, cut her out… she’s too good for my bullshit… “Hey what’d you think of the book I sent?”

“Think it was perfect for me,” he answered, staring out his window at the gray New York City morning.

You’d laughed, and his chest tightened another notch. “It’s about a man who sold his soul to the devil, Billy. You may be dark and mysterious but you’re not the devil.”

Least I got to hear that laugh again. “If you insist… but I did like it… I highlighted a line for you. You’re always highlighting things for me so I did one this time…” the last time.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic. That was the line that he’d selected, the line he hoped would help you understand; understand that he had made his choice, and that he couldn’t take you with him.

He shook his head, enraged shouts pulling him away from the memory of your last phone call, just a few days before. Allison was still berating him for being a womanizer and an asshole, for using her for sex- I use you because you make it too easy. Yeah, I’m an asshole, everyone knows that, what’s your goddamn point?- but he didn’t care, just scrolled through his phone until he found the photo he’d been looking for, the one from the night that he met you.

The fact that your roommate was perched in his lap barely registered when he looked at it. He didn’t even see Frank anymore. All he saw was the frozen laughter on your face, the happiness captured that night that felt worlds away now, even as he sat in the same city that the photo had been taken in. He used two fingers to zoom in until only you were visible in the frame of the picture. I really fucked up… He never told you, but that picture kept him going on some of the worst days; reminded him that there was at least one person who gave a shit about him, one person that believed in him...one person that saw him for who he really was and kept him in their life anyway, asking for nothing but the same in return. Allison was shrieking his name, trying to get him to pay attention to her as she made a show of gearing up to storm out. Billy zoomed back out on the photo before he pressed delete, erasing your number while he was at it so he couldn’t make any more mistakes with you.

“...knew you were fucked up, Billy, but Jesus. You want to fuck her that bad, go the fuck ahead, see if I care. Then she can feel like shit, too when you forget her name... ”

Rage bubbled up at the thought that he could ever forget you, at the idea that she meant anything to him, anything close to what you meant. He stood, tossing his phone on the bed and advanced on Allison, fists curled at his sides. She took a step back, bottom lip quivering but eyes locked on his. “Don’t you fucking talk about her. You don’t get to say anything about her, you hear me?” His nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “You mean nothing to me, sweetheart. You’re nothin’ but a nice ass in a tight dress and that’s all you’ll ever be, and ya know somethin’ else? I don’t think this,” he gestured between her and himself demonstratively with his pointer finger, “is gonna work out anymore. Get the fuck out.”

She opened her mouth to unleash more insults, but Billy just gave her a look that shut her up once and for all. “I said get the fuck outta my place.” He growled, and she turned, walking quickly towards the front door, slamming it behind her.  Good. She’s gone. She’d never be you, and he knew that. None of the women he fucked would ever be you. I don’t deserve her… she deserves better than me...better than the bullshit I’m involved in… It sliced at his heart like shards of glass, cutting you from his life so finally, but you’d been the only one who mattered, and he wouldn’t allow you to become a target. Attachments are weaknesses…

He reached your apartment at 9:30 on the dot, and you’d been waiting like you said you would be. “Let’s take a walk,” you’d suggested, leading him down the block with the use of a long cane that you held out in front of you. His heart hammered and his mouth ran drier with every single silent step, as he prepared himself to tell you everything- everything he’d done, every choice he’d made, everything done to him and why he had to let you go. The curved wrought iron fence surrounding the small patch of green that New Yorkers called “parks” came into view, and you walked through it to a bench near a fountain. You took a seat and released a shaky sigh, and it hit him how hard you were trying to keep it together. You took your dark glasses off, folding them and setting them in your lap before turning your face up to his. Your eyes, once bright blue and always shining, we’re now a frosty, icy color, some light scarring around the edges of the right one, and his fingers twitched, aching to reach out to you. “Take a seat, Billy,” you softly requested, patting the bench beside you. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @agent-bossypants @zaffrenotes @songforhema @thesumofmychoices @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @ethereal-heavcns @ymariejp

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! 

[acrobaticcatfeline]

Logan and His Little Bumble Bee (Single Dads AU) Chapter 4!!!

Word Count: 3643

TW: swearing, deceit, vague mentions of vague trauma, arguments, crying, unconscious projecting, one quick mention of homophobia, roman is a big nervous a lot lmk if I missed anything!!!

Notes: This was out way sooner than I expected. So I made this one revolving around Roman and Dmitri for once, because we don’t get that much and now he has thoughts and things to say!!! Anyways it starts a bit angsty but its really soft and fluffy and I love my baby gays. It’s dialogue heavy this time around, it’s almost as if my writing changes subconsciously depending on which character I am writing. Huh. I hope you enjoy it, I worked my butt off for it. Previous chapter here, first chapter here!

Summary: “you are 15 years old! Absolutely not!!!” Logan is having trouble letting Roman be himself, projecting his own bad experiences on him without realizing it. Roman and Dmitri kiss a lot because they’re really soft and really gay.

“you are 15 years old! Absolutely not!!!”

“dad people in my grade have been dating since they were 10 come on!”

“and they're irresponsible and don’t know better! Roman it is not a good idea-”

“Logan dear be rational; kids are supposed to-”

“NO!”

Everyone paused as Logan screamed. Roman had flinched and Logan winced knowing he caused it, but he couldn’t just stop at this point.

“Roman, dating this young is a bad idea, take it from me. I mean that was when I got together with mercy-”

“you can’t say that like it’s the biggest mistake you’ve made dad!!! Because… because if it was then I would have-I know it ended badly with you and her, but you were still happy at the time! You can’t just keep me from experiencing things because you're scared dad. I'm not you. I-I need to live my own life eventually, and if I don’t know how to then what am I gonna do when I'm an adult?”

“you don’t- Roman that isn't necessary to be happy, I mean look at me and Patton-”

“well maybe I don’t want to pine for someone for 9 years!!! Maybe, maybe I want to live my life now, instead of waiting in fear!!! Maybe I want my happily ever after before I settle down, maybe, for once, I want to live my life without worrying that I'm a disappointment to my parents!!! I know you don’t mean to but you just, you make everything so hard! You-you have so much, so much hope. That I'm going to be this perfect kid and I'm gonna grow up to be amazing, and its exhausting! I want to make a decision without worrying that I'm going to do wrong by you! And then mercy… mercy never saw me for me, and I always had to be perfect for her and she's gone now but I'm just so tired dad! I'm tired of trying to fit inside this perfect box that I think you have for me, I want to be a teenager, I want to date, I want to go to parties, I want to make mistakes and not cry myself to sleep thinking I've made you hate me. It’s so hard to try to make you happy all the time. I want to have a chance to just make me happy.”

Logan stared at Roman. He had been trying so hard to protect him and take care of him, and all he had been doing was overwhelming him. He had never meant to do any of it, Roman was right, but he went back through his brain and it hurt to see that he had unconsciously pushed his son onto a pedestal that was impossible to escape from. He was never disappointed in him, whether he did good or bad or made mistakes, he had always tried to show that he was proud no matter what. He felt tears welling in his eyes and saw Roman twist uncomfortably. He felt Patton's arm wrap around his shoulders, but he couldn’t stay there, his mind was racing too fast. He was catastrophizing he knew, but he couldn’t so easily stop himself. His head was knocked out of the process when Roman ran into his arms, wrapping him in a hug. He let his arms fold around his sons waist, letting a few tears fall.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry dad I just- I needed to tell you and I was going to tell you in a nicer way, a better planned way but then this happened and it all came out I'm sorry dad I didn’t mean to make you cry”

“it’s- its fine Ro. I needed to hear that from you. I'm. I'm sorry Ro I didn’t mean it. I try so hard to show that I'm always proud of you, god you have helped me so much and I've never realized that I was making you feel so pressured I'm sorry bee, I’ll try harder, I didn’t know-”

Logan’s head was buried in Roman’s chest, it was the benefit of his son growing taller than him, he could hide his tear stained face out of sight. He sniffed a bit, rubbing his eyes before letting go of him. He smiled widely at Roman.

“I was wrong to have set such impossible standards. It was wrong of me to treat you like I had a second chance at my childhood. I really, just want the best for you but-”

He took a sharp inhale and looked him in the eyes.

“but its your life. And-and if you want, if you want to date. Then, I-I support you completely. Because, because I love you Roman. So so much.”

His eyes teared up again, and he let out a choked laugh while rubbing his eyes clear. Roman smiled at him and hugged him again, thanking him profusely. At that point Virgil walked back inside. He looked at the scene, sending a questioning glance at Patton over the other two. Patton let out a small smile and shook his head, to which Virgil shrugged and went upstairs without a further thought.

 “so, he was fine with it?”

“I mean he wasn’t, but I explained a few things and he's fine with it now. It took a little bit of the harsher truths to be spilled for him to understand my point, and a few tears, but yeah.”

“wow. I haven’t seen… either of you cry in my entire time knowing you.”

“yeah it doesn’t happen often. I think the last time I saw my dad cry was when he told me that mercy wasn’t coming back.”

“geez that’s a long time. And its always baffled me that I've never seen you cry; I've known you since you were 2.”

“yeah, I'm a uh, private crier. I don’t think I've cried in front of people really since I could talk.”

“fuck man how the hell did you manage that?”

“… I mean I don’t remember it, but I think it was a leftover from when I still lived with mercy.”

“what.”

“eh, it doesn’t matter.”

“no wait what? What did she do to you?”

“pfft, I just told you Vee, I don’t remember. I get vague fuzzy feelings that are sorta like if memories were feelings, but otherwise I have no idea.”

“that’s fucked up man”

“meh. Anyways back to the original topic, soooo can I get Dmitri's number?”

“oh my god.”

“oh, and you're at 75 cents.”

“shit.”

“a dollar!”

 Virgil had handed over his number easily, smirking as Roman gave him a hug before dashing into his own room. Roman had immediately sent Dmitri a text, ‘hey, its Roman! Dads way more chill now so I stole your number from Virgil’ and he had responded almost immediately.

‘neat so are we gonna talk about what that was?’

‘I mean, I thought it was p straight forward, but I mean if you think we should?’

‘I mean yeah but’

Radio silence for a minute

‘but like, idk if you want this to be serious or smth like, casual. I mean I don’t care either way’

‘oh! Well something serious sounds nice!’

‘thank god I was not prepared for something casual regardless of what I said’

‘pfft, its fine tough guy’

‘if that nickname sticks you gotta use it around rem, it'll make him bug out’

‘alrighty! Tough guy~’

‘ouch yo chill it with that I'm in public’

‘pfft ur a dork Dee!’

‘I am absolutely not a whale’s penis and I'm offended you would even imply it’

‘oh my god I'm gonna break up with you’

‘nooooo don’t do that I'm too dark and mysterious to be broken up with for that’

‘dark and mysterious my butt! The only dark thing about you is your humor and the only mysterious things about you are your eyes!’

‘babe I have a reputation to keep up!’

‘guess your rep will just have to fit me in there somewhere then!’

‘god you are adorable, I gtg before you somehow make me start uwuing at my family’

‘uwu bye bye mistew dmitwi!!!’

‘god its disgusting kill it with fire’

‘love you too Dee! <3<3<3’

‘<3’

Roman set down his phone afterwards, feeling the butterflies attacking his insides like rabid animals. He changed the tab over to his YouTube and put on his headphones, listening to his curated BTS playlist, starting off with answer: love myself, bopping along and humming. He switched the tab and scrolled through Tumblr smiling at the posts about his favorite superheroes.

 The next week was absolutely blissful for Roman, he alternated between sitting at his table with a few of his acquaintances who he would chat with about his hyperfixations, and with Dmitri and his friends. Virgil had a different lunch hour luckily, otherwise he would have been slightly embarrassed. But hilariously the first day he sat with Dee, his friends were caught off guard as a boy in soft pastels and stonewashed jeans sat beside Dmitri and was immediately nestled underneath his arm. There were words signed across the table and Dee would chuckle and respond which sent their eyes flying to Roman in his seat as he ate his sandwich oblivious to the reason he was being stared at, just sending kind smiles back at them.

When lunch had ended, he had stood on his toes and kissed Dee’s cheek and his friends all had the shocked looks on their faces again. He ran off to class and had forgotten about the whole interaction afterwards. He was only reminded after school through a text from Dee.

‘sorry about my friends at lunch, they're judgmental shits. I told them off but knowing them they might continue to be asshats anyways’

‘huh. Didn’t even notice. I really need to get around to fully learning sign, I have the smallest feeling that if I'm hanging out with you more it might possibly be useful.’

‘meh, if I really need you to know something and I can’t talk I’ll just text you.’

‘mmm but I still want to learn! Anyways what were they saying’

‘oh they were being dicks about your clothes and then they were being shits about me dating you, they're assholes, I only hang out with them cuz coach had everyone learn sign for me and they're the only people I can talk to during the school day’

‘oh, that’s rude! Do you want me to stop hanging out with you at lunch?’

‘no not at all, I just want you to know what you're getting into’

‘mhm!’

The next time Roman sat with them, he had sent about 8 insults to the people around the table while Dee wasn’t looking, essentially ‘fuck off you judgmental homophobic dicks’ and after that the group shut their traps about him and Dee.

 The week after, Dmitri was busy almost always. There was a big game this weekend and he Remy and Virgil were always either practicing, doing schoolwork, or sleeping for the most part. He would send good morning and good night texts but that was mostly it and Roman felt dumb for missing him so much. Virgil invited him to practice after seeing him sitting around staring at his phone like a kicked dog.

He had sat on the bleachers, watching the coach drill them and them playing near their best. They had taken a rest and Dmitri had made his way up to him, a giant bottle of water in hand. He smiled and let out a croaked hello.

“oh, Dmitri when was the last time you spoke?”

He had coughed and held up a 6 on his fingers. Roman pouted and placed a kiss on his chapped lips. Dmitri waved his hand to say it isn't a problem with a smile on his face and it made Roman pout more and kiss him again, wrapping his arms around himself after. Dee ruffled his hair and went to say something when the whistle blew calling them back. He sighed and stood up, signing ‘I love you’ before rushing back to the field. Roman sat in silence, watching them play once again.

 Roman was beaming. The game was today and that meant he would get Dmitri back afterwards along with Remy and Virgil. He was filled with jitters; he knows the team had been working tirelessly for the whole week and he was excited to see his friends kick the rival schools butt! He was rushing Patton out the door again, just like he was a few weeks before but for a separate reason this time.

He wasn’t expecting the time at the game to fly as quick as it did, but here he was. It was nearing the end and they weren’t very far ahead, and the worry was clear on the teams faces. And then Dmitri had the ball! The crowd roared in surprise and excitement as he weaved around the opposition. He got caught near the goal and Roman was on the edge of his seat as Dmitri kicked the ball straight into the goal. The cheers were immediate, the buzzer signaling the end of the game followed a few seconds later. Roman was up and standing at the edge of the guardrail of the bleachers jumping up and down and screaming. He raced down and met Dmitri at the entrance of the showers, looking around before tugging him off towards the underside of the bleachers. He spoke in barely restrained squeals.

“Dee I'm so proud of you!!! Oh, my goodness you did so well!!! I can’t even-”

Dmitri cut him off with a kiss, one that Roman reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arms around his neck and tilting his head as well as he could with the height difference they had when suddenly he wasn’t standing on his own feet but being held in the air from his waist. He broke the kiss with a squeak, placing his hands-on Dmitri's shoulders as he was hoisted in the air by a happy Dee. He squeaked again as he was spun around before being set on the ground. When he was steady again, he looked up at Dmitri with an amused but confused face.

“we did it”

“you did! Had you not processed that yet?”

“not really no.”

“oh, my goodness you are a dork.”

“listen if you had scored the last goal you would be a little stunned too”

“valid however-”

“oh, just shut up and kiss me again you prep”

“gladly”

“ey before you two start making out you might want to go talk to the team? They're sort of wanting to congratulate you, but you disappeared.”

Roman froze in embarrassment at his brother catching them. Dmitri just smirked and turned to face him.

“listen if any of them could get a significant other they would understand. But considering that even you haven’t gotten the nerve to ask out Remy yet, I guess they wouldn’t so I guess I should grace them with my presence, huh babe?”

“hey, fuck off my little brother didn’t need to know I like your brother!”

“oops!”

Roman giggled a bit at the blush that spread across Virgil's face. He nudged Dmitri.

“be nice honeybee. And he's right, I stole you from your festivities! We should head back over; we can be cute later”

“nonsense, that implies that you can stop being cute”

“bluhhhh that’s my brotherrrrr come on you two, be gross later”

 “DMITRI THAT WAS LEGENDARY!!!”

Dee had a cocky look on his face as his teammates congratulated him, Remy running up and tackling in a hug at first sight. He chuckled wordlessly at his brother who was screaming praise at him and then dragging him into the showers. The team followed them in all continuing to shout praise and Roman contemplated following as well. He eventually just went in after about 10 minutes, finding Dmitri surrounded by his team and. He blanched and turned around a corner, hiding his face in his hands. On the other side, Dmitri sat with blue jeans and no shirt, still dripping water from his hair. He took a few big breaths before wandering back over, not trying to push past anyone and just standing where he knew Dmitri could see him. He flushed when Dmitri smiled and winked at him over the heads of his teammates, curling up in his arms and covering his face again. He whispered to himself in his hands

“gosh I'm really gay and he's unfairly pretty”

It wasn’t much longer before the group had filed out, done with the celebration, Virgil given him a nudge as he left. He walked in, seeing Dmitri finally pulling out his shirt, and Roman couldn’t help but turn away with a bit of shyness hitting him again.

“what's up Roman? You good babe?”

“mhm! You just um,”

His mouth felt dry as salt and he was wondering when that happened.

“you look nice…”

“pfft you're a nerd.”

Roman’s mind came up with several scenarios for what could happen as he stood up to kiss him. Of course, all that happened was hands around his waist as Dee leant down to give him an easier time. He still felt fuzzy but ignored it as Dmitri pulled away to put his shirt on, quickly pulling on his leather jacket on afterwards before placing a kiss on Roman’s temple and grabbing his hand.

“come on, I'm stealing you, my folks are treating the team to ice cream and pizza and they’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“wh-what? Wait you talk about me with your parents?”

“Remy sold me out day one, but yeah, they seem genuinely interested in meeting you, so I mean why not?”

“oh. Ok then. I should probably tell my dads first, but I’ll be back!”

He ran up to Logan, wrapping him in a hug before explaining everything to him and Patton. Logan looked unsure but Patton backed him up.

“Lolo, Virgil's going to be there too, and it’s not like he's going to be stranded! Plus, there's a new diner that opened a bit ago that I've been wanting to take you to!”

“…ok. You have your keys and your wallet and your phone, right?”

“yes dad!”

“…ok then. Go have fun. Let me or pat know when you are coming home.”

“ok! See you guys tonight! Love you!!!”

 The party was far more calm than Roman had expected, most of the team dipping early on leaving just him and Virgil as guests. Neither could complain, they had free access to an abundance of pizza and ice cream, and they could spend uninterrupted time with the objects of their affections. Virgil and Remy had absconded upstairs playing games or something while Roman was sitting next to Dmitri and his parents.

“how long have you been dating now?”

“um, 2 weeks!”

“wow! And you two are already attached by the hip huh?”

Roman nodded as his cheeks burned. He felt his boyfriends arm snake around his waist, pulling him closer.

“oh, you two are adorable! We’ll leave you be, don’t have too much fun with him kiddo!”

Roman visibly relaxed as they left, leaning against his boyfriend and letting out a sigh. Dmitri moved his arm up, running his fingers through his hair, grinning at the purr like noise Roman made in response.

“you should stay the night”

“my dad wouldn’t let me do that unless-”

Virgil stormed down the stairs with a lovesick expression.

“Roman we’re staying the night!”

“oh! Does dad-”

“yeah don’t worry its fine they're chill!”

“what happened?”

“I-”

“BOY YOU BETTER GET BACK UP HERE AND KISS ME I'M HAVING KISS WITHDRAWL”

“let’s say me and Remy are a thing now? Gotta go!”

“…about what I was saying…”

“isn't that the best timing huh?”

“oh hush!”

“wanna head to bed? It is pretty late.”

“um, sure. But I wanted to cuddle some more…”

“who said I was gonna stop cuddling you nerd?”

“I? um uh”

“you can share a bed without it being sexual I hope you know.”

“oh! Oh yeah I totally, yeah duh, of course”

“come on babe”

Roman frowned at him rolling his eyes but followed him upstairs. He had walked into his room and grabbed some clothing before filing into the bathroom. When he came back, Roman had to confronts his gay again, as he was shirtless once again and he was talking to him and he's got to focus dammit!

“-so that’s why, also I have various pajamas in there, and I also have shirts that are probably way to big for you in there as well, take your pick.”

“oh um, I was just gonna sleep in this!”

“…yeah no. those jeans are way too form fitting to get away with sleeping in, and your shirt does not look nearly comfortable enough.”

“o-okay then I guess…”

He grabbed a pair of sleep shorts and one of his shirts and headed into the bathroom. When he came back, he immediately launched himself into his boyfriends’ arms. Dmitri giggled seeing the shirt choice, placing a quick kiss on his nose.

“nah you're a sarcastic butterfly”

“shhhhh I'm a sarcastic mothhhh”

“keep tellin yourself that precious”

Roman sputters a bit before giving up and hiding his face in Dee’s chest. Dmitri goes back to playing with Roman’s hair, and Roman leans into the touch. After a bit of time passes, he stops, and nudges Roman fully into bed.

“why’d you stop?”

“because that’s not a comfortable sleep position. Lay down prep, sleep is important.”

“but I don’t want to sleep, I want kisses”

Dmitri rolls his eyes and kisses Roman. By the time he pulls away, Roman has passed out. He laughs quietly and wraps his arms around the smaller boy, letting himself drift off as well.

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Thank you for reading I will see you later ladies lords and nonbinary royalty!!!

[ohlawsons]

THE NEWEST RECRUIT

SUMMARY. Maerwald was a disappointment and the place is infested with spirits -- but then Neria rescues a dog, and Eder decides that Caed Nua might not be so bad, after all. NOTES. prompt from @rannadylin for the pillars fic swap! LINKS. [ ao3 ] [ neria’s tag ]

It was raining the next morning -- because of course it was -- and that was the second thing that Eder noticed when he awoke. He was sore, and he was stiff, and sleeping on the rubble-covered floor of Caed Nua’s ruined inn didn't help, especially given the state he'd been in after the battle with Maerwald the day before; but, at least, he was dry and that was something of an improvement over the downpour outside.

The first thing he'd noticed that morning, directly before taking note of the patter of rain on the wooden roof, had been the yelling that was coming from outside -- yells that sounded a lot like their Watcher, who was missing from the tired group huddled in the inn. She didn't sound hurt or panicked; there was a loud whoop! over the drumming rain, and Eder assumed that even if there had been trouble, Neria had it well in hand.

Still, he pulled himself to his feet and went to investigate, groaning a bit as he rolled his shoulders to loosen up. The front door of the inn opened with a drawn out creak, and Eder stepped just outside to stand under the small overhang on the inn’s roof, managing to stay mostly dry as he watched Neria.

As expected, she wasn't in any trouble; the Watcher was standing, soaked and barefoot, in the grass out in front of the inn and taking wild, reckless swings with a pike that was easily a foot taller than she was. There was a pattern to her maneuvers, and it seemed almost as if she were running through a set of well-practiced -- albeit erratic -- training drills. Neria’s usual weapons, a hefty war hammer with thin red leather wrappings around its haft and a simple hand axe, were resting against the side of a ruined fountain.

She perplexed him, their Watcher. She was one of the godlike, one touched by Berath, with a mask-like growth that veiled her eyes and a halo of shadow that framed her like a mane of curls; common superstition would label her a curse, an ill-omen, but Neria stood no taller than an orlan and had a wide grin that was more mischievous than malevolent. She was filled with a boundless energy, with a disdain for war but a love of the fight, and there was nothing anyone could say or do to change her mind once she'd made it.

So when he leaned up against the sagging door frame of the inn, watching Neria with a slow shake of his head, he didn't even bother trying to suggest that she should come back inside. At least, not directly.

“Might be more helpful to go after some of those leftover specters. I'm pretty sure that library’s still haunted.”

“Why do you say that?” Neria shot back, not missing a beat as she lunged forward with the pike. “Because something spooked Aloth last night? I'm pretty sure that's just Kana. I think he talks in his sleep.”

“Wouldn't surprise me.” He paused as a crack of lightning unfurled across the sky, followed by a delayed rumble of thunder. “Still, that dog of yours was making all sorts of noise while I was on watch last night. Took all the jerky in my pack to quiet her down.”

At that, Neria stilled, turning to Eder to give him a look he couldn't quite decipher; her lips scrunched into a thin, uneven line and the mask-like folds over her eyes drew together ever so slightly, almost like a brow furrowing. The halo of shadow surrounding her flickered and twisted in the rain, and she continued to stare at him with that odd look for another moment before she snickered, then fell into a complete bout of laughter, loud and unabashed as it rang out over the sounds of the storm.

“You--” Neria fell quiet, gasping for breath between her now-silent laughs; she drove the pike blade-first into the ground, leaning on it as she attempted to regain her composure. “You fed all of your jerky to Penelope last night?”

“Had to quiet her down somehow,” he offered with a shrug, not sure what exactly about the situation warranted quite so much laughter. It had only been three strips, and besides, Eder was more preoccupied with the name Neria had chosen for the stray they'd discovered hiding amongst the rubble of Caed Nua’s destroyed barracks. “You named her --  so that means we're keeping her?”

“Yeah, especially now that I know she's the smartest one of the bunch.”

As if on cue, Penelope -- a sturdy little dog, with short grey and white dappled fur and splashes of brown over her ears and face -- came padding out from wherever she’d been, off to Eder’s left, and ran straight into Neria, whining and giving her an affectionate headbut to the stomach. She sat back with an expectant look and whined again.

Neria planted her hands on her hips and stared down at Penelope, frowning. “No. I told you not to destroy the stick, and you destroyed the stick. It’s not my fault there’s nothing left for me to throw for you--” another whine, “--and I’m not gonna go search in the rain and mud for another stick.”

Penelope pawed at Neria, leaving a smear of mud on her already-soaked pants, and let out a loud bark that cut through even the pounding rain.

“You’re not gonna change her mind,” Eder warned, the words directed at Penelope though he suspected she was just as stubborn as their Watcher, and the sentiment could easily go both ways. He knelt down and beckoned to the dog, tongue out and ears perked as she continued to wait for Neria. “C’mere, girl. I’ll figure something out for you.”

Without hesitation, Penelope bounded towards Eder, launching herself at him and resting her paws on his shoulder as she began licking his face, leaving him covered in both mud and slobber. It wasn’t what he’d had in mind, exactly, when he’d called her over, but in hindsight maybe he should’ve expected it; Penelope had done the same to Neria the night before, when they’d first found her rummaging through some overturned barrels as they’d been making the rounds through Caed Nua after meeting Maerwald. Neria had emerged from the barracks carrying a dog nearly as large as herself, triumphantly announcing that there weren’t any more spirits to worry about.

Eder stood, carrying Penelope the way Neria had the night before, ignoring the fact that his shirt was now soaked and covered in mud. He glanced up at the sky -- it was hard to tell, with the thick cloud cover, but he was fairly certain it was early morning -- and leaned back a bit to look at Penelope. “Let’s get you dried off and find something to eat.”

She responded with an enthusiastic bark -- right in Eder’s ear.

“Don’t spoil my dog,” Neria called, twisting and prying the pike out of the mud and tucking it under one arm as she reached for her war hammer and hand axe.

“There’s nothing wrong with spoiling her just a little bit.”

“Don’t spoil her,” she repeated, pointing her war hammer at him and giving it a little shake. “I’m gonna train her. She’s gotta earn her keep.” She brushed past them and pushed the door to the inn open, dropping her weapons just inside and they clattered to the ground loudly enough that Kana, sleeping on a bedroll in the center of the inn, jerked away and bolted upright. “C’mon, Kana, you’re on breakfast duty since the rest of us can’t cook for shit. And maybe I’ll train her to be a guard dog -- y’know, so she can stay on watch and the rest of us can rest.” One corner of her lips twisted into a half-grin, and her voice lilted upwards as she teased, “Berath knows you need plenty of beauty sleep.”

“No more than the rest of us. Besides, she wouldn’t make a decent guard dog. She’s loud, maybe, but a girl like her is made to be off chasing livestock.”

“So we are keeping her?” Kana asked through a yawn, reaching for where his cap sat on the ground beside him. “Not that there was much question,” he added with a wide grin, “but it’s official?”

Neria let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “I guess, even if Eder insists that Penelope won’t ever be a good guard dog.”

At hearing her name -- or perhaps just because Eder’s attention was now divided -- Penelope wriggled and squirmed until Eder let her down, and she bounded back over to Neria, giving an excited little bounce. When the Watcher didn’t respond, she let out two quick barks; in the corner, Aloth curled into an even smaller ball on his bedroll.

“Go make yourself useful and wake Aloth up.” The wizard gave a grunt in protest, but Neria wasn’t deterred and pointed towards his bedroll; with another bounce, Penelope took off to the other side of the inn, searching the floor for whatever she thought Neria had thrown. She nosed along the edge of Aloth’s bedroll, sniffing at him, and when he tried to swat her away Neria fell into a fit of laughter. “We’re definitely keeping her.”

[themurphyzone]

Oneshot: Let Sleepy Dogs Lie

Based on @hyenasmurphyslaw’s art for an Oliver and Company AU. Original idea from @anarchistglitter. 

“Bet you can’t do this!” Vinnie balanced a bone from the ribs they had stolen from the butcher several hours earlier, the middle section teetering on his snout as he tilted his head to the side when one end dipped. His fur flopped in front of his eyes, and the bone clattered to the floor. 

Milo giggled, putting his nose on the underside of the bone and trying to lift it up. But his muzzle wasn’t long enough, and the bone fell on its side. Vinnie brushed aside the fur obscuring his left eye with one paw, then picked up the tiny bone and put it on Milo’s head, next to the cowlick that always stood up no matter how many times he tried to groom it flat. 

“One, two, three....” Vinnie counted as Milo swayed from side to side, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he balanced it. “You’re doing great, kit!” 

“Vinnie! What is going on in here?” an old grayhound demanded, padding into the messy living room from the kitchen. “I thought I was clear that Milo was to be in bed at nine sharp!” While he tried to appear dignified, his green and gold collar was undone and hanging lopsidedly off one shoulder. 

Vinnie shrugged. “Come on Balthy, I’m trying to teach the kit some tricks of the trade.” 

“The tricks of the trade do not involve balancing leftovers on your head! The sooner Milo learns that this life isn’t fun and games, the sooner he’ll be able to survive,” Balthazar replied. “Come, Milo. Let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed. You need to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow.” 

“My tail isn’t bushy though,” Milo mewed. The bone fell off his head, sliding towards the rest of the bone pile under the table. “What do I need to be ready for?”

Before Balthazar could respond, Vinnie puffed his chest out and strutted around the room in an imitation of Balthazar’s gait. “Young Milo, you must be ready to survive in the big city. Where there’s danger lurking around in every corner, you must always be prepared to-” 

He crashed into Balthazar with an ‘oomph’. Balthazar pushed his snout into Vinnie’s, growling lowly. “Do not make a mockery out of this. And while you’re on duty tonight, go inform Savannah that she will not be teaching Milo how to prance and sing in the middle of the street during heavy traffic.”

“You know that’s only gonna encourage her,” Vinnie said. He nuzzled Milo’s cheek. “Sorry I gotta cut this short, kit. If you got a choice later, don’t take the night shift. Well, see ya later!” 

“Bye!” Milo exclaimed. 

Vinnie bounded out the creaky front door, getting stuck for a moment before squeezing through. Balthazar huffed, his mustache fluttering. “He better not bother that Italian restaurant again. We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. To the bathroom with you now.” 

Milo looked at him. 

“Right,” Balthazar sighed. “This is your first time in a human house. Or a pigsty. Whichever you prefer.”

“What’s a bathroom?” Milo asked, staring up at him curiously. 

Balthazar pointed his nose to a broken door at the end of a hallway. “Follow me, so we can get you cleaned up before bedtime. Now, a bathroom is where humans take care of their personal hygiene so they don’t smell like a dumpster. For your sake tonight, the only things you are allowed to use are the sink and the litter box.” 

As they walked to the bathroom, Milo attempted to imitate Balthazar’s graceful movement. Tail lifted high, paws clearing the ground, with his head snapped forward. Every step had a purpose. He didn’t know if Balthazar was watching. He hoped he was. 

His eyes were focused on the broken door. 

“Milo, be careful here. There’s a loose floorbo-” The wood under Milo splintered and broke, leaving him clawing at the edge of a hole as he struggled to not fall into the water below. He didn’t dare look down. Balthazar grabbed the scruff of his neck, gently shaking him to dislodge his claws from the wood. He carried Milo the rest of the way to the bathroom, rising up on his hind legs to deposit Milo next to the sink. 

“Sorry,” Milo ducked his head. “Black fur is unlucky. But it’s not the first time I’ve gotten myself out of a bad spot.”

“You came out of that scrape rather unfazed,” Balthazar said. “That’s a good trait. If anything, it’s that bas-uh, pardon my language, scoundrel Block’s fault for not allowing Orton to have enough money to live by, much less make a few repairs.”

That was a relief. He’d really thought he’d get scolded for his carelessness. “Who are Block and Orton?” 

Balthazar ignored the question, turning a handle with one paw. Both of them winced when a loud screech met their ears. A foul smelling liquid flowed out for a few seconds, before drying up. Milo wrinkled his nose at the grimy residue. 

“No money, no water,” Balthazar explained, before scooping up Milo again and trotting out of the bathroom, taking care to avoid the hole in the floor. He set Milo on one end of a couch, that was only slightly in tatters. Balthazar jumped up on the other side, laying his head on the armrest. “I loathe to say it, but it might be better for your health to just groom yourself. I completely forgot that you’re a cat.”

“Okay,” Milo said, licking his paw before running it across his face. He twisted around to reach around his back, making sure to get rid of the dirt. After ten minutes, he felt clean enough. He settled on the squeaky cushion and tried to sleep. 

Key word being tried. It was a little drafty for his liking. 

“Balthazar?” Milo carefully made his way to the other side of the couch, sitting next to the grayhound’s head. “I can’t sleep.” 

Balthazar cracked open an eye. “Try.” 

Milo laid down on the open space, squirming as he tried to find a good sleeping position. Curling up on his left side didn’t work. His right side was even worse. He couldn’t breathe when he buried his face into the cushion. 

His fidgeting put him closer to the edge of the couch, but Balthazar pulled him back before he could fall off. “Just this once, you may sleep here.” 

Milo snuggled against his gray fur. Balthazar’s coat wasn’t soft and fluffy, but compared to sleeping on top of tires, it was like a dream come true. A purr built up in his throat at the warmth he’d hardly felt before. 

Sure, the other kittens were warm. But this felt so much different. 

Resigned to being a living pillow for the kitten, Balthazar raised his head to check if the others had come back. There was no excited barking or the stomping of tired feet, so he assumed not. Sniffing the air just to be absolutely sure, Balthazar’s head drooped once more. He gave the sleepy kitten a tiny lick, to smooth out the tuft on top of his head of course. But it refused to lie flat. 

Milo snuggled against his neck, and Balthazar curled around him. There was no way this tiny black kitten could be a harbringer of misfortune. He deserved so much better than a broken down house.

But no one would be harming him tonight. He was sure of that. 

He closed his eyes. He’d need every wink of sleep for Milo’s big debut tomorrow. 

[forgedobsidian]

And So We Wait

A Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic. One-shot.

AO3

Summary:

Peter isn’t sure how long he hung in space clinging to the body of what had been his captain. Time twists, bringing memories of the past to soothe the pain of the present.

Spoilers for Vol. 2.

He floats, and floats, Yondu held in front of him because like damn he’ll let go now. 

He’d stopped crying a while ago, though he’s not sure if he can trust his sense of time. His tears don’t fall through the space suit, the moisture deciding to float around in the zero gravity. Most of it is stuck in his hair.

He still mumbles, though, whispering “No, no,” until his throat goes raw. He never gets an answer, and at some point he accepts that he won’t.

It’s a little difficult, keeping hold of Yondu through the field the suit offers. He has to be careful. The Centaurian had a layer of ice across his skin that had pushed it’s way to the outer edges of his clothing. He felt brittle, almost like he could snap in Peter’s grip.

Peter had thought many many things of Yondu through the years, but fragile had never been one of them. 

Peter wants to push Yondu’s eyes closed, but he doesn’t trust his shaking hands. Every now and again he gives a cough, aware that the oxygen in his suit is getting lower. Maybe he prays. He can’t remember.

He can remember what it was like to feel his chest expand from the inside out, the pressure boiling the spit in his mouth. But he doesn’t even know if that’s what Yondu felt, because apparently he was part god (“Little ‘g,’ son,” his mind supplies and he wants to scream) and that’s gotta be part of the reason he didn’t just expire when he was trying to get Gamora the oxygen she needed.

Peter wants to throw up, but that feeling is pretty much canceled out by the gaping hole that’s growing in his chest.

Yondu still had an echo of an expression on his face, frozen to his skin. It was oddly peaceful, in a way that Peter had only seen during quiet nights on the Elector. 

He remembered falling asleep after a job, his growing body worn out from running through back alleys and crawling through vents. He’d woken up with Yondu’s Ravager coat thrown over his shoulders like a blanket. 

The first time he saw Yondu give a genuine laugh, not out of malice or a need to intimidate someone else, was another memory. They’d been drinking, Peter learning just how much tolerance he’d need for space brew. Kraglin had tried to serenade one of the waiters, managed to succeed, and Kraglin’s flabbergasted face had sent Yondu into hysterics.

Peter held onto those memories, keeping them close to all the arguments he’d had with the captain over the years. He wouldn’t say that it’d been all sunshine and flowers, growing up the way he did. He’d been afraid often when he was younger, and it hadn’t been as nurturing as it’d been with his mother. Still, he’d turned out okay for the most part, and Ego hadn’t managed to lay a finger on him when he was young.

Small mercies, then.

His mind blanks out, and the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into the cargo hold on the Quadrant, his grip never failing on Yondu. The tractorbeam is a comforting yellow, compared to the darkness of space and the empty light in Yondu’s red eyes.

The ship shudders around his head, almost as though it knew its captain was never going to come back. He can see Rocket and Drax on the other side of the grav-shield, relief on both their faces.

The gravity shifts around him, pulling him to the floor with a clatter. He tries to not land on Yondu, but his efforts are wasted. He falls across the captain’s body, the ice collected on the frozen jacket already starting to melt through Peter’s shirt. Still, he doesn’t let go of Yondu’s shoulder. 

Rocket is the first at his side, a painful glint in his dark eyes. He’s the one to remove the space suit. It takes longer than expected, and Rocket curses more than once. Apparently Yondu had broken it just enough that Peter himself wouldn’t be able to remove it in some attempt to save the captain. Peter swallows, and remembers removing his helmet to give Gamora more time to breathe.

The moment the suit deactivates he’s grabbing at Yondu’s jacket, something building in his throat. A choked gasp eeks between his teeth, and he rests his head on Yondu’s chest and tries to breathe.

Yondu is easier to hold without the space suit getting in the way.

Kraglin shows up soon after, a blank look on his face. He knows what a space-dead body looks like, and he knows what choice his captain made. His steps are shaky, but he manages to make his way to Yondu’s side before falling to his knees. He’s sniffing, and tears are tracking down his pockmarked cheeks. 

Peter can feel the shudder in Yondu’s body when Kraglin grabs his captain’s arm, giving it a pathetic shake. A whine builds in Kraglin’s throat. “Fucking dammit.”

Drax places a thick hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

He shook his head. “‘S not your fault.”

There’s a quiet patter behind him and he turns to find Gamora, one hand lifted to her mouth as she took in the scene before her. Her hair was frizzy, leftover static from a stunner still crackling at the tips of her hair. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Peter’s open shoulder.

The decision about a funeral comes from Kraglin. His eyes are red with tears and he keeps patting at the flame stitched into Yondu’s jacket. 

At some point Rocket disappears, a sad look on his face. Peter wonders about that, why the raccoon was mourning Yondu like an old friend. Maybe he’ll ask later. 

Peter doesn’t leave Yondu’s side, even when Gamora pulls at his jacket and says that he  needs to rest. Melting ice was creating a growing puddle on the floor of the hold. Peter was able to breathe, again, but he felt weary down to his bones. He’d compare it to holding an infinity stone, but this feeling tears at his soul in a way that the stone never managed to even touch. 

Yondu’s red eyes were still open, staring up at the ceiling. They were glassy and frostbitten, and with a shaking hand Peter gently palmed them closed.

Yondu resting just behind him, showing his young hands how to steer an M-ship. “Now, boy, the trick to flying is to keep in mind that ya can’t see everythin’. Sense what’s goin’ on behind ya, n’ act accordingly. Tha’s what makes a good pilot.”

Peter shudders and grips the lapels of Yondu’s jacket, fingers finding the seams in the worn leather. He’d never noticed how Yondu had aged since he was picked up on Earth. The dark of his beard had faded to silver, and the scars on his face pulled at his skin in a way that they hadn’t ten years ago.

“Dammit, Quill! What’d I tell ya about runnin’ blind?” Yondu said, pressing a disinfecting cloth against the cut on Peter’s head.

Peter can feel the thick scar that follows Yondu’s spine when he gently cradles his hand behind the Centaurian’s neck, slipping his coat under the captain’s head. He’d only seen it once, when he was younger. It didn’t stop until midway on Yondu’s back, a thick twist of silvery tissue that stretched from his implant to coil around his spine. 

“Used to have a organic fin. Lost it. Doin’ just fine, though. There’s some things you’ll just have to live without, boy.” Yondu scratched at his implant and the back of his neck, cracked nails pulling at the thick skin.

Peter swallowed, running a hand down Yondu’s arm. Kraglin was still there, and Rocket had come back. Groot was riding on his shoulder, a sad frown on the young plant’s face. 

Groot hopped down, slowly walking over to the prone form of the Ravager captain. “I . . . am Groot,” he said, a question in his voice.

“No, Groot, he’s not just taking a nap,” Rocket said with a sigh.

“I am Groot.” The child reached out and placed a wooden hand on Yondu’s chilled shoulder, an understanding look on his face that somehow seemed impossibly old. “I am Groot,” he whispered. A white flower started to bud on his shoulder, and when it bloomed it showed purple spots and streaks trekking up the petals. 

Groot plucked it from his shoulder and placed it next to Yondu’s face with a sad and gentle smile.

“Can’t believe you forgot a coat,” Yondu mumbled, letting Peter curl up next to his side. Centaurians always ran hotter than Terrans, a fact that the young boy takes advantage of with a grin

Yondu isn’t warm. Leftover ice still rests in the crevices of his uniform, and the chill of space went down to his bones. Gamora sits down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder.

Mantis is awake, now, and reaches out to Peter. Drax stops her with a hand on her arm and a shake of his head. Her mouth twists as she starts to cry. Drax pulls her close, careful to not let her hands touch his skin. He is gentle, one hand rubbing consoling circles on her shoulder blades. 

Rocket is holding his shoulders and hunching in on himself, claws digging into his arms.

Peter doesn’t know where Nebula is, but he knows she’s around. He doesn’t know why she stays, though, with plenty of spare ships in the hold of the Quadrant. Maybe he’ll ask Gamora later.

Kraglin is still crying, sniffing and rubbing at his nose with his sleeve.

“Not half bad, Peter,” Yondu said, his voice impressed. He reached over the haul Peter had managed to swipe from their target and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“You fucking idiot,” Peter muttered, rubbing at his eyes. Another sob builds in his chest, and he turns his face into Gamora’s shoulder. She gently rubs the back of his head, a thick feeling in her throat.

Peter still has a grip on Yondu’s jacket. The old leather groans in his hand, and Peter starts to cry. 

Peter grinned, his youthful face happy. He was sitting on Yondu’s shoulders, hands carefully resting on either side of the fin implant. Yondu had a firm grip on his feet, keeping the boy staunchly in place.

“You see ‘em yet?”

“Yeah, Yondu. They’re over by the bar.”

“Shouda figured.” 

“Well, ‘s not like they woulda been in the library or something.”

He felt Yondu’s shoulders quake as he laughed.

Author’s Note: I just saw Vol. 2 again and needed to vent my emotions.

Thanks for reading!!