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morvantmortuary · 2 years ago

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Heyy, I just wanted to ask you this question because it’s been bothering me for a long time. Do you think the Morvants would love still love their reader if they were ugly? I know that ugly is a word that is thrown around a lot but I mean it. Someone who is not conventionally attractive at all, who is not the desired version of plus size. Someone who has a big tummy, big thighs but not a round ass. Someone who is fat not thick. Someone who is not wanted by anyone. Would the Morvants still love them? Someone like me? I’m sorry if this is depressing I just can’t get out of my head and I hate the thought of my comfort people not loving me. Either way thank you for bringing them to life and letting us read about them ❤️❤️

I'm sorry this took me so long, sweetheart -- I've been caught between coordinating ongoing events at work with a whole learning curve, dissertation prep, and then a migraine swept my feet out from under me this morning, so I've just been trying to get my shit back together lmao. but I've been thinking about it since you sent it in. <3 I almost wanted to save this to be part of something I'm going to try to do coming up, (*knocking loudly on wood*), but I didn't want to leave you hanging.

short answer first to alleviate any anxiety: yes, absolutely, 100% without a doubt. once you're their person, you are their person, and nothing will change that -- not aging, or weight shifting, or any of the things that come with having a body and being mortal, okay?

I'll put the rest under a cut, because you got me talking a little on something I'm kind of sensitive about too <3

allow me a quick digression: from a doylist perspective, I'm writing the Morvants as someone who's definitely also on the curved stomach/big thighs/plush upper arms/saggy boobs side of things, along with some really frustrating skin that's prone to breakouts at the drop of a hat and other things about myself that lowkey stress me out on the daily. and we are just as worthy of love and desire and affection as anyone else, I promise you. <3 you do not have to be society's idea of beautiful to be worthy of love, or to be a good person. I'm sure you already know this, but I'm repeating it specifically just so you hear it, okay?

"ugly" is entirely subjective -- I'm also someone who isn't conventionally attractive, shall we say -- but I know we are our own meanest critics. I won't fight you on the word if it's one you've embraced, as I know everyone has a different relationship with it, but I will say I bet you're not giving yourself enough credit, honey. people do not have to be conventionally pretty to be worthy of love or a good life, I cannot emphasize that enough. we both deserve that, and we’re gonna get it, goddammit.

and you know something else? conventionally pretty changes every couple decades, and imho usually kind of sucks anyway. I think of being "ugly" as being memorable, distinct. we will never be duplicated, or in danger of looking like everyone else in our time. we're both a manifestation of history's crooked smiles and crows' feet and noses in interesting shapes. that's the kind of shit artists would want to sketch, baby, that's the fun part of being alive.

and circling back to that shifting standards bit -- I promise you there's a lot more classical statues that look like you and me than a lot of what you see on the image/video-dependent apps nowadays, okay? don't forget that. we've been the models for divinity for centuries now, as hard as it is to remember when the waistband of your jeans leaves a mark behind when you take them off like a regular mortal.

plus, there's the old saying about how your features are actually proof that people have loved people who looked like you for generations now. or the myth that your face was actually the face of the person you loved the most in your last life. on the days I'm feeling exceptionally self-critical, I find that one helps: that I've been left with the stewardship of the face of the person I adored more than anything, who meant so much to me in another lifetime that I might not still remember their name, or the sound of their laugh, but they imprinted onto me still, and I owe it to them to take care of it even if I can't bring myself to do it for me.

('rae you're delusional.' I might be. but here we are at the romantic necromancer blog, so it had to come from somewhere!!)

but anyway, you're not here for all that, you're here for the necromancers, so I'll get to those. thanks for humoring me, though ;3 and I hope it helped at least a little, maybe!

If you remember from the October Arc, a lot of Maxi and his Reader falling in love are them finding someone who feels just as out-of-place in the world as they do. When he meets you, he relishes the idea that he finally has someone he can be completely open with — not having to hide his dark sense of humor for the sake of propriety, someone who won’t think he’s weird or gross for being as fascinated by death and the horrible, beautiful parts of it as he is in his position. (A lot of morticians he knows will quickly say they’re not a morbid weirdo obsessed with death, just a normal person who does a job — he is definitely the aforementioned weirdo they’d like to distance themselves from. Who wouldn’t be, with his upbringing?) When he first falls for you, it’s because he’s realizing that after a lifetime of thinking he could only ever be alone (both due to his powers and his particular grimly sunny disposition), there was finally, really, someone who understood. Someone who doesn’t shy away from him in his more vicious turns, who isn’t going to pull back at the last minute when they see beneath the suit and the calmly professional exterior he shows to the rest of the town. It’s exhilarating. He never wants to lose that, and he’d do anything to keep you — to keep you his, and to keep you whole, healthy, and happy. He’s in love first and foremost with the person he knows to be his literal soulmate, the person he trusts with his heart after so long, and your body is precious to him because it keeps you both on the mortal plane. However you choose to adorn it, ornament it, or whatever designs are written into your genetics, it’s something he’s going to adore. But even outside of that — he would love you in any form you took, any change you decided to make, because it’s you. It’s always going to be you, and you’re his. And if he’s being totally honest, he hand to god has a thing for bigger people. It’s partly due to his specialization with flesh, compared to Rora’s bone and Hex’s ectoplasm, but also because he just finds it really, really attractive when someone has some extra pounds. He’s spent a lifetime around bodies that offered no comfort - be it very little warmth or affection from his living family, the cooling bodies of the mortuary in various states of decay, or the warped, broken horrors of the things still half-alive in the basement. His own body has been a source of stress (being lanky and soft in places at the same time all his life), of pain (growing up is hard enough, growing into a body that shapes itself to the needs of a demon doesn’t help), or of bitterness on his part (we’re going to learn more about why he re-opened the scar on his chest at some point). Your body, for whatever flaws you find with it, is something he associates completely with sweetness. He finds comfort in its shape, the way it moves, the way it feels under his hands. You’re entirely alive; your body works to keep you so. It’s a creature dedicated to keeping you here with him, so how could he not be devoted to it? He’s fascinated by all the parts of yourself you’re most concerned about, because it not only makes you something one of a kind (something he thinks of as his and his alone, in his darker, more possessive moments), but he’s also terribly taken with the softer parts of you. In your more intimate moments, he relishes the contrast between the pair of you - you’re unmistakably there, you take up space and ground him with the reality of your presence. (He gets a little carried away being clingy sometimes: whether it’s his hands over every inch of skin he can touch, squeezing the flesh he so adores, biting a little too eagerly at the softest parts of you where you’ll feel the marks later and remember him. Especially your thighs. He’s a thigh man at heart, always.) You’re always his darling, and he looks forward to watching you grow into your old age with him, however you change. Change means life, and he wants to linger on this side of the Veil with you as long as both of you possibly can stay. Watching you gain wrinkles, go gray, your weight shift around — it’s a privilege, and he treats it as such. You’ll have forever on the other side, he knows that. He’s not worried about that. It’s that the two of you can only do this part once, and he wants to make sure you enjoy it as much as possible. Until both your bones are in the family crypt, or ashes are mingled in the same secret place, he’ll love you and whatever your body looks like.

Hex doesn’t love in half-measures. When he’s into you, he’s all in. As we’ll see in his arc, he can’t always put his finger on what initially draws him to someone. But usually, he saw something in the most interior parts of yourself, your very soul’s essence, first. A glimmer of it caught his eye somehow — its color, its light, some facet of you that’s sewn through the entire fabric of your being. Whatever the sign was, he would follow it until he found you… And when he found you, saw you for the first time, your looks would be a matter of interest, certainly. But he wouldn’t be searching you for any kind of lack. He has no mental version of you to compare the real you with, no expectations. Your body is you, through and through, but what you are only complements what he’s already seen. He’s only looking at you to see the things he already knows he’s going to fall in love with. He sees your body as the backdrop onto which your Self is projected. (He would love Judith Butler if he read them ever lmao.) He’s fascinated with the little ways you manifest in your physicality: your geometry of your teeth, and how they’re arranged in your smile; how light plays on the fullness of your face; the precise way your belly moves when you laugh. The way you dress, walk, what you do with your hands when you talk. The way you move through the world is pageantry to him when it’s instinct to you. It’s something to be savored, because it only happens once. Hex knows what it’s like to be shy about certain things; he’s never been very confident in words alone, because people can say anything, only their actions will speak true. But looks, to him, are part of the factual, real world he can see. (Ironically, he’s one of those guys who very much believes in what he sees in front of him — he can just see way, way more than most people can.) You can make changes, or stay exactly as you are, and he will automatically accept that as part of the truth that is You. He also knows what it’s like to not be the blueprint that everyone else wants to look like, but he feels like there’s no point in stressing about that. Does your body bring you comfort when you sleep next to him, or when you eat the food he makes for you? Do you feel happy and free when you dance together? Do you like it when he touches you (there, and there, and…)? If the answer to all of these is yes, he figures, then why worry when you don’t have to? That’s easier said than done, though, he knows. But he will remind you, in a thousand ways, how he loves you for exactly how you look now. Your shape is the shape you were always going to come into his life with, he sees no reason to think about you in another. Your hair was always going to look that way in the light, your eyes were always going to be that color. Why would he ask one of the ancient oak trees outside to change the arrangement of its branches? Why would he ask the sun to be a different color when it sets? You are just as constant as that, to him. You don’t have to be beautiful by everyone else’s standards to be a force of nature that shapes his days. Whenever you cut your hair or switch your clothes or anything else, it’s just like the golden or blue hours to him — something he counts himself lucky to witness. Of the trio, he’s the ass guy, sure, but that means he’s smitten with what’s there. You are most attractive to him when you’re happy, and he only wants to make you happier when he holds you, and shows you exactly how you make him feel, with his hands or his lips or his tongue or— even, yes, the inconstancy of words. He doesn’t want you to think about how you look when the two of you are together, he only wants you to think about how you feel, and how good he feels with you. But he will do his best, always, to make you understand how much he loves your mortal self and everything it encompasses, until the pair of you cross through the Veil and shed your corporeal forms. (He can kind of do that now, tbh, and he’s more than happy to put it to use in some… very interesting ways if you’d be down with it.)

Rora makes it no secret that she loves that you’re not just another doll in a world that demands them. She has a hard, angry relationship with the idea of beauty standards in that she wishes she could set all phone cameras on fire at the same time. She thinks the modern world is mad for what it did to itself, how people have just made it that much harder for everyone to just exist, and it was already hard enough before she accidentally opened her own throat. She is indeed lovely in a nightshade kind of way, and she will acknowledge this when you both are sharing hard feelings, but the idea of beauty and desirability caused her nothing but pain when she was young. She’s a lot like you in the sense that she only sees what she’s missing: she was never the blonde, buxom type. She was never the southern belle that her parents had hoped for, or the perfectly feminine little mini-me that Mathilde had dreamed of for decades (and made no effort to hide her disappointment when Rora didn’t turn into that girl overnight). She wasn’t pretty in the right way her father needed to see her as an effective bargaining chip. She spent her entire first life feeling like she was made all wrong for what was expected of her. She has a loose relationship at times with her own gender, both because she’s doing things again in a borrowed mortal shell, and because she feels at times more like a creature than anything else. But she loves you. She loved you from the minute she first saw you — she loved your skin with any marks that might be there, the particular set of your mouth under your nose, the parts of you that move whenever you aren’t thinking about them. From your hair follicles to your fingernail beds, you were something she found wholly lovely in just how singular you are. You are the only version of you she’s ever seen. You are a rarity. Even in the most common parts of yourself, they’re a combination she hasn’t seen on anyone else her entire life. You look real to her. You look whole, and alive, and like a person who is allowed to just be. You move through the world as yourself, one of a kind, and there’s a part of her that, even now that she’s gained her independence, desperately envies that. Rora’s love is the kind of obsessive where she almost wants to set you on a stool like an artist’s model and study you up close. She wants to make notes about the places where your skin changes color, she wants to look at how your flesh settles into itself. You got folds, or rolls? She wants to get as close to them as she can, look at them like how soft-serve ice cream swirls into itself or a nautilus shell curls around. She wants to look at every bruise or old scar or stretch mark and take in the patterns of your life that has written yourself there. She wants to look at you naked like you would count the rings of a tree to see what the weather was like each year of its life, or like a big cat lounging in the sun. You are just as wild to her, and natural, and beautiful. …And then she wants to throw aside her notebook where she’s cataloguing every piece of you and eat you alive, but just in the fun way. Rora is the boob person of the three, and she is obsessed with yours if you have them/like people touching them. It doesn’t matter what size they are, if they sag, where your nipples point, she’s going to spend an absurd amount of time with her face in them whenever you’re shirtless. She’s just as bad about getting overexcited as her twin, and might bite or suck a little too hard at times, but she’s just enchanted by you. You are the earth itself made manifest to enjoy the sunshine and the breeze in the garden, and you have given her the supreme gift of deciding you like her too. She couldn’t not be in love with you if she tried. She understands our relationships with our bodies are complicated, but she is always on your side. She’d blind the entire town with a butter knife if it meant you felt more comfortable just sitting in the cafe with her. But she understands that the prison time for that is pretty hefty, so she’ll settle for refusing to let you talk bad about yourself.

I know this took a minute, and I’m sorry again love, but I hope it gives you what you needed. <3 Just know that I’m right there with you, but I would still rather us look like you and me than anyone else. Fuck the people trying to sell us something, we’re marvels as we are.

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remmykinsff · 7 months ago

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Okay y'all can we just Pour one out for YOONGI! a 3 way YOONGI?! Git your ish boy!! Who knew he was a freak like that ! I hope they're happy for a very long time.

Also, Hobi with his pretty scales in Lavender Silk Pjs. I bet he looked so pretty! Jiminie in his giant t-shirt and floofy bedhead.

what happened after the party boys? huh?!

the whole ass dissertation JK writes as a text to Yoongi and then Tae just instigating, not only a 3 way.. but Hobi has 4 legs!! for real though.. if he did would that be how they'd have sex?

JK my dude.. I'm sorry you kept getting cockblocked, then TEN appearing out of nowhere, like My dude, that is ONLY door in the hallway, where else are they going?!

I love how when they got their little pots Tae wanted to take a picture!

they're soo cute and I'm excited where they're gonna put them when they have the plants in them.

Also Good on JK for straight up getting back at Ten. you can CLEARLY see they're together my dude.. there's flirty, then there's just stupid. Not the smartest cat.. but also.. the way Tae got embarrassed LOL!

THEY SAID THE THING!!! I love how JK was like.. But I wanted to say it first. then I was so thankful that study rooms are soundproof. at first I was like JK , where you going hon.. Why are you running what happened?! Then I realized, oh.. OH! instinct took over and he's looking for his "safe space" but that's Tae's dorm and he can't go, then Tae caught him and they were in PUBLIC y'all. but also that's really hot.

Poor Hobi getting kicked out, but also the SMIRK he did when Tae was like.. Hyung i'm about to ruin my boyfriend, If you don't wanna hear the most debauched noises, you should probably leave.. like NOW.

He really wants that mark, Tae wants it too, but it's really smart of them to not yet. it's a BIG step, but it's nice to know when the person you're in love with is on the same page.

Okay Boys, I know it's a big step, but you need to talk about visiting parents, JK you need to explain everything to him, don't keep it.

Also, hello the Mirror.. where JK saw the "Hickey" he really likes it.. like REALLY. It's okay to feel that way JK, honestly and truly, if you feel uneasy about how strongly you feel it, Talk to Tae, but the man does have a point about bunnies.. and well.. he aint wrong.

The way this made my Whole ass day. I thought about this ALL day, I was SO EXCITED.

thank you thank you thank you!!

venor (13) | kth + jjk

The barista at the university’s café keeps telling Jungkook not to come back, but Jungkook is too busy daydreaming about kissing the beauty marks on his face to be paying attention to his warnings.

○ Pairing: Tiger!Taehyung x Bunny!Jungkook

○ Rating: Explicit/18+

○ Genre: Hybrids, predator/prey, college au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, fluff, light angst, eventual smut

○ Word Count: 7,347

○ Warnings: Chasing, what the gworlies call self-lubrication aka slick, Taehyung’s got a big dick (in every universe imo), size difference, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, unprotected anal sex, scenting, marking, jealousy, pet names, more weird dick jokes

○ Notes: Another cliche, smutty, fluffy chapter, pls don't @ me. I also didn't proofread this so I'm sorry 😩

○ Post Date: April 7, 2024

○ Masterlist | AO3 Cross-Post

○ What was Jai listening to? The series playlist

Series Masterlist

Only one thing comes between Jungkook and Taehyung's relationship: winter break.

The end of the semester sneaks up on them quicker than Jungkook expects, despite Professor Jung's weekly warning that their Art History final project deadline is looming over their heads. School and work are conveniently forgotten when one is in love. The sun shines brighter, the air feels crisper, and more often than not, Jungkook wakes up with Taehyung's face snuggled in his neck and Taehyung's limbs flung over his body. He's such a big, bad tiger, yet he loves cuddles; it makes Jungkook's heart swell every time.

Knowing that this domestic bliss will be severed by two months of Jungkook stuck in his parents' house, forced to give up his autonomy in exchange for suffering through their old-fashioned ways, creates a creeping sense of anxiety in his chest. He loves his parents, but life in Seoul has opened his eyes to a more adventurous, accepting, and worthwhile world than the rigid, closed-minded way his parents choose to live. Two months stuck in the house with them and away from Taehyung sounds like a nightmare.

"What're you thinking about?" Taehyung's morning voice rumbles in his chest and vibrates against Jungkook's. He speaks with his face still pressed to Jungkook's neck, so his question is muffled.

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me, bun," Taehyung says, running his nose up and down Jungkook's neck, triggering a smattering of goosebumps in his wake. "You smell distressed."

Lately, Taehyung has started letting Jungkook in on his little secrets, like the fact that his predator hybrid senses allow him to more accurately sense changes in other hybrids' moods by their scent. Looking back, Jungkook can pinpoint moments when Taehyung seemed to know exactly how he felt, even when Jungkook thought he was being subtle. Then again, Jungkook has never been very subtle around Taehyung. He's not sure his crush on the boy would let him.

Jungkook's feelings are more than a crush now. Sometimes, he wonders if Taehyung can tell that he's in love with him. Suyun and Yoongi say it's obvious, but Jungkook still has trouble reading Taehyung's steady nature.

"I'm nervous about the end of the semester," Jungkook admits.

"Because of finals and stuff?"

"A little bit…"

Absent-mindedly, Jungkook massages Taehyung's head, sifting his fingers through the soft curls until he finds the fur of his striped ears to gently scratch them. In return, a soft purr hums from Taehyung's throat. Something about the sound and vibrations feels calming, maybe even healing.

They stay like this for a while, curled up against each other. Jungkook's eyes are closed, and his breathing is shallow as Taehyung thoroughly scents him. A kiss near his temple, one just below the corner of his jaw, another more of a suck of his skin than a kiss at the center of his throat. It's hard to focus on anything when Taehyung shifts, half his body lying on top of Jungkook, giving him access to the other side of Jungkook's neck. His breath blankets Jungkook's sensitive skin as he huffs a low, quiet laugh when his thigh brushes against Jungkook's hard cock.

They haven't had sex since the first time, not because of a lack of interest but because Jungkook wants to take things slow. This sudden interest in sex has left Jungkook shaken up a bit. It's so unlike anything he has experienced before that he's suddenly afraid of his own sexual desires. Taehyung made one joke about fucking like rabbits, and Jungkook has been self-conscious about his sex drive ever since.

"After we pick up our flower pots, we can go over the presentation?" Taehyung offers once he seems satisfied with his job of scenting Jungkook.

"I'll reserve a study room in the library."

While Jungkook gets his phone to make the online reservation through the university's library, Taehyung rolls off the bed. He lands on his feet, and Jungkook wonders if he's like a cat and always does. The thought makes him giggle, and he shrugs when Taehyung's head tilts and his ears swivel in confusion.

Snow blankets the ground in a dusty sheet. It may not be much now, but weather forecasts predict heavier snow in the coming weeks. Jungkook can't believe the year has gone by so quickly and figures it must be Taehyung's fault.

Unbothered by the cold weather, Taehyung pulls a thin white hoodie with the university's basketball team's logo over his t-shirt. His black tapered joggers are just as thin and poorly insulated, and Jungkook is sure that the matching basketball shoes Taehyung will probably wear when they leave won't be much warmer. Predators and their body heat. It makes Jungkook roll his eyes, even as his heart flutters when Taehyung opens the second drawer in his dresser where some of Jungkook's clothes permanently live now.

"Are you in a comfy mood or a cute mood?" Taehyung looks over his shoulder to see Jungkook still sprawled on the bed. His gaze runs along Jungkook's body, probably admiring his exposed legs and how soft he looks in one of Taehyung's baggy t-shirts that he often wears to bed.

"My comfy clothes are cute clothes," Jungkook pouts.

"Right, of course."

"You can pick out whatever you want me to wear."

Taehyung has great fashion on most days, but it's different from Jungkook's. Still, he does well choosing an outfit: light blue straight-leg jeans with pink hearts printed on them and a fuzzy white sweater that falls just enough to expose part of Jungkook's shoulder. How coy.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Jungkook gives Taehyung his starry doe eyes, the most innocent look he can muster—not that it's particularly difficult. Jungkook is an angel.

"What?" Taehyung smiles, genuinely confused.

Jungkook could tell him now. Those three words are ready to burst out of him, a broken dam, a busted floodgate. Taehyung picked out pink hearts! Jungkook could tell him.

"Nothing." Jungkook stands on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Taehyung's shoulders and nuzzle his neck. "You're just cute."

Jungkook will tell him later.

In the kitchen, Hoseok is reheating fried rice. He looks very domestic yet highly fashionable in his lavender matching silk pajama set. When Jungkook sits at the kitchen table, Hoseok’s face lights up.

“Jungkook-ah! I didn’t realize you were here. Good thing I have a lot of leftovers.”

Hoseok motions for Jungkook to grab one of the three bowls while he prepares a fourth one. Before Jungkook can ask him why he has made so much food, Jimin slinks into the room, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Good morning, Jungkook,” Jimin mumbles as he flops into one of the kitchen chairs.

“Good morning, hyung.”

Jimin is disheveled, his hair sticking up so high that it nearly hides his ears, and his t-shirt wrinkled. Jungkook can’t tell if he’s wearing shorts under his shirt, so he avoids looking, just in case. The shirt is definitely one of Hoseok’s; it has the university’s basketball team’s logo. All the players got one. Jungkook has worn Taehyung’s before.

Hoseok brings Jimin a bowl of rice, pausing to kiss the top of his head before placing it on the table. It’s cute how Jimin purrs, even if it’s brief because he seems to remember that Jungkook is there and abruptly stops, cheeks aflame.

Making it clear that he’s minding his own business, Jungkook eats while scrolling through his phone and wonders if everyone else knows that Jimin and Hoseok are together, and perhaps Jungkook has been oblivious this whole time. Another part of him wonders if his poor Yoongi hyung knows, too. It's obvious that Yoongi has a crush on both of them, even if he yells at Jungkook to shut up whenever he tries to talk about it. Honestly, the yelling is what makes it so obvious.

“How long have you been up, hyung?” Jungkook asks Hoseok, who seems chipper and wide awake compared to Jimin’s zombie stare as he eats.

“For a few hours, but not too long. Yoongi hyung’s work alarm woke me up at the ass crack of dawn–”

“Hyung!” Jimin snaps, suddenly very alert. He gives Hoseok a pointed look, but Jungkook’s head is already reeling.

“Yoongi was here?” Taehyung asks, causing the other three men to jump in their seats.

“Shit, Taehyung, you can’t do that to me,” Hoseok whines with his hand pressed over his heart. “I’m too fragile.”

With a snort, Taehyung grabs some rice and a carton of strawberry milk. Jimin curls his upper lip at the food combination when Taehyung sits beside him.

“Why was Yoongi here?” Taehyung talks through a mouthful of rice and Jungkook knows he’s down bad because Taehyung is so cute.

When neither Hoseok nor Jimin answers his question, Taehyung arches an eyebrow at Jungkook. Hoseok is pink in the face and stares at his rice. Jimin glares at Hoseok, mid-chew.

“Are the three of you fucking?”

“Taehyung!” Jimin snaps, redirecting his glare.

Jungkook keeps his eyes on Hoseok, the one who is the worst at telling lies. That’s probably why he hasn’t said or done anything.

With a grin, Taehyung shoves more rice into his mouth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jungkook immediately opens his text messages with Yoongi and demands to know what’s going on, just as Hoseok tries to grab his phone.

“Jungkook-ah, you shouldn’t bother him while he’s at work!” Hoseok insists, but Jungkook scoots away from the table before Hoseok can reach him.

“Call him, bun,” Taehyung instigates things and gets a kick to the shin from Jimin.

There is no way Yoongi could possibly hide something like this from Jungkook! It’s hurtful! After everything he confided in Yoongi regarding Taehyung, Jungkook gets this in return? Unbelievable.

“I’m leaving.” Jimin grabs his bowl and stomps out of the kitchen, slamming Hoseok’s bedroom door behind him.

Satisfied by the mess he’s created, Taehyung leans back in his chair and sips his strawberry milk.

“This makes a lot of sense, actually, since male snake hybrids have two dicks…” Taehyung grins when Hoseok slaps him on the arm.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Taehyung.”

Jungkook looks up from the long text message he’s crafting to Yoongi and stares hard at Hoseok.

“Hyung…”

“A boy for each dick.”

“Taehyung, I swear to god.”

“What?” Taehyung props his elbows on the table and leans forward with a dark look. “You told Jungkook that I have a cheese grater dick. I’m just returning the favor by explaining your anatomy. So how do you do it, hyung? Do they both just climb on top–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hoseok pushes himself away from the table and nearly flips his chair backward. Like Jimin, Hoseok grabs his bowl and leaves the kitchen, giving Taehyung his middle finger on the way out.

Once Hoseok’s bedroom door is slammed shut again, Jungkook turns to Taehyung.

“Does Hobi hyung really…”

Taehyung’s devilish grin makes Jungkook’s stomach flip.

“Nah, he doesn’t. That’s a myth, too. I just wanted revenge.”

“I really hate you for putting that image in my head…” Jungkook grumbles as he finishes his 5 paragraph essay to Yoongi. It’s impossible to genuinely be mad at Taehyung, though, especially when his laugh brings so much warmth to Jungkook’s chest.

Considering their eventful morning, Jungkook thinks he worked up enough courage between eating breakfast and their short walk to the Art academic building to confess to Taehyung. It’s the third time they’ve visited the studio together, the second being when Taehyung taught Jungkook how to glaze his flower pot, Jungkook choosing a shiny mix of pink and beige to paint the entire thing. Unsurprisingly, Taehyung went with darker colors, swirls of navy blue and forest green. Since glazes are tricky in the kiln, it may be surprising what their flower pots look like now that they’ve been re-fired.

Everyone says the third time’s a charm, but this third time in the studio is a nightmare when another person falls in line with Jungkook and Taehyung as they walk down the hall toward the studio doors. For once, Jungkook thinks he’d like to catch a break. First, it was Byungchul attempting to ruin his relationship with Taehyung; now, it’s Ten’s annoying habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times.

“Hey, Taehyungie hyung,” Ten sneaks up beside Taehyung and squeezes his bicep, the one Jungkook isn’t clinging to. He leans forward to give Jungkook a toothy smile. “And hello, Jungkook-ah. What are you guys up to? Going to the studio?”

Obviously, they’re going to the studio, Jungkook thinks as they reach the only door at this end of the hall. Where else would they be going? He wants to sass Ten, but his parents raised him to be polite, so he can’t find it in him to answer Ten’s question.

“Mhm,” Taehyung hums as he holds the studio’s door open for Jungkook and Ten. “Jungkookie and I are just here to pick up some projects we worked on a few weeks ago.”

For a moment, Jungkook’s heart plummets when Taehyung pulls his arm out of his grasp, but he smiles once Taehyung holds his hand instead. Leaving Ten to put on an apron and prep for whatever he’s working on, Taehyung leads Jungkook to a little side room where the kiln is. Their projects are in the bottom of the machine to rest and cool for a few days. About a dozen other projects are resting with their flower pots.

Jungkook lets Taehyung take theirs out, too worried about knocking things over to try getting on his tiptoes to reach inside the kiln himself.

“Yours came out so pretty, bun,” Taehyung observes, gently passing the flower pot into Jungkook’s hands. “You did fucking great for your first time sculpting.”

The flower pot is pretty, just as shiny and easy on the eyes as Jungkook wanted it to be. The pink and beige hues will nicely complement whatever green plant he chooses to put in it. Taehyung’s end product is equally as pretty. The colors remind Jungkook of the sea on a stormy day, and he thinks they fit Taehyung well.

Taehyung carries his flower pot in the crook of his arm and fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket, smiling through his struggle as Jungkook giggles at him.

“Let me take a picture.”

Jungkook holds his flower pot next to his face and side-eyes it, raising his eyebrows and pouting with goofy, puckered lips.

“Why are you so cute?” Taehyung asks, but Jungkook knows the picture is likely terrible quality. The kiln room is tiny, leaving little space for Taehyung to take a proper picture that isn’t too close-up, and the lighting is dim. Still, Taehyung looks at his phone like he’s just photographed something award-worthy.

“Bunnies are naturally cute,” Jungkook bites his lip in a hesitant smile when Taehyung leans into him.

“You’re the cutest bunny I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

Taehyung tilts his head slightly to the side and bumps his sharp nose against Jungkook’s button nose. His breath is hot against Jungkook’s face, and it comes out in little puffs as he laughs at Jungkook’s squirming.

“What’re you doing?” Taehyung bumps their noses again and tries to press his lips against Jungkook’s, but Jungkook wiggles away.

“You’re making me nervous!”

“How?”

Their teeth click against each other, Taehyung laughing and Jungkook giving a scrunched bunny smile. Jungkook doesn’t know why he’s so giggly and nervous, but it might be because he’s in a tight spot with the boy he loves and can’t hold still with so much affection swelling inside him. Taehyung is suffocating him in the best way.

Rising up on his toes, Jungkook kisses Taehyung, something soft and sweet. Jungkook rarely initiates kisses, but ever since he and Taehyung became official, he’s felt more confident in seeking the affection he craves. It pleases Taehyung, too. When Jungkook pulls away, he leaves a boxy grin on Taehyung’s face.

“Baby,” Taehyung whispers with his fingers hooking in Jungkook’s belt loops to pull him closer.

“Yeah?”

The term of endearment makes Jungkook’s soul light up. His soul may even fly away, lift off, and soar to heaven when Taehyung’s cheeks turn pink, and he nibbles on his bottom lip with rare nervousness. They need to be more careful about being touchy, giggly messes while holding their precious ceramic creations.

“I know I don’t always say the right things, but I wanted you to know—”

“What are you guys doing in here?” Ten flings the door to the kiln room open, momentarily blinding Jungkook from how brightly the studio’s lights shine compared to the dim lighting in the kiln room. “Professor Choi won’t like students hooking up next to expensive equipment.”

“Oh, like you haven’t,” Taehyung teases Ten, and a strange part of Jungkook gets annoyed that it doesn’t make Ten blush or appear flustered. Instead, Taehyung’s teasing seems to encourage Ten’s obnoxious behavior.

Shrugging, Ten gives Taehyung a coy look and says simply, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Jungkook wants to wipe that smug look off Ten’s face! How, he doesn’t know, but he certainly wants to. Resisting the instinctual urge to stamp his feet, Jungkook spins around to look Ten in his piercing eyes.

“Don’t worry, last time Taehyung bent me over and fucked me on that table,” Jungkook points to the table Ten is using to work on his latest project, “So no broken expensive equipment.”

Twisting to the side, Taehyung violently coughs into his elbow. Cocky satisfaction buzzes through Jungkook, pleased that he elicited not only a strong reaction from Ten, whose face turns bright red, but from Taehyung as well.

“Well,” Taehyung exhales loudly once he can speak again, “We’ll see you around…”

Ten nods and avoids either of their gazes, quickly turning around to stare at his work table. Jungkook sincerely hopes he can’t get the image of Taehyung fucking Jungkook out of his head and that he has to move his project because of it after they’ve left.

“Bun, what the hell was that!” Taehyung exclaims once he has pulled Jungkook into the hallway.

Batting his eyes, Jungkook smiles sweetly at Taehyung and cradles his flower pot to his chest.

“A little lie never hurt anyone.”

“I…” Taehyung lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk like that before.”

He hasn’t. Jungkook smirks and shrugs; there’s nothing more to say.

Shaking his head, Taehyung squeezes Jungkook’s hand in his and leads him out of the building. He mutters about how Jungkook has turned into some kind of menace since he met him and wonders if this is somehow his fault. All Jungkook can do is laugh because Ten got what he deserved. It’s rare now that Jungkook can fluster Taehyung, so he celebrates the small victories whenever possible.

Never mind that the fake scenario Jungkook cooked up for Ten is kind of hot…

Jungkook keeps that thought buried in the back of his mind as he and Taehyung drop off their flower pots at Taehyung’s dorm in exchange for their backpacks. The library study room Jungkook reserved is next on their agenda for the day. Much of Jungkook’s time with Taehyung is spent not doing their school assignments, so he’s determined to keep them on track. They only have a handful of standard classes before final exams begin and final projects are due. If there ever was a time to get their shit together, it would be now.

Luckily, Jungkook and Taehyung are strong students when they aren’t together. Despite his cool guy persona, Taehyung takes school very seriously. Like Jungkook, Taehyung is motivated by the desire to perform well for his parents, which is a sign of respect for the sacrifices they made to get him a good education. Jungkook’s motivation comes with a twinge of fear that he will disappoint his parents if he doesn't perform well. Unfortunately, that comes with the reality of having strict parents.

The thing is, their parents aren’t here to encourage or scold them. Jungkook finds it easy to become distracted by Taehyung’s presence, even when all they’re doing is sitting across from each other while they work on assignments, Jungkook working on some code on his laptop and Taehyung sketching a design for his final sculpture project. Taehyung’s fingers are pretty curved around his pencil. When Taehyung looks up at him through his curly bangs, Jungkook feels his stomach dip with a sensation that flirts with the line between anxiety and arousal.

After a while, hunger replaces the strange sensations in Jungkook’s stomach, gnawing and gurgling at him. Since they started their day late, it's well past lunchtime, but Jungkook is determined to run through their Art History presentation before they leave the library.

“Can you stop looking at me like that?”

Taehyung squints at Jungkook from behind a podium in the front of the room. Their presentation is projected on the whiteboard behind him, skipped ahead to his part. Rigid, his face scrunched into a frown, he looks more awkward than Jungkook has ever witnessed him.

“Looking at you like what?” Jungkook asks with a smile. He sits on the table and swings his legs because they don’t touch the floor.

Irritated, Taehyung’s tail swishes back and forth, curling around the outside of his ankles with each whipping motion.

“I don’t know, just don’t look at me.”

Biting his bottom lip, Jungkook muffles a giggle as Taehyung reviews his project notes scrawled on a wrinkled piece of paper lying on the podium. Never would he have guessed that extroverted, charismatic Taehyung is afraid of public speaking.

“Taehyung…”

“What?” Taehyung frowns. “Jungkook, I’m serious, it’s not funny.”

Jungkook isn’t bothering Taehyung on purpose. He just can’t get over how precious he looks, stiff-limbed and pouty, with a light pink hue blooming across the honey-gold skin of his cheeks.

There’s a lot that they don’t know about each other. Rather than being discouraged by that, Jungkook finds each new bit of information learned a blessing. How wonderful is it to learn new things about someone you love? He gets to continuously discover Taehyung, just as Taehyung gets to learn more “Jungkook lore,” as he calls it. They’re young; they have so much time to evolve and discover new things about themselves, together.

Maybe Jungkook is naive. Maybe he’s falling deep because Taehyung is his first boyfriend, and no one finds true love in their first relationship. As he hops off the table to stand on his tiptoes in front of Taehyung with his arms around his neck, Jungkook decides that he doesn’t care about any of that. He doesn’t care that he’s young, naive, and inexperienced. He doesn’t care that he and Taehyung aren’t supposed to be together.

Jungkook will tell him what he’s been wanting to tell him for quite some time, and he will do it now.

“You’re going to do an amazing job,” Jungkook insists, pulling Taehyung into a tight hug.

“I’m gonna get up there and forget everything.”

“If you freeze, I’ll do the talking. You know I’m good at that!”

Jungkook hums when Taehyung’s hands wrap around his waist to tug him flush to his body. They fit together so well, with Taehyung strong enough to support Jungkook when he feels like he’ll turn to mush from how gently Taehyung holds him. The feeling only grows stronger when Taehyung bows his head to tuck his face against Jungkook’s neck and tickles his skin when he inhales deeply.

“Baby,” Taehyung whispers, his lips tracing down Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook’s body grows hot from the smooth and deep sound of Taehyung’s voice.

“Yes?”

Taehyung’s next inhale trembles. He tightens his hold on Jungkook’s waist and presses a kiss to the corner of Jungkook’s jaw before pulling back far enough to look Jungkook in the eyes.

“I love you,” Taehyung says with a timid smile.

He watches Jungkook’s expression with attentive eyes that glow a warm amber far more comforting than the fluorescent lighting in the study room. They shift between focusing on Jungkook’s eyes and his parted lips. Leaving Taehyung waiting must be torture. Jungkook doesn’t mean to prolong the suspense or make Taehyung reconsider admitting his feelings, but he can’t formulate words. Blood rushes to Jungkook’s head, forcing his heartbeat into his eardrums as it pounds so frantically that Jungkook feels lightheaded.

“I wanted to say it first,” Jungkook blurts out, his tone breathy. He's clearly overwhelmed by the slew of emotions flooding him.

“What?” Taehyung laughs, “You wanted to say you love me before I said it to you?”

Jungkook nods, still feeling out of breath.

Taehyung loves him. Taehyung loves him, and he said it first. Jungkook wasn’t even sure if Taehyung would say it back, but he said it first.

“So, you love me?” Jungkook nods, but Taehyung clicks his tongue. “I wanna hear you say it, bun.”

Taehyung’s timid smile grows into a confident and boxy one. It makes butterflies emerge in Jungkook’s stomach because that look is for him.

“I love you, Tae,” Jungkook whispers against Taehyung’s mouth before he leans in to nibble on Jungkook’s bottom lip.

“I love you so much, baby.”

Taehyung speaks in between kisses that feel like they’ll bruise. Jungkook can hardly keep up as Taehyung leans in further, nearly bending Jungkook backward as he bites and sucks his lips, occasionally shoving his tongue in Jungkook’s mouth and coaxing Jungkook to share his passion. It feels rushed initially, Taehyung’s hands slipping beneath Jungkook’s sweater to squeeze his waist and force him to grind against his body. But Taehyung’s mouth is slow as it leaves Jungkook’s to trail kisses along his jaw instead and eventually drops to suck on the skin where his scent gland is.

“Tae,” Jungkook moans and digs his fingers in Taehyung’s curls to hold him in place as Taehyung laps at the invisible spot where his scent gland is, licking and swirling the smooth skin until all that surrounds them is the sweet, floral smell of Jungkook’s arousal.

The burning desire pulsing through Jungkook’s body deepens when Taehyung scrapes his teeth against his skin. They could mate right now. Taehyung could bite him, permanently marking him with the scarred puncture of his teeth in his neck so everyone would know that Jungkook belonged to him. It would hurt terribly, but Jungkook wants it. They’re in love; why should they deny what their instincts tell them to do, even if tiger hybrids aren’t supposed to mate with bunny hybrids?

The desire to submit to Taehyung is so strong that it scares Jungkook, so he quickly tugs on Taehyung’s hair to pull him away from his neck.

When Jungkook meets Taehyung’s gaze, he understands why he’s so overcome with desire and heat, why his mind is telling him to do things he usually doesn’t. One look at Taehyung’s dark eyes with dilated pupils, and Jungkook knows.

“Bun,” Taehyung’s call is rough, nearly a growl.

Jungkook doesn’t listen to him. He twists from Taehyung’s grasp and nearly knocks over a chair to reach his backpack. Shoving his laptop and planner inside, Jungkook doesn’t bother checking what Taehyung is doing. He throws the study room’s door open and rushes down the hall. Conveniently, they’re on the ground level, making it easy for Jungkook to slip out of the front doors. The cold afternoon air paralyzes Jungkook’s lungs and cools his blood. He’s breathing so hard that he’s nearly hyperventilating. Each inhale hurts, but the situation thrills him. All he can think about is running. He has to find somewhere to hide. Instincts tell him to go home, but his heart urges him toward Taehyung’s apartment.

Campus clears out on snowy days. Very few people go outside on the weekends, so Jungkook has little trouble weaving through people, taking the sidewalks between the predators’ side of campus and the coed middle grounds. Despite Jungkook’s hurried pace, nearly a light jog, he doesn’t draw much attention to himself with the hood of his coat pulled over his head to hide his ears. The hood prevents him from seeing if Taehyung is catching up to him, but he’s too focused on getting away to check.

Something about the prickling of the hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck, despite being protected from the cold, makes Jungkook think that Taehyung is near. He feels like he’s being watched, crept upon. Reaching the dorm, his heart falls into his stomach when he belatedly remembers that he can’t get inside. His keycard only gives him entrance to prey hybrid dorms.

He could wait for someone to exit the building and quickly slip inside after them, but he can't get into Taehyung’s apartment unit unless Hoseok is home! But Jungkook really hopes Hoseok isn’t home.

Before Jungkook can panic about what to do, firm hands spin him around and shove him against the side of the building. His backpack protects him from hitting the wall, but he still gets the air knocked out of him.

“Think you can run away from me, bun?” Taehyung’s hands slide from Jungkook’s waist to palm his ass, squeezing it when Jungkook gasps.

“N-No,” Jungkook stutters when one of Taehyung’s hands slides underneath his coat to play with his fluffy tail.

“You like riling me up.”

Jungkook does. He likes it when Taehyung towers over him, his amber eyes turn dark, and his smooth voice turns gravelly. He likes the prickle of fear that heightens his senses when Taehyung gets like this and how it triggers something inside Jungkook that he’s never felt before — even if it’s unknown and scary.

“I told you I love you, and you ran away from me,” Taehyung growls against Jungkook’s throat, and Jungkook realizes how bad that looks.

Taehyung has gotten like this a handful of times before. Each time, his affection for Jungkook or his desire to protect him triggered the almost feral switch in his personality. Jungkook shouldn’t have left Taehyung alone after he’d been so brave by confessing his love.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I didn’t mean to.”

“Why did you do it?” Taehyung sounds genuinely hurt, and Jungkook’s heart breaks.

“I got scared.”

Taehyung whines and shoves his face into Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Not of you!” Jungkook quickly reaches for Taehyung’s ears, scratching them and playing with the curls surrounding them. “Not you, Tae. I was scared of… myself and how I reacted.”

“Don’t understand,” Taehyung murmurs. The hand that had been playing with Jungkook’s tail is now gripping his throat so Taehyung can tilt his neck to scent him.

They’re doing this in public. Few people have ventured outside, but they’re in the open, easily seen even by the predator hybrids in their dormitories. Jungkook’s mind is so foggy with the comforting pleasure of Taehyung’s scent mixing with his and the lust that shoots through him every time Taehyung squeezes his ass to coax his hips to grind against his.

“I want things,” Jungkook says with a shudder rippling through his body when Taehyung gently bites his neck.

Taehyung groans impatiently, “What?”

“To, um,” Jungkook feels his face heat up when Taehyung steps back to look at him. He’s never felt more embarrassed in his life. “Submit… to you…” he whispers the rest and is unable to look Taehyung in the eyes. As a predator hybrid, Taehyung will know what Jungkook means, likely even more than Jungkook understands himself.

“Fuck.”

Jungkook’s legs feel like jelly when Taehyung tugs him through the dormitory’s front doors. He trips up the stairs, relying on Taehyung to keep him from falling as they make their way to his apartment. With a face hardened by determination, Taehyung doesn’t even let Jungkook take off his shoes once they stumble into the entryway of his apartment. He kneels to pull Jungkook’s boots off while Jungkook unzips his coat. They must be loud, stomping, breathing heavily, and Taehyung throwing shoes into the corner, because Hoseok peeks around the corner from the living room.

“Hey guys! What’s—”

“Hyung, I’m gonna fuck Jungkook right now,” Taehyung interrupts and both Hoseok and Jungkook’s eyes widen at how explicit and blunt he is. “So if you don’t wanna hear it, you should leave.”

“Oh.” Hoseok watches as Taehyung grabs Jungkook’s wrist and leads him down the hallway.

Sorry, Jungkook mouths, afraid to hurt Taehyung’s feelings if he says it out loud. Despite being bossed around by a very demanding Taehyung, Hoseok simply grins.

“Taehyung, I can’t believe you kicked Hobi hyung out,” Jungkook playfully scolds Taehyung once his bedroom door is closed. His giggles die when Taehyung grabs him by the front of his sweater and pulls him toward the bed.

“No offense, but I don’t care about hyung right now.”

A bit of clarity has returned to Taehyung’s features. His pupils aren’t as dilated, and his voice is still deep but no longer distorted. The tingle of power radiating from him still exists, though, keeping Jungkook’s skin hot and fear in his chest.

“Okay,” Jungkook nods and lets Taehyung pull his sweater over his head.

Taehyung quickly removes the rest of Jungkook’s clothes, replacing them with kisses covering each strip of exposed skin as he tugs off his jeans. All the attention makes Jungkook shy. This being only the second time he’s been intimate with Taehyung, Jungkook feels like he still doesn’t know what to do as Taehyung kisses him and guides his hands to the waistband of his joggers, encouraging Jungkook to pull them down. Jungkook is timid with each brush of his fingers against Taehyung’s skin. He admires how toned his body is, naturally lean as a predator hybrid, with muscles that Jungkook has to work to get.

“Bun,” Taehyung murmurs against Jungkook’s lips as he slips his fingers through his silky, dark hair and lightly tugs. “Are you gonna submit to me?”

The gentle yet dirty question makes Jungkook whimper despite his embarrassment at being reminded of his confession. He opens his eyes when Taehyung encourages him to tilt his head back by lightly pulling his hair. Even though Taehyung is speaking and behaving more like himself, there’s still a wild look in his eyes.

“Y-Yes,” Jungkook nods, and Taehyung slowly lets go of his hair.

“Good bun. Let me see.”

Kneeling on Taehyung’s bed, Jungkook slowly eases himself down onto his forearms, keeping his upper body low to the bed and his ass up. He’s been in this position before with Taehyung, but something feels different about it now. Perhaps it’s because this isn’t just a quick fuck. Love is involved this time. Maybe that’s naive and cliche, but Jungkook feels it when Taehyung runs his hands along his back.

“Relax, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Taehyung presses his thumbs into the muscles of Jungkook’s back, where he must feel knots and points of tension, massaging Jungkook until he’s a puddle on the bed. Taehyung is always taking care of Jungkook. Part of Jungkook feels bad; all he’s done is give Taehyung a handjob. He’s still shy and unsure about what to do, but it doesn’t seem like Taehyung cares.

To adjust Jungkook’s position, Taehyung grabs his hips and pulls him back until he’s kneeling at the edge of the bed, allowing Taehyung to stand behind him. Jungkook falls forward even more when Taehyung stands between his legs so he can spread Jungkook’s knees as wide as he wants.

“Do you always get this wet, or is it just me?” Taehyung asks as he rubs his fingers around Jungkook’s rim. Jungkook doesn’t turn around to look at him, but he can hear the cocky attitude in his tone, and it makes him even wetter.

“Just you,” Jungkook moans when Taehyung squeezes his hip and presses two fingers inside him.

His response isn’t a lie to stroke Taehyung’s ego; Jungkook has never even cum more than once on his own. Something about Taehyung brings out this needy, desperate, depraved version of Jungkook. Taehyung is slow as he fucks Jungkook with his fingers, twisting and crooking them so they hit his prostate with each thrust. He massages it, pressing hard enough to make Jungkook’s legs shake, before pulling back again.

“You’re even wetter than last time.”

Jungkook hopes Hoseok really did leave because his moans grow louder as Taehyung uses his free hand to reach around Jungkook and squeeze his cock.

“Is it because I love you?” Taehyung asks softly against the nape of Jungkook’s neck when he leans over him and rolls his palm over the head of Jungkook’s cock. “Is that why you’re so wet, baby?”

Jungkook lets out a breathy whine and tries to push back against Taehyung’s fingers when he stops moving them.

“Oh, it is,” Taehyung grins against Jungkook's shoulder, his teeth pressed into his skin.

“Taehyung, please.”

It’s not fair that Taehyung can read Jungkook like this. It makes Jungkook’s face heat up, especially when it’s obvious how his body reacts to Taehyung’s teasing.

Kissing Jungkook’s nape, Taehyung’s lips follow his spine until he reaches his tail, skipping over that and leaving a kiss on each cheek. His hot breath and soft lips tickle, and Jungkook almost giggles until he feels Taehyung slip his cock between his cheeks. Taehyung grinds against him, slicking up his cock and making Jungkook moan every time the head of his cock catches against Jungkook’s rim.

“You sound so pretty, bun,” Taehyung praises as Jungkook chants his name between breathy ah, ah, ah’s. “You look pretty, too, like this. I love seeing your gorgeous face, but…”

Jungkook jolts forward with a moan when Taehyung slaps his ass, making the muscle jiggle. The sting shocks Jungkook, and the pleasure that comes from it. His weak whimpers must encourage Taehyung to do it again because he slaps Jungkook twice more in the same spot, each hit slightly harder than the previous.

“Taehyung, please, please, just f-fuck me.” Jungkook might be an independent, confident person outside of the bedroom, but he isn’t above begging when Taehyung’s teasing him and torturing him.

“Alright, baby, I’ll give you what you want,” Taehyung chuckles, and Jungkook’s face feels like a wildfire.

A hiccuped sob tumbles from Jungkook’s chest when Taehyung slowly sinks his cock inside him. The position lets Taehyung reach deeper than he had before. It feels strange, and Jungkook panics for a moment when Taehyung squeezes his hips with both hands.

“Tae,” Jungkook leans on his forearms and twists his head to look back at Taehyung.

“Hmm?”

Taehyung looks gorgeous, with a healthy glow and bright eyes, even while wild. The veins in his arms are raised, and his biceps flex when he squeezes Jungkook’s hips to guide him back onto his cock.

“It’s a lot,” Jungkook moans at Taehyung’s first real thrust.

“I’ll be careful, baby,” Taehyung runs his palm up Jungkook’s back, soothing him with his gentle touch. “If it hurts, tell me, okay?”

Nodding, Jungkook lets his head hang as Taehyung thrusts into him again. The thrusts start slow, Taehyung building them up until he’s properly fucking into Jungkook with more power. He digs his fingers into Jungkook’s hips and pulls him down on his cock to meet each thrust.

They’re messy and loud, the wet slap of Jungkook’s ass against Taehyung’s body a steady beat to Jungkook’s loud moans. He can’t keep quiet, can barely keep himself grounded. Every drag of Taehyung’s thick cock against his walls makes Jungkook’s head spin.

“You good, bun?” Taehyung grunts, adjusting his angle to make sure he hits Jungkook’s prostate each time he fucks into him.

Unable to speak, Jungkook hums, sounding more like a needy whimper than anything else. Jungkook can tell that Taehyung is holding back so he doesn’t hurt him. He fists the bed sheets to give himself something to hold onto and tries not to let his knees give out or his face smash into the mattress when Taehyung reaches around his waist to pump his cock.

The angle is awkward, and it’s hard for Taehyung to fuck Jungkook deeply if he’s leaning forward to reach his cock. After a few tugs, Taehyung wraps his hand around Jungkook’s wrist to pull his arm out from underneath him.

“Touch yourself for me,” Taehyung commands, his voice too soft and smooth for what they’re doing. Hearing it makes Jungkook’s body quivers.

“Feels so good,” Jungkook sighs as he begins fisting his cock, doing his best to keep up with Taehyung’s thrusts.

“Yeah?”

Jungkook is a screamer. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t stop himself from wailing when he cums into his hand. His body spasms, making his other arm slip from underneath him. His body slumps forward onto the mattress, but Taehyung’s grip on his hips keeps him on his knees.

“Keep going, come on.”

Taehyung threads his fingers through Jungkook’s hair and holds him, doesn’t press down or tug, just keeps his hand there in an intimate touch gentler than how roughly he fucks him. It doesn’t take much more to have Jungkook coming again, his second orgasm apparently following his first fairly quickly – another new thing for him to learn about himself.

“That’s it, bun, fuck,” Taehyung helps Jungkook finish himself off, lacing their fingers together so they can both fist his cock.

Taehyung pushes Jungkook forward so he can kneel on the bed and drape his body over Jungkook’s, caging him in as he reaches his climax. When he cums, he bites Jungkook’s neck hard enough to bruise the skin but not break it. The throbbing pain makes Jungkook cum again, this time ending in a weak whimper that Taehyung captures in a kiss as he hovers over Jungkook’s body.

“Fuck, I love you so much, Jungkook,” Taehyung whispers, and Jungkook can’t stop his tail from wiggling despite the embarrassment it brings him.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook squirms, trying to escape from being underneath Taehyung, who smothers his laughter against Jungkook’s neck. “Taehyung, get away from me.”

“Are you that happy? Getting all wiggly over here,” Taehyung coos. “Trembly and wiggly baby.”

So much for being sexy.

Later, after they shower, Jungkook has to sweep away the disappointment he feels when he looks in the mirror and notices there aren’t any puncture wounds or drops of blood on his neck. It’s not time, but maybe one day it will be. Clearly, Taehyung wants it too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have risked a bruising bite that could have turned into a mating bite. Maybe Jungkook is getting ahead of himself. Maybe Taehyung is the one he’s meant to be with.

“It looks good on you.” Taehyung’s whisper turns into a kiss on Jungkook’s temple when he squeezes past him in the small bathroom.

“What?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror; Taehyung’s a calm amber again. He touches the edge of Jungkook’s jaw, running one long finger along the edge and down his neck until he reaches the bite mark around his scent gland. When he presses on it, Jungkook whimpers.

“This…”

Holding Jungkook’s neck, Taehyung guides him to turn and raise his chin so he can kiss him from where Taehyung stands behind Jungkook.

“You think so?” Jungkook doesn’t open his eyes, just basks in the smell of Taehyung’s shampoo and the warmth of their naked bodies pressed together.

“Of course, bun.”

Jungkook finally opens his eyes when Taehyung pulls away.

“I have something for you,” Taehyung says quietly, focused on wrapping his towel around his waist. Hoseok was nowhere to be found when they emerged from Taehyung’s bedroom, but there’s no knowing if he has returned since their shower.

The prospect of receiving a gift makes Jungkook giddy, not because he cares about material things, but because he likes the idea of Taehyung seeing something and thinking of him.

“What is it?” he asks excitedly, a little annoyed when Taehyung won’t look him in the eyes. That is until he sees the pink blooming across the apples of Taehyung's cheeks.

“I have to take you home to give it to you,” Taehyung says quietly, finally giving Jungkook a small smile when he looks up. “Home, home.”

Series Masterlist

Disclaimer: All my writing is fictional and for entertainment purposes only. None of these characters are meant to actually represent the real people mentioned in the stories.

All rights reserved © @gimmethatagustd - Do not copy, repost, modify, or translate any of my writing. Do not use my writing for any AI purposes whatsoever. Do not use my fics for anything aside from reading and commenting on them. My fics will only be posted on this Tumblr and on AO3 (gimmethatagustd & daddytaehyungie).

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buildoblivion · 3 years ago

Text

I've been thinking a lot about mag 81 recently. Specifically, I've been wondering how much we as the audience knowing about "a guest for mr spider" colours our perspective of Jon as a person throughout the rest of tma.

Because I have chronic "must like the protagonist" syndrome, I've always personally had a soft spot for Jon even before we see a more vulnerable side of him in s3. But I can't deny that hearing his tragic backstory was a game-changer in how much I really empathized and understood him for the rest of the show.

There's that post on here somewhere about how hearing about his childhood, finding out he was an orphan, raised by a distant but dutiful at best, neglectful and bitter at worst grandmother, and then went through truly supernatural levels of trauma and guilt on top of that doesn't necessarily excuse his more dickish tendencies in s1 and 2, but it sure does help us understand him. The number of times I relisten to that ep and go "oh that's why you are the way that you are", and then go back further to s1 and s2 with episodes like mag 4 ("Page Turner") and mag 16 ("Arachnophobia") and go like "... ooooohhhhh I am very very sad".

Like we know from s1 that Jon's scepticism is a coping mechanism. We know that he cares about his assistants and does all sorts of human things like stuttering when he's scared and forming attachments to cool goth kids who also hate Leitners. But mag 81 adds a whole new level to that. "A guest for mr spider" really does peel back the tape to see a whole person who has been very very afraid and very very alone for a long time. Add on top of that the fact we meet Georgie and get to hear what a "weird ex-boyfriend who stress cleans and loves cats" Jon sounds like, the episode is perfect.

But we're the only ones who get to hear all that. Jon never brings up "mr spider" to anyone else and the only other character who brings it up is fucking Jonah when he gloats about how the web marked Jon for him as he forces him to end the world.

No one else knows! They don't get to see like us how Jon has been tied up in this before he lost all his baby teeth. They don't get to see how he's been carrying the guilt for the death of a bully more than twice his age and has been so very scared that one day whatever got him might come back and finish the job.

And then I think about s3 and s4, where pretty much all of Jon's allies either start to or double down on hating him, blaming him for the way their lives have all gone to shit and berating him for not making the right choices. When we know that the "choice" that set Jon down this path was opening a children's picture book.

I don't know. I just wonder how different our view of Jon might be if we didn't know how far back this all went. If we'd just heard him talk with Georgie, and skipped straight on to Elias sending the statements and let the story go from there? Sure we'd see the tragic hot mess that Jon was in s3 onwards as he desperately tries to do right by everyone else, but would we really appreciate how little agency Jon really had? What if Jon's backstory hadn't been revealed till late series four, or five even when other characters get a broad sense that the web had "marked" Jon for something but little more than that?

I know half of what makes tma so great is this handling of perspective, and that long "Chekov's gun" about mr spider finally being let off in s5 is what makes the end reveal about hilltop road etc. so impactful. Would the ending be so tragic if we didn't have all this time with the knowledge that Jon's first mark was the spider? But I think about how from pretty much the whole rest of the cast's perspective that's how it goes. They have no idea how far these webs are actually tied around Jon, let alone how much his life really was tragic even before he stepped foot in the magnus institute.

And yet I can't imagine Jon ever telling any of them (except perhaps Martin maybe? Idk I always imagined Jon told him in the safehouse but that's just me). Why would he reveal it? When? He’s not an open, sharing person like that, and he doesn't really understand the nature of his upbringing and the true gravity of what happened to him until it's far too late.

And in a story about knowledge, the consequences of seeking it and the tragedy of withholding it, I wonder how different it might have been if perhaps that tape went astray, or maybe one night there was just a little too much wine and it all came spilling out.

I don't think it would have "fixed" anything, but maybe it might have taken longer before Jon was cursed as a "monster", maybe Jon would not be so quick to believe it? Maybe he might have had a few more allies before it all came crashing down.

#sorry i have a whole ass dissertation to write okay #but i have THOUGHTS #does it make sense?#im mainly thinking about tim here but this could apply to everyone really #like my boy went through t r a u m a that fucked his life over and its never brought up??????????#and when im going through series 3 and 4 and im like WHY DO YOU HATE HIM SO MUCH????]#ithe biggest difference between what we know and what the other characters know is mag 81 #and i am t h i n k i n g #okay im going to shut up now #tma #the magnus archives #magpod #tma meta #mag 81 #a guest for mr spider #s3 #jonathan sims #i love you so much sir

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saturnsummer · 3 years ago

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worthy.

When Sol gets a GPA of 2.02, the study group (and Joon Hwi) comes together to cheer her up.

notes: another prompt by @thenerdywriter ! i wasn't sure if you meant it like this, but i hope you are satisfied! thank you for your prompt and your trust! i do apologise for the wait!

not much fluff or cliche romantic scenes, but just simple things that i hope when you read, remember your worth and never be defeated. you are worthy, loved and deserving to be appreciated. :) inbox always open!

for anyone who have sent prompts and asks, i thank you for your ideas! i have read through all your asks and am so excited to begin writing, but please understand if i can’t reply you as fast as i hoped! so sorry for this, i’ll try to address my inbox faster!! any mistakes or incorrect information will be taken responsible by me. enjoy!

edit: everyone, please don’t cry on this omg I’ve made 5 people comment their tears now and im terribly sorry for the tears.. I meant for this to be a light hearted story but looks like everyone is crying,, I’ll try not to make people cry now..

original prompt: where joon hwi and the rest of the gang shake some sense into her (sol a) about her self-esteem.

words: 2787 words

Sol is downstairs at the lounge, holding a clear bottle of soju. She takes another swig from the plastic bottle, hoping that the alcohol can numb her heart like it does to her head. It burns, and she’s turning woozy, but she grumbles and takes another swig.

2.02. She’s passed, at least. But she can’t help but feel upset. She wasn’t upset that she couldn’t score as well as Yeseul or BokGi, but upset that she’s satisfied with these low results. No one is going to hire her, even less offer an internship while looking at her track records.

Sol worked her ass off for this exam. She nearly died, if it wasn’t for Yeseul’s reminders to eat. Even her cold stoned face roommate bothered to place bottles of water on her desk. Yet, after all this...

“Why are you still up?” She hears Joon Hwi ask as he takes a seat next to her. She stays silent with a grim expression and turns away. Joon Hwi was the last person she wanted to see, especially when she’s in such a bad mod.

“What’s wrong?” He asks as he catches her arm just as she’s about to chug her soju.

“Everything.” She slurs. “You know I’m not even upset with my GPA? I’m upset of being happy with my shitty grades.” Joon Hwi sighs, attempting to grab her bottle away.

“I should have never came to study. I should have never tried to prove myself to be Dan!” She scolds louder. Sol knows she’s drunk in front of her best friend, but she can’t control herself. She doesn’t care.

“Kang Sol...” Joon Hwi stands up, grabbing her bottle away from her. “You’re drunk. Go back.”

“I don’t belong here, anyway.” Her slurs catch Joon Hwi in his steps.

“I never once belonged with any of you. Being with all of you just drags you all further. I should just stop burdening you all with my questions and rot in a corner. Besides, no one would care.” She softly says, her voice filled with regret and guilt.

Sol has always felt this way. Ever since she was young, Dan was always the star child. She got top grades while Sol got through in the middle rankings. Dan was always more popular, prettier, smarter. Sol learnt at a young age that no matter what, she would always be overshadowed by Dan.

Thus, she learnt to be quiet. Only ask questions when she really needs to. Stick to familiar people. Only be loud when told to, and blend in in every situation. She learnt to depreciate herself, because no one appreciated her in the first place.

Joon Hwi wants to shake her. He wants to write an entire dissertation on why Sol belongs to Hankuk. He wants to show her what he sees: a smart, caring, passionate lawyer-to-be. He wants to show her what he sees when she testified for Professor Yang in court. A confident, woman knowing her morals and rights.

“Kang Sol.” Joon Hwi says, pulling her up by her wrist. Sol pushes him away, but her touches are sloppy and weak. Sighing, Joon Hwi knows that it is useless to argue about her grades and her worth when she’s not even half conscious of what she’s doing.

He grabs her coat lying on the couch, finding her phone and plans on calling Yeseul. But it’s past 1am, but he doesn’t want to trouble Yeseul. Sighing, he contemplates calling her roomie but reality smacks when he realises she’s home. Noticing how Sol is slowly nodding off, giving in to the fatigue, it leaves Joon Hwi not much of an option to carry her back.

Fishing the room key out from her coat, he takes special care in carrying her, sweeping his arm under her knee and lifting her slowly as to not disrupt her from falling asleep. The key card is in between his fingers as he slowly and quietly makes his way up to her dorm. He thanks the deities above that no one caught him or interrupted him.

Tapping the key card, a standard ‘beep’, he pushes the door with his back, and takes care to get him and her into the dark room. He can barely see anything, especially since he has no hands to on the lights, but he makes out his way in the small room using the moonlight and what he can tell.

Joon Hwi knows which side Sol sleeps, knowing from her stories that include her rolling from the bed up to the desk. By now, Sol was sleeping soundly, a slight snore escaping her. Gently, he sets her down on her bed and reaches to take her shoes off for her. Hanging up her coat that he placed on top of her whilst he was carrying her, he finally pulled the thick blanket over her.

But he didn’t leave just yet.

“I never once belonged with any of you.”

Sol’s words echoed in his head more than he thought it would. He stopped and bent down silently by her bed side, taking a few moments to wonder to himself just how and why does she feel so unworthy.

He grabs her bottle of water from her bag, before putting it next to her phone, which is on the table. Knelt on the floor, he observes the slow rise of her chest and the way her eyes flutter and nose twitch when Sol sleeps. Just how can someone like Sol think she’s any less than what he sees?

“You belong here in Hankuk. I’ll show you just why.” His whisper barely audible, as he brushes away a stray hair on her face. With that, he takes his leave and sneaks back to his dorm. (Without getting caught)

-----

The next day, after two painkillers and a big bowl of hangover soup (left mysteriously by someone at their pantry), Sol is headed to study group. She is running a few minutes early than their scheduled timing, but she’s surprised to find the group huddled in hushed whispers.

“What are you all looking at?” Sol asks, as she sets her book at her usual corner opposite Joon Hwi. BokGi lets out a startled yelp and Yebeom clamps his mouth shut. Sol isn’t surprised to see Jiho crowded there, but is even more shocked to see Sol B crowded with them too. If it was anything, Sol B wouldn’t crowd around and discuss things, unless it concerned herself, or benefitted her grades.

“What...” Sol leans over and raises her eyebrows. Yeseul’s eyes dart nervously and she breaks into a smile. The rest of the group just shuffles back to their seats murmuring under their breath.

“Nothing, unnie! They were just discussing on what to order for lunch.” Yeseul says as she walks over to Sol and takes her bag and books from her, before setting it on the table. “Unnie, shall we get coffees?” Yeseul escorts her out of the room before Sol could react. Sol assumes that it’s due to her hangover that Yeseul is suggesting coffee, thus just following and getting a cold brew and assorted drinks for the others.

When she returns, they distribute the drinks and start discussing on what to study.

“Noona, do you have anything?” BokGi asks, a little too enthusiastically. Sol is taken aback and lost for words. She usually just follows whatever the rest want, since answering her questions will take hours. Joon Hwi gives a sympathetic smile.

“How about you share with us about a recent case? Remember the one that Professor Kim liked in particular?” Joon Hwi suggests. Sol grows quiet. Her? The worst student? Sol let’s out an uncertain laugh.

“Ah, me? I rather my roomie shares. She did better than me.” Sol says, then prepares a fresh document for note taking on her laptop.

“I didn’t do well.” Sol B says quietly, her eyes emotionless as usual, leaning back into the chair. “You did the best. Go on.” Sol is stunned and just nods uncertainly. Taking out her case notes and her reports that she submitted, she nervously discusses the topic on hand. She sneaks Joon Hwi a couple of questioning stares but he only pretends to not catch her eyes.

Everyone is enthusiastic, asking questions and when Sol is stumped, they jump in to help her. They suggest ideas and Sol has never felt so energised by their energy before. She find it fishy how Joon Hwi just sits back and she can feel him smiling whenever she makes a point right or figures out a missing link.

An hour later, when they are done expanding on Sol’s case and discussing, they break for a late lunch together. Yebeom enters the room with bags of food, as usual over ordering. As they pass out containers of jjampong and jjajamyeon, Sol’s eyes light up when she saw the only thing that mattered in the whole order: her beloved pickles, in doubled servings.

What Sol doesn’t expect is for JiHo to dump his packet of pickles on her container of noodles.

“JiHo-ah, why...” Sol is dumbfounded for a moment as JiHo opens his pack of noodles to stir. JiHo only pushes up his glasses.

“You can have them, noona.” Sol is even more dumbfounded. This was the first time JiHo has called her noona. She didn’t care for the honourifics, and JiHo could call her by her full name for all she cared. But hearing those words from Seo JiHo’s mouth, just made her think everyone was utterly suspicious today.

“Okay, everyone is being weird. What is this?” Sol announces, hoping her tone came out fun, with no hints of anger.

“Nothing! We just know you’ve been feeling stressed, so JiHo decided to give you his share of pickles, right?” BokGi quips up, as he dives into taking the sauce to pour over the tangsuyuk, before Yebeom and him argue over pouring or dipping.

Sol, still feeling suspicious, breaks her chopsticks just as Joon Hwi picks up a pickle from her plastic saucer to put on her noodles. Her eyes dart from his chopstick to his face, but he just nods at her pickles, expressions hard to read.

Sol crunches on her pickles, but it does nothing to soothe the feeling that everyone was aware of something, but her.

-----

The rest of the week was a puzzle piece that Sol could not fix together.

She woke up everyday to a new message by Joon Hwi, sometimes sending her funny videos, or a simple “let’s get through this together”. She woke up once to her roomie handing her breakfast and coffee. It just didn’t click in Sol’s head to see the cold Sol B hand her a sandwich and coffee.

Their group chat was undoubtedly noisy, but even more so now. Something in common was how the more chatty ones would ask Sol for advice or chat and strike noisy conversations. She was used to the chaos, but she definitely didn’t feel used to having the attention on her.

As the group had earned different internships from small and large firms, Sol was going to be left in school alone, still applying and hoping for one to come her way. Her study group knew about it, and instead continued to encourage her about it. They avoided talk on their internships, and actively tried to help Sol. While Sol was grateful, she couldn’t help but wish that they would just act normal and not worry about her.

She chose to meet them for breakfast on the day of their internships. The meal was noisy as usual as they ate their sandwiches and gimbaps. They were dressed smartly in their suits with their briefcases. Sol made a fuss over everyone looking smart on their first day.

“Hurry up and eat, you’re going to be late for your internship!” Sol scolded BokGi as he and Yebeom threw comments back and forth. Everyone was off for theirs and ready with their jackets and bags. Walking with them to the door, she couldn’t help but feel like a mom to her kids, sending them to school.

“Noona! Check your table later in the libra-” Yebeom gleefully mused before BokGi clamped his mouth shut and JiHo (with much irritation) smacked his head silently.

“What?” Sol asks, turning to Joon Hwi, who was turning redder by the second. Joon Hwi closes his eyes, the same way he does when he’s embarrassed and looks away from her.

“Listen to Yebeom and check the table.” He says, finally looking at her. “We’ll see you for dinner then.” Waving a quick goodbye, the group walked away from her towards the carpark where they separated to the bus stops or in the direction of the train station.

“O-Okay…” she mutters, still confused as she carries her books and bag to her usual table at the library. She would have went to sulk at Professor Kim’s office for a while, but she instead chose to head straight to study. Professor Kim had enough on her plate and she wasn’t ready just yet to face Professor Kim with her mood.

There, at her table, lies her stack of books.

Normal, nothing out of the ordinary. Huffing out, she slumps her bag on her table, gathering the post its on the bar above the table. Most of them were just plain comments, like how she had to stop slamming her pen into her hand (it distracted students) or move out of the library cause there aren't enough seats. Opening her book on civil code, she was ready to start drilling her head before meeting Professor Kim.

Then she spots an envelope, hidden between the pages of the book.

Carefully, she picks it out and looks on the cream white paper, the only ink on it her name, written in neat handwriting. She could recognise Joon Hwi’s handwriting anywhere. A slight scoff escapes her lips and several students turn in annoyance. Realising that this was probably not the best place to be in, she grabs her books and bags (and the post its) and leaves the library. She heads to the empty study room, where she knows she’s be comfortable at.

Opening the flap, she slips out numerous slips of paper, varying degrees of length and sizes. Some words were neat, some were a little messy.

-----

To: Unnie <3

Sol-unnie, you know you’re smart, right? Your grades may not show that you are the best, but I know you are! Whenever I hear you discuss a case with the study group, I know you’re trying your best to memorise and improve. Don’t give up, unnie! I will support you till the end!

- Yeseul

To: Sol-A noona

Yah, noona! You have to stop injuring yourself, okay? You gave us a really big scare the last time when you started nose bleeding in the midst of study group. Noona, don’t look at your grades anymore! If a man like me can get through law school so far pretty well, you can too! Fighting, noona!

Noona~ you’re really talented. The fact that you scored so well during the criminal law test and managed to spot the comma just shows for amazing you are! Noona, don’t be discouraged... seeing you discouraged makes us sad too. Your favourite dongsaeng is here to help you!

- BokGi and Yebeom

To: Kang Sol-A

You can do it. Review your cases before classes. Get your internship.

-JiHo

To: Sol-A

Live up to your name, will you? And sleep on a regular schedule.

- Roommate

To: Sol

Sunbae, remember me? Stop doubting yourself and trust yourself. You’re smarter than you know and fit for court. I will support you from wherever you are. I’m grateful for you, for supporting me all this time. I think Dan would be proud of you, and so will the cookie Byeol.

Sol, you are worthy in my eyes. So stop undermining yourself. You belong in Hankuk next to me. You can’t give up now.

-Joon Hwi

-----

Sol lets a smile creep on her face as she lets a small blush rise to her face. Holding her letters to her heart, she closes her eyes, reminding herself of the past week and her friend’s efforts to cheer her on. She knew no doubt it had to be Joon Hwi who convinced everyone there to write for her despite their busy schedule. For even Sol B to help out and bother about her, it warmed her heart to have her support.

Picking her book, she pinned her hair up as she started drill into her book with a new found confidence, fuelled by her friends supporting her. But most importantly, she felt worthy. She felt loved. She felt confident. She was hopeful.

(Everyone thinks she’s worthy in their eyes, but one just thinks she’s perfect.)

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mooncademia · 4 years ago

Text

Wishes Do Come True — PART 1.

PAIRING ~ Aizawa Shouta/reader

GENRE ~ fluff

SUMMARY ~ Being an undercover cop has always been second nature to you, but after being paired up with Aizawa Shouta, your heart begins to wander slightly off track. With an unexpected occasion coming up, you’ve realized that you really are falling for the angler-hero. Cue the butterflies!

WORD COUNT ~ 3.0k

AUTHOR’S NOTE ~ Hello everyone! Oh gosh, I feel like I can write a whole-ass dissertation for my love for Aizawa Shouta (esp since he is my favorite character!) but thankfully, I have unleashed my love through writing a story. It is a bit long compared to my other fics and wips so I separated it into 2 parts. Stay tuned for part 2 real soon!

Ps: this story is inspired by BNHA Vigilantes and includes two minor characters, just a heads up!

EDIT: Part 2 is here!

The sun shined brightly as you trotted along the busy streets of Tokyo with Aizawa Shouta. The warmness of the air tingled your skin and your mid-length floral dress danced happily in the air as you held on to your wide-brimmed straw hat to prevent it from flying away.

“There are so many people,” Aizawa grumbled under his breath beside you.

You turned to him. Both of your elbows were locked together and while you could see Aizawa’s annoyance in his eyes, you couldn’t help but smile at him. You thought his little sneery comments were entertaining—cute even. He wore a long black men’s cardigan over a simple white tee, paired with a pair of army-green pants and classic sneakers. Not bad, you thought to yourself.

Last month, you and Aizawa were teamed up together by Officer Tsukauchi to go undercover to retrieve/discover some information about drug smugglers that have been stirring up some crimes and troubles lately. You took care of communications while Aizawa was behind you as a battle-ready investigator—after all, given your cop status, you couldn’t use your quirk. Having experience as an undercover cop for a couple of months already, this wasn’t new to you.

Though the underground hero definitely needed some readjustments in the beginning missions.

“Is this tie necessary? Aizawa complained dryly on the first day of undercover. He tried to loosen his blue tie away from his formal business wear, but it only made his suit more wrinkly.

He looked down at his outfit with a cringed look plastered on his face. “Why exactly do we need to dress up like this?”

You turned around to peer at him but only let out a laugh. You too were wearing a formal businesswoman attire and judging from Aizawa’s helpless expression (which you thought was adorable), you knew he was definitely not used to this.

“Because we need to get information from this company about the smugglers and you gotta pretend to be my assistant!” You explained to him with your hands on your hips.

You looked down at Aizawa’s now wrinkled clothes and you twitched at the disagreeable sight that surely did not look the least bit professional.

“Here, let me help,” you said, stepping in to fix his tie. “You need to wear the tie Aizawa, not let it dangle loose unprofessionally.”

While you carefully tucked in your partner’s tie and smoothened out all the wrinkles of his suit, you felt a gaze watching you. When you looked up, you found Aizawa’s eyes locked with yours. A warm heat flushed through the apples of your cheeks as you realized how exactly close you are to him. You couldn’t read his expression but his eyes pulled you in.

You didn’t realize how handsome Aizawa’s features actually were until you looked up closely—his sharp jawline, carefully pulled-back hair, the cute scruffiness on his chin, and his cold laid-back eyes that exerted exciting intimidation to you. When you met Aizawa for the first time, you knew the man was almost never quite often lighted by a smile, perhaps rationally cold, but you found him to be so lovable at the same time with his small kind gestures and silly grumpy grunts.

Why is my heart beating so fast? You thought to yourself as the two of you stared at each other, your faces only inches away.

“Y/N, Aizawa?” Officer Tsukauchi’s voice ran through your earpiece, popping you back into reality. “Is there something wrong?”

You yelped out and blinked your eyes rapidly. You lift one hand to your ear, clicking on your earpiece. “No! Nothing’s wrong, sorry!” You said in a squeaky voice.

You totally forgot Tsukauchi was literally right behind you guys in a white van surveying the whole action. You reminded yourself to keep your eyes back on the mission.

You glanced at Aizawa who stuffed his hands in his dress pants and looked away casually. “Some people just don’t know how to wear suits,” you added to Tsukauchi with a sly smile plastered on your face.

Aizawa shot daggers at you when he heard your teasing comment which only made you laugh out loud, slowly replacing that weird emotion in your heart with ease and excitement. “Come on,” you exclaimed with a guide of your hand. “Let’s go see what these guys are up to!”

That was the first day of working with Aizawa. And now that it has been a couple weeks, the two of you worked effortlessly and swiftly together as you have gotten to know each other a lot better. Communication was easy for the two of you and you both enjoyed working together given how well you both understood each others’ emotions and personality. It surprised you knowing that this cold, rational-driven man can understand you perfectly but you could say the same for him too.

But as the days pass, you realized that that weird, funny feeling of your heart running relay races whenever you see him? Or those butterflies in your stomach whenever you glance at him?

You still felt that.

And today was one of those days where your face feels a lot warmer than normal despite the cool breeze dancing in the air in the streets of Tokyo.

Why?

Because today you and Aizawa had to go undercover not as performers, waiters, tennis players, construction workers, or even hippies.

The two of you had to go undercover as a regular, cute, loving couple.

And let’s just say your heart was definitely not ready for that.

When you met up with him this afternoon, seeing him in his undercover clothes— how casual yet stylish he dressed, your heart did another relay race but oh boy, that wasn’t even the most embarrassing part.

Before the two of you walked down the streets to follow some men that were claimed to be targets, Aizawa held out his elbow and you stood there dumbfoundedly wondering what he was doing. You swore you looked like a koi fish with your mouth hanging slightly open in surprise.

“Uh…” you commented when you saw Aizawa holding out his arm this afternoon. “What are you doing?”

“Lock elbows together,” Aizawa said as if it was the most obvious thing. “Our undercover act?”

You blinked your eyes and tapped your forehead. “OH! Yes! Of course, right!!” You rambled as you took Aizawa’s arm so you were now shoulder to shoulder. You cursed yourself for being so unprofessional. Did you really think Aizawa was making a move? Noo! He was just playing his part… right?

You rolled your eyes internally at yourself. You were usually so in-tuned, so professional and so calm whenever you were undercover, but this man who many often fear from his deadly gaze or rational mind is making you lose your grip in the most embarrassing ways possible.

As the two of you were walking casually behind the two men ahead, blending in with the crowd in the streets, you tucked away all your silly emotions and flashbacks and reminded yourself to focus on the mission.

“You don’t like any crowded places, huh?” You replied to Aizawa after his remark.

Aizawa turned to you and let out a scoff with a smile. “Not really.”

You looked back at him and smiled with a nod before putting your attention back on the two men. Though strangely, you could feel Aizawa’s eyes still on you.

“You look nice today,” he complimented before darting his eyes back ahead on the streets.

Your heart did an instant flip as your ears barely fully registered what he just said.

Did he just compliment me?

“Oh!” Your eyes widened, looking down at your floral dress. You wore your best dress: the one that had a slight vintage touch since you were such a sucker for vintage things. It was a baby yellow bohemian midi-dress that had a squared neckline which allowed you to adorn it with gold jewelry. The cutely ruffled detail on the sleeves paired perfectly with the vintage buttons on the dress. And with that straw hat? *chefs kiss!*

Not that you spent an extra 45 minutes debating on which dress to wear for this couple's persona… you were excited, okay?!

“Thank you. Um… you look really nice too, I’m glad I don’t need to lecture you on how to wear regular people’s clothes,” you teased, glancing at him for a few seconds.

You saw Aizawa rolled his eyes and you laughed out loud. There’s excitement in the air that made your heart rushing, and it made you feel weirdly good and comfortable. You wished you could just continue to walk with him on the streets like this—shoulder to shoulder, peaceful and relaxed. Previously, you thought the couple's persona was going to be awfully awkward especially with the angler-hero, but somehow it felt oddly… right.

Before you could even fully think about it, you spotted the two men turn right to a narrow dark alleyway, and you immediately turned at Aizawa.

He nodded as if he already knew what you were going to say and with a flash of a smirk he said, “Let's go.”

——————

“And these are the same ones?” Officer Tsukauchi questioned as he closed the doors of the van with a loud thud!

“Ugh! The bonds are too tight!” The man complained inside with his hands tied with gray bonds. In the corner of your eye, you could see Aizawa’s mischievous smile as patted his hands together as if saying: ‘my job here is done.’

You looked back at Officer Tsukauchi and showed him the black bag that the men were carrying. You carefully unzipped the bag and pulled out—

“All Might’s action figures?” Tsukauchi stared at it dumbfoundedly.

“Yup!” You exclaimed. You made an amazing undercover cop because of your outgoing and cheerful personality which resonated with great first impressions. But your deductive and investigative senses were real sharp as well. You held out your hand at Aizawa and he nodded, knowing what you needed already. He reached down his pants pocket and pulled out his knife so casually as if someone just asked him if they could borrow a pen.

“However…” you continued as you popped opened the head of the All Might action figure with the knife. You poured out the bright green gel pills that were hidden inside the hollow toy.

“There it is.”

Officer Tsukauchi leaned in and examined it. “There are a few more locations we need to check out, but I think we are getting warmer to whose behind all this, thanks to you and Aizawa’s info.”

You handed him over the bag and nodded respectfully. “Anytime,” you replied supportingly. “I’m guessing next week’s target is at Ikebukuro, right?”

Officer Tsukauchi opened the door to his van and nodded. “So far, that is the plan, but I’ll let you know if there are any updates, especially after I do some further investigation with these men.” He pointed behind him.

You gave him a thumbs up and a smile and Aizawa tucked his hands into his pocket and let out an agreeable grunt. Once Officer Tsukauchi drove off, you stood at the sidewalk with Aizawa. The day was getting late, the sky was a grayish-blue tone and the two colors smashed together forming little swirls. It was as if there was an enormous painting just pinned above the sky glaring down at you.

“Well,” you said to Aizawa, patting your hands together. “I guess our job here is done.”

On the way back to the train station, the two of you had to cross through the busy streets, bustling with people. But now it was after-work hours, it seemed like the number of human beings on the street suddenly skyrocketed, and you had trouble even crossing through the streets without accidentally bumping into people’s shoulders. There was a whole lot of sorry, and excuse me! that you had to say but when you peered at Aizawa who was a few feet ahead of you, he walked slowly with incomparable ease (no one dared to bump him!).

“Ow, sorry!” You yelped as another shoulder knocked you back, causing you to almost trip on your feet. Aizawa turned his head and you felt an unexpected warm touch wrapped around your wrist. Aizawa gently locked elbows with yours to prevent you from falling back behind or colliding too much with the pedestrians. It was just like this afternoon and electrical signals were buzzing from your wrist to your heart as you stared at him with surprised eyes.

Aizawa flashed you a mischievous smile and said, “You are not too good on these busy streets, you know?”

Your face felt warm even though it was getting colder.

“Tell me about it,” you groaned, holding Aizawa’s arm just slightly tighter.

Aizawa looked up at the large building ahead right above the train station where you two were returning. Immediately when he glanced up, he noticed the date and weather temperature pinned on the building in bright neon lights.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, causing you to turn your head. “Next week’s your birthday?” The tone of his voice was more of a realization than a question.

“Huh?”

You were confused at his spontaneous and unexpected comment, but once you followed his line of sight and saw the large date pinned on the building, you widened your eyes and quickly looked down at your watch on your wrist. The date on your watch did not match up to the on the building. You cursed at old vintage watches, you loved vintage things but the date stopped updating on the watch since last week!

“Oh my goodness, you’re right!” You gasped. “Oh wow I- I didn’t even know my watch stopped last week. I guess next week is my birthday!”

With the undercover missions lately along with your hectic schedule, you had totally forgotten that your birthday was coming up.

You looked at Aizawa whose gaze was now forward and your eyes softened.

Did he really remember my birthday? You wondered to yourself. It was a couple of weeks ago where you were having a conversation with Aizawa and the Hotta Brothers at the Hotta Brother’s Hoppers Shop, the place where you secretly believe is Aizawa’s secret underground hero base (the Hotta brothers strongly objected though). Aizawa always stops by at the shop for his “morning routine” (which is basically reading his book and drinking hot black coffee) but after teaming up with him for the undercover missions, it was also the place where you two will sit down and plan for upcoming missions or discuss ideas and theories. A week or so ago, you were talking to the Hotta Brothers and you landed on the topic of birthdays when complaining how much you found your own horoscope sign to be disagreeable (which of course, we will get into later in another matter). You didn’t think Aizawa was listening while you and the Hotta Brothers playfully shared birthdates and horoscope complaints since he seemed so focused on his reading and drinking his classic cup of black coffee (Aizawa is not the morning person). And you couldn’t lie to yourself right then and there: your affection for him grew. The fact that he was listening to what you were saying that day (and oh boy, have you had your share of rambles), you felt warm to the heart—as if someone has lent you a cup of rich hot chocolate on a cold winter day. You were beyond content and a smile inevitably tugged on your lips.

“Well, happy uhm.. early birthday,” Aizawa said with a slightly timid nature in his voice, you caught it immediately. You two were close to the train station but the pacing of your walks was slower than before. Maybe the two of you just wanted to savor this lazy evening day, or perhaps your heart was beating a bit faster than before, your legs failed to move at a similar pace.

“Thank you,” you beamed. The sun was strangely setting rapidly and before you said your goodbyes to Aizawa, you scheduled another meet up with him next week at the Hotta Brother’s Hoppers Shop to discuss the newest findings with Officer Tsukauchi.

“Wait!” You blurted out when you saw Aizawa turned his body away to go to Platform 1.

Aizawa whirled around with a confused expression. “Hm?”

“Uh…” Your mind paced. You didn’t exactly know the reason behind your sudden comment, but your heart betrayed your mind and you wanted to say one more thing to him before you both part.

“Today was nice,” you said.

Yup, you wanted to scream at yourself.

‘You call catching crimes and finding out more drugs, NICE? Y/N…come on…’ a part of your mind cried to you as you realized what you just stupidly said. Thankfully Aizawa just stood there with his hands casually tucked into his pockets with his signature bland expression.

“I mean,” you continued trying to make sense. “The overall mission went well.” You embarrassingly rubbed your neck and adjusted your hat.

Aizawa nodded silently.

“And…thank you for remembering my birthday, as random as it sounds.” You rolled your eyes and laughed your embarrassment off, and then smiled and looked away. Even at this day of time, people were still rustling through the station and you could hear the updated announcements on approaching trains. “It just…means a lot.”

Aizawa stared at you for a moment, his expression slightly softened when he heard your sincere words. He opened his mouth, about to respond until you clapped your hands loudly together and locked your gaze with him. You put on a confident expression.

“Well then!” You said cheerfully. “You better go! Your train is approaching in 2 minutes.” You flashed a sweet smile to him and to your surprised, he returned the smile back. You knew he barely smiles, there are the occasional grunts here and there, but a genuine smile? Not a sight you often see, and it made you feel jittery in the stomach. You didn’t need him to say any words for you to know he understood your message, and you were glad to just get that off your chest. As silly as thanking someone for remembering your birthday sounds, it was different from Aizawa…it felt meaningful and you were grateful to let him know. A few words of gratitude won’t hurt, right? Probably not.

So as you officially said your goodbyes, you trotted to your platform and waited for your train as the evening breeze continues to conduct happy dances in the air.

You shook your head with a smile as you reflect back on today’s mission.

So perhaps your best dress has become your “lucky” dress as well...

[Edit]: Part 2 is here!

A/N: To those who actually read the fic, I- I am crying heart emojis. Writing this story was so much fun and also somewhat personal, and I am so happy that I can share it for other’s reading pleasure! Thank you so so much, I know I always say this but I am truly truly grateful if you took the time to read it. This is not the end, there will be a part 2 coming real soon!! And I can guarantee that it's going to be quite interesting and vv cute, so please stay tuned for it! 😉 As always, please don’t hesitate to message/comment me abt this story or bnha in general, I’ll be so happy to message you back~ Stay safe everyone and have a wonderful day!! ♡

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saraa-lancee · 1 year ago

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Bro just respond or tag me next time 🫣 how embarrassing. The fact that you cannot comprehend there might be some nuance to this situation and immediately took my comments in extreme bath faith... but I guess this is Tumblr. I said something and you literally put whole ass sentiments in my mouth I never said while completely missing the point of what the tag was saying.

I'm not saying dude hasn't done questionable things/is perfect but calling him a "pet incel" when one of like. *the* biggest talking points for incels is violence-- rape, sexual ensalvement, and murder of women. Incels actively *degrade* women as fuck holes (sometimes you can even get them to admit women might be "useful incubators"!!) and toys. 30 minutes in their website and you (should) feel ill with their rhetoric of deep hatred and fantasy for violence against women. We're talking so far as fucking necrophilia. It is bad. It is fucking vile.-- someone who is weird is absolutely not a fucking incel you walnuthead. Tossing around the label of such a dangerous ideology is *bad*. I'm sorry you don't agree, but it's an important distinction, especially to people who are perceived as Dangerous just because they're Wierd.

Creep? Sure whatever. "Pet" and "incel"? Yeah, not quite.

Was he normal? No. Was that situation okay? absolutely not. He crossed a boundary. Can I tell you something you might not like? Autistic aren't UWU perfect babies. Many, MANY autistics (based on personal experience, many times men) will do that exact thing 💀 like. This Boundary thing is a pretty well known Issue for autistic people. (I think it might be in the diagnostic criteria, but either way-- its an incredibly common discussion). It would take you five seconds (or maybe a conversation with three people irl) to find a few anecdotes about grown autistic adults lacking the understanding of boundaries to the point where they will grab people, leave notes in people's work lockers, veritable shrines to crushes or obessions etc. Autism doesn't *cause* this, and this type of thing happens in a multitude of other mental disabilities and disorders, so maybe "autistic coded" wasn't the perfect word, but as an autistic person, I've always felt for the guy being shunned and made fun of by everyone. Autism *could* cause his inability to understand boundaries and complex human relationships, which is why I say it that way. And unless I am forgetting something, never once in that episode does he talk about a plot to rape his coworkers, or hurt them. *that* is what in incel is. People who cross those boundaries as an autistic (typically) are not acting with the intent to harm or any ill will. Calling anyone an Incel is assuming some of the most extreme ill will that it is possible to conceive.

these wierd things don't make him an incel. Incel is a specific ideology geared towards explicit violence towards women. The fact that you don't know the difference tells me you may have some more reading to do-- learn the things Incels actually think before tossing that word around.

He does weird things. But he is definitely outcast for them (and constantly treated like shit, including by Fandom) for literally so much as his *demeanor*. This feels like one of those attacks, OP. Lol pet incel-- aka guy who gives me a weird vibe appears in this episode and plays a role 💀 he (hypothetically, of course) exists as a whole ass person. He is, to an extent, a main character. I'm sorry a Character Arrived.

Sorry I didn't write a motherfucking dissertation in my tags but actually insisting a character who everyone earmarks as "Do Not Touch-- Wierdo" is an incel (and that Gene Roddenberry and other writers and showrunners would *ever* espouse that ideology) is wild. Again-- incel is an ideology with extreme violence (both sexual and not) at its core.

Barclay, like probably every other Star Trek Character in existence, is a commentary and representation-- I'm sorry that that thought was too difficult for you. It's easier to label wierd people as Incels rather than use some critical thought (including about the situation/episode you mention. There are a few great analysis blogs about that-- its quite interesting. I might suggest googling a few, but again, cant make you do anything) about the things they do and what the narrative is trying to show.

I hate to break it to you, but mental illness and disability is rarely comfortable and easy. People with various disabilities (like Autism) or illnesses *will* do things you do not like. This does not make them evil, woman haters with a secret desire to rape and murder people. Assuming the worst is definitely a choice you can make, but I've been in this fandom for 10+ years and I'm fucking sick and tired of the ostracization of characters like Barclay. We could have a real conversation about the character or you could call him an incel and respond like *that* when I suggest there might be some nuance. 🤷 whichever man. As an autistic person, I won't respond to you being nasty after this.

star trek writers are always trying to fit their pet incel into the story why's barclay the bus driver all of a sudden

#soren rants #lol this reblog tactic was bizarre lmaooo #any way #star trek #low key ST is The Social Thinking show 💀💀

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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Hi Polynya, Here are my OTP questions and they will always be for RenRuki 🌼🍻🌻

🌼 how did they originally become an item ? write it out as a vignette or have them tell the story !

I love writing stories about people telling stories, so I am going to take option 2. Please envision this in the way that the couples are telling stories about how they met in When Harry Met Sally.

Renji: We met as kids in Rukongai. I was trying to steal some water and I almost got caught, and she saved my life.

Rukia: Did I?

Renji: You don’t remember?

Rukia: I remember you were really good at street football and I decided I was going to make you my friend and get you to teach me that inside step-over you were really good at.

Renji: W h a t?

Rukia: I mean, you screwed up heists all the time, I am sure I saved your ass on one of them. Anyway, he’s a chump, I ensnared him with my charms very easily, but by the time I learned that football move--

Renji: It took you, like, a day to learn that move.

Rukia: It doesn’t matter. By that time, I had fallen deeply in love with him and we were Boon Companions from that day forth.

Renji: W h a t? It took me, like, eight years to fall in love with you! You were in love with me the whole time?

Rukia: (ignoring him) Eventually, we decided to become Soul Reapers, so we moved to the Seireitei and went to school for awhile until I got adopted by one of the Four Great Families. That kinda sucked.

Renji: It sucked real bad.

Rukia: I mean, it sucked worse for him. Being a Kuchiki is great and there are no downsides I love you, Nii-samaaa!!! If you’re watching!!

Renji: I knew that the only way to see her again would be to get really strong and make a high rank in the Gotei.

Rukia: I feel like people don’t appreciate how hard it is to do that. I mean, something like one in a thousand people who enter the Academy eventually make vice-captain.

Renji: A lot of shinigami get eaten by Hollows.

Rukia: A lot.

Renji: Anyway, I was too stupid to know how hard it was and I did it anyway. Just when I was getting ready to tell you--

Rukia: Yeah, I’ve told you how sorry I was about that.

Renji: It was bad timing, it wasn’t really your fault.

Rukia: Uhhhh, bad timing, yeah. So, around that time, I, um, committed a capitol offense and he had to come arrest me.

Renji: It sucked.

Rukia: My brother was there, too.

Renji: It sucked so bad.

Rukia: Anyway, a bunch of stuff happened. It turned out I was at the center of a conspiracy to overthrow the Soul Society, and some friends I had made in the World of the Living came attacked the Seireitei on my behalf. It was kind of a shitshow.

Renji: A huge shitshow. Enormous.

Rukia: Renji rescued me, though, and carried me all the way down the Soukyoku Hill stairs! It was very romantic!

Renji: I mean, Ichigo was really the one who rescued you.

Rukia: Ichigo did not carry me down those steps. Renji has really good calves. He never skips leg day.

Interviewer: And then you got together after that?

Rukia: Ha ha ha, no!

Renji: No, no way!

Rukia: No, there was a war after that.

Renji: Also, I had to spend, like, two years getting on her brother’s good side.

Rukia: We were best friends, though!

Renji: Yeah, it was nice. I mean, kissing is nice, too, but best friends is good.

Rukia: Sometimes we kissed. Sometimes people kiss even when they aren’t dating, for reasons like...for luck...

Renji: Or because they’re drunk.

Rukia: Or just... horny.

Renji: You can’t say ‘horny’, we’re on tv.

Rukia: Oh, really?

Renji: I had actually decided to tell her how I felt about her, but right around that time, we had another war.

Rukia: Oh nooooo, you never told me that! Was it the week Ichigo got his powers back? When you told me you had something important to tell me and then we had to postpone it and the Quincy thing happened before we could reschedule?

Renji: Yeah.

Rukia: Oh nooooo! I’m so sorry! You shouldn’t be so accommodating!

Renji: It worked out, I guess. I’m glad Ichigo got his powers back. Anyway, we almost died in the war, but then we got sent to the Royal Realm for heals and training.

Rukia: I was really close to bankai, but I guess in order to make bankai you have to confront all your most innermost truths and the truth was that I was in love with Renji and had been for a long time and I had to tell him.

Renji: It was worth it, her bankai is really good. Oh, I had to get second bankai, too, it was sort of the same deal.

Interviewer: Did you have sex in the Royal Realm?

Renji: We’re on tv, I can’t answer that.

Rukia: (nodding eagerly)

Renji: Anyway, so we’re a kickass battle couple now!

Rukia: Later, Renji fought my brother and won.

Renji: He wasn’t at his best, we’re gonna have a rematch. But technicalities count, so I handed in my paperwork!

Rukia: Yeah, Byakuya actually has a form for dating me. You should have seen this thing Renji turned in. It looked like an alchemist’s lab notes. He’d been working on it for, like, twenty years. He had school transcripts in there, he had testimonials, he put a selfie we took together on the cover sheet. It had a cover sheet!

Renji: Byakuya loved it.

Rukia: Byakuya loved it. So, we’re a thing now! (leans on Renji)

Renji: (puts his arm around Rukia) I love being a thing.

Rukia: Me, too.

🍻 what would be a typical date night for them ?

I did that one already! You can read it here.

🌻 what does each of their families think about their partner ?

Byakuya tries to think about Renji as little as he possibly can.

lol, but for real, Byakuya is a huge Renji stan, he loves Renji, Renji is his fav, and he can never, ever, neverever under any circumstances say so out loud.

Since Renji doesn’t have a family beyond Rukia, I will take this question to include “found family.”

Izuru and Momo knew Rukia (somewhat) back in their school days, and found her to be morose and rude, but they, more than anyone else, know how much she meant to Renji and how devastated he was when she left. Ikkaku and Yumichika never knew her at all, aside from through his stories, but they are also the ones who helped him go from being a ticking time bomb of bad decisions and anger management problems with a major self-image issue to a strong and competent vice-captain with a moderate-sized self-image issue. I feel like all of his friends were sort of bracing themselves for Rukia to have turned into a cold Kuchiki bitch, to reject Renji entirely, to not be worthy of their amazing Golden Retriever of a friend.

And then... it turned out okay! I think Rukia is a weird mass of conflicting behaviors when viewed from the outside-- she is capable of perfect manners and etiquette, but she also likes arm-wrestling people at the bar. She trashtalks and she brags about herself, but she can also be a little shy. She and Renji shout at each other constantly, and say the worst things to each other, except they never get actually angry about it, and they are together all the time and Renji is so, so happy, like all his friends can’t believe how happy he is now. I think Rukia has beaten Ikkaku up at least once, and earned his “respect,” so now he treats her roughly the way he treats Renji, take that as you will. Yumichika thinks she is beautiful, although he thinks Byakuya is more beautiful, and he is always trying to get her to find out various product that Byakuya uses. Hisagi thinks she’s cool as hell. Momo and Izuru still don’t get her, but they approve of the way she treats Renji and are honestly very happy that things worked out.

The Karakura kids consider them both family and love both of them with all their hearts. Well, Chad and Orihime do. Uryuu can never admit that he thinks both of them are really good people (for shinigami), some of the best people (for shinigami) he has ever met. He drank (1) energy drink once and made Chad listen to a dissertation on how their romance is just, like, unreal, it’s like fiction, real people don’t have that kind of devotion to each other, and Chad just “hmmed” and nodded a bunch. Ichigo shouts at them constantly about how weird they are and that he does not understand what either one of them is doing with the other one and that they are the worst and privately would agree with Uryuu’s unhinged RenRuki TED talk 1000%.

#otp meme #renruki #renji abarai #rukia kuchiki #maybe i got slightly carried away on the first one #just a tiny bit

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taetaespeaches · 4 years ago

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I have always said this, I do like the way you write and the atmosphere you create <3 I am enjoying the fics so MUCH! And I don’t know which are the proposal fics so I am experiencing a lot of different awesome proposals! Tae x Peaches? AMAZING, that was genius! I loved it so much! When you’ll publish a book, I’m coming to the meet&greet

I discussed my dissertation at home, it was weird but not bad! I couldn’t celebrate because of covid, but I received tons of bouquets and that made me so happy. I am sappy for flowers, my house smells amazing. It’s weird because now I’m a graduate and it’s the first time in my life in which I have nothing to do, nowhere to run and nothing to accomplish… I can just rest a bit, but I can’t. I’m not used to this, I’m wandering around my house, I talk and care for my plants and I read a bit, I watch things… but it’s hella weird. Plus, we all know there are no jobs at the moment so I can only rest. I’m enjoying this status and I think the best thing for me is to rest properly! I’m still submitting CVs for internships and stuff… but in the meantime I rest ~~

I’m glad to know the post-op is going okay. Let’s hope the diabetes will stabilise soon <3 I removed only one wisdom tooth and it was yucky, but I was lucky because they gave me some special shot after the operation that didn’t make my face swollen and reduced to the minimum the side effects! Aaa what an experience, the doctor was handsome, I do remember him. It was funny, I was quite scared, and my heart was beating so fast that they had to remove that thingy they put on your forefinger because the machine was beeping so loud. This is a very useless anecdote that I want to share.

I have weird moods too, it sucks but they’ll pass! There are these heavy moods that knock you down but we always get back <3 <3 <3 <3

I hope you have a nice day! I’ll post a pic of one of the bouquets!

(ps. sorry if I answer to my previous ask here, but I have a word limit in the ‘answering section’)

(pps. I missed you too, a whole lot! <3)

Thank you love :( I’m always so thankful for your compliments on my writing! Ahhh I’m so glad you’re getting to experience all of the proposals at random! And I’m super happy you enjoyed the Tae/Peaches proposal- those freaking cuties! Omg hahaha come to all the meet and greets please!

I’m so glad the dissertation went well! I’m sure it was weird but obviously you killed it!!! Yay flowers! I’m sure it’s been lovely having all those flowers around <3 I completely get what you’re saying, it’s weird to go from working your ass off constantly to not really having anything to work on. Definitely just enjoy your rest!! Do all the hobbies you enjoy and relax as much as possible!! <3

I think dental surgeries just kind of suck in general like it’s just unpleasant. Omg you had a handsome doctor!! My doctor was super pretty I was kind of obsessed with her. I still have a check up later this month so I’ll be seeing her again hahaha. I love that they actually had to take the monitor off your finger bc you were making it beep too much hahaha. I called the anesthesiologist a gangster (his name was Tony and he charged me a lot of money so in my barely conscious mind I was like this dude is mafia).

Ah I would love to see one of your bouquets! I would send you one if I could but since I can’t take this one lol 💐 I hope your day was great, love!

#gisan #asks #cheers to hot doctors taking our teeth out! lol

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disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years ago

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Anon asked: i have issues with losing time and lately ive been losing about every other day which is very disorienting and kind of scary. can i request some hcs of one of the boys losing time and the others helping him ?

♚

“Roger, those pants are atrocious!” Freddie said with a laugh as Roger came out of his room in a pair of tight leopard print jeans. He was trying on possible outfits for the concert later that night and wanted some of Freddie’s input.

Roger flashed a hazy smile, his body tingling. He turned around to give Freddie a 360 view of the pants, arms thrown up in a “Really?” gesture. Freddie nodded, saying, “Animal prints are not in style anymore, love! Those pants belong in the bin if it were up to me,”

The blond let out a tinkling laugh, spluttering out between giggles, “All right. Guess it’s true,” before padding back into his room to try on other things.

So, one could imagine the shock Freddie had when later that night Roger emerged from his dressing room in those train wreck looking pair of pants.

“Did you change your mind on my advice?” he asked, stepping back to appreciate those monstrous jeans.

Roger’s head cocked, eyebrows knitting curiously. “What advice?” he was still fumbling with his belt.

“The jeans, Rog! From this morning!”

Roger shook his head, hoping Fred wasn’t drunk already. Starting off a show drunk was always...an experience.

“We didn’t talk about jeans this morning, Fred!” Roger shot back, but he shivered when he tried to remember what he did that morning. It was all blank. Blackness. What did he do this morning?

Freddie huffed, punching his shoulder playfully. “Lay off the sniff, Rog,” he said as a parting joke before he went to warm out.

What did I do this morning? What did I do??

♚

John made a weirded out face as he looked at Roger from across the room, who was supposed to be leaving to get himself some food, but had suddenly stopped in his tracks, facing the door but made no efforts to actually open it.

John watched him for what felt like minutes, creeped out by how eerily still Roger was. He decided he’d try to snap Roger out of what must have been an intense day dream. He got up, walked up to Roger who didn’t seem to notice him and gently touched his shoulder.

In a very floaty movement, Roger turned to face John, his heavy lidded eyes drooping even further, a far off smile on his face. John frowned but waved a hand in front of him, saying, “Hello..anybody home?”

Roger chuckled, replying with a bit of a delay, “I’m right here, John,”

And then he left.

John worried Roger was not only high but way too high to go out and get food by himself. He didn’t have to worry for long, as Roger came back into the room some 5 minutes later, his heart thrumming, a big but forced smile on his face.

“I walked out and completely forgot what I was doing,” he said, his eyes now wide and alert, a hint of panic in them. He let out an awkward laugh.

“You were getting some lunch...”

“Oh yeah! Hah! I’m such a blond, right?” he said, turning on his heels to leave again, his body stiff.

How could I forget?

♚

“W-What do you mean we talked about this before?” Roger said as he wringed his hands. Brian stood before him, a hand on his forehead, shaking his curls in disappointment.

“We talked about this yesterday, mate. Are you gonna stand there and tell me you forgot in a matter of 24 hours?” Brian said with an angry lilt in his voice, staring at the neatly piled up papers.

He had told Roger the day before to leave the table messy. Brian had his dissertation laid out in a specific order, pages placed in a certain way so he could write out his conclusion without having to flip through pages to find what he had written before. It would only be for a few days tops. He’d clean it up himself.

But when Roger came to visit that day, Brian had only gone to take a leak for a minute and when he came back, it was all stacked up neatly on the side of the table. Hundreds of papers jumbled up without hope of getting them back to the way the were without a long struggle.

It wasn’t a big deal, but he was working on his PhD for christs sake! His every nerve radiated anxiety and stress. Could he ask for just one thing?

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember,” Roger said, his voice cracking. Those words were beginning to become far too familiar on his tongue. He hadn’t sat down to think about these random bursts of nothingness followed by sharp clarity as he returned to reality, in a different place, around different people, in a conversation, all of which he couldn’t remember. He was losing time. Minutes, hours and sometimes a whole day’s worth. And he had no idea why. And he didn’t even know how often it was happening.

“Roger, I respect you too much to think of you as that dumb. Just. Shit, mate,” Brian rubbed his eyes, craving another pot of coffee. And for Roger to leave. He was probably doped up. Of course.

Seeing the dismay on Brian’s face made the dams break in Roger’s brain. He started to cry, against his will. Months of confusion and pretending and hiding all flooded out until all he could do was shake and sob.

Brian went wide eyed, approaching Roger like he was made of glass.

“R-Rog! It’s okay! You don’t have to cry about it. I’ll survive,” he said, not even knowing what to do to soothe the other.

“’S not that. I’m forgetting things, Bri. I don’t remember when people tell me things or when stuff happens. Like my brain keeps turning off the record button or something. I don’t remember coming here yesterday, Brian. I don’t remember what happened at all yesterday!” He stuttered, blubbered and sniffled out, his hands out in front of him like a child asking their mother to pick them up.

Brian held onto Roger tight, his chin nestled into the messy blond hair, his arms wrapped around Roger like an anchor. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but his best friend was having a meltdown of sorts and he’d be damned if he ignored him because of some silly papers.

“Roger, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’ve got you, mate. We’ll figure this out, okay? You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he whispered, his shirt growing damp from Roger’s tears.

“What if I don’t remember this?” he whispered hoarsely, a hiccup wracking his chest.

“I’ll just remind you then,” Brian said assuredly.

What if I forget?

♚

“You won’t forget, darling,” Freddie said as he threw Roger a water bottle.

Roger caught it, taking a big swig of it before placing it next to his drum kit. He shook his head, drumsticks twirling through his fingers nervously. “What if we record all of this and I just forget it all? And have to keep relearning it,” he said quietly, eyes downcast.

Brian walked up next to him, guitar in hand and gave Roger’s head a reassuring pat. “Haven’t things been going well in therapy?” he asked, a little smile on his face. Roger nodded.

He thought he was losing his mind at one point. He really thought it would keep getting worse until he never remembered anything at all. Lost forever in a body on autopilot. Brian and the other’s wouldn’t allow that though. They searched far and wide for something or someone that could help. Wouldn’t you know? Suppressing years of childhood abuse didn’t mean it went away. It just came to bite you in the ass as an adult. At least, that’s what his trauma counselor said. Working with her has opened his eyes to a lot of stuff and helped him shed the stress he’d been unknowingly harboring inside of him for years. In the few months they’ve been working together, he hadn’t had an episode in weeks. It didn’t mean he wasn’t scared all the time, waiting for the next one. At least the next one wasn’t minutes away anymore.

Roger hit his drumstick down on the snare with a shrug. “Fine,” he acquiesced. They all grinned, excited to know Roger was ready to sit back down with them and keep working.

“I forget my lines all the time, dear. Don’t stress it,” Freddie said, adjusting the mic above his piano.

“And if you forget, it’s no big deal. There’s always tomorrow,” Brian added.

“I mess up all the time and nobody ever notices,” John said with a cheeky laugh.

“I said fine already!” Roger said as he blushed, appreciating their love for him but finding it smothering. “Let’s get on with it before I forget from old age!”

The four snickered but proceeded with the recording session. And Roger didn’t miss a single beat.

#roger #dunno how to tag this #ptsd!roger #dissociated!roger #??????#tw mentions of child abuse

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lobsters-on-their-heads · 5 years ago

Text

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Part 3 Chapt. 10

Fucking finally. I’ve been trying to get my novel out to literary agents, which has taken up a lot of creative energy on top of regular life activities and things (bipolar doesn’t always work in my favor, either). But, here it is!

You can read all of Part 3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820221

Cosima didn't know how to write a condolence card. She sucked even more at picking one out, but on Tuesday that was her One Job.

At the card-and-party-goods store Sarah brought her to, the card section stretched over three full aisles, and the “sympathy” cards were ten percent of that. “Just grab a card,” she muttered to herself, “any fucking card.” But all of the cards she picked up sucked. Donnie Hendrix just lost his mother – the first person in his entire life who loved him – and the trite pre-written message on a two dollar piece of card stock was supposed to sooth his pain? Were the swoopy cursive letters and watercolor flowers actually supposed to comfort anyone? Or wasn't it all just a ploy to make those who hadn't lost anyone feel better about themselves? Like saying “look, I helped” without actually helping anything at all?

She picked up a card showing a tire swing at sunset. Always remember that every part of life is a part of God's plan, it said.

Cosima huffed. “Is cloning a part of God's plan, too?” she asked the card, and stuffed it back into it's slot.

Another read, Nothing happens without a reason. A whole bunch of Cosima's life experience contradicted that one, too.

Those who love us never really leave us.

“Way to rip off Sirius Black, yo,” Cosima told that card. As she suspected, JK Rowling was not credited with the message anywhere on the back.

She had no idea how close Donnie was (had been) to his mother. If (when) Cosima's mother died, there wasn't a card in existence that would even dent Cosima's pain. To make matters worse, in her search Cosima came across sympathy cards for the loss of a spouse or partner and she nearly fled the card aisle to join Sarah in the “summer fun” aisle with the pool noodles and plastic sand buckets. The two news alerts from Syria she got a few minutes ago really didn't help, and Delphine wasn't even in Syria yet.

Cosima was scowling at a card reading Don't cry. They're in a better place now when her phone rang. She crammed the card back in it's overcrowded slot and answered. “Hey gorgeous,” she said.

“Hey,” Delphine said. “Is everything alright? You said you needed some help?”

Delphine sounded exhausted, and Cosima chided herself. Delphine had treated two Turkish clones in two cities in two days. She deserved some time to herself. “Totally alright,” Cosima assured her. “Nothing to worry about. Forget I asked.”

“Euh, not very likely. What do you need help with?”

“Well, you seem like a classy lady, and so I thought – ”

Delphine's snorted laugh cut her off. “I'm sorry, what?”

“I have to buy a sympathy card for Donnie, and I have no frikkin' clue what to get, or, like, what to do when we see him later today.”

“Oh.” Delphine's mirth vanished. “Why are you buying a sympathy card? What happened?”

“His mom died. She had a stroke on Friday and she never woke up from the coma. Not, if you ask me, the worst way to go, but still sad, you know?” Funny how none of the sympathy cards said that: It wasn't the worst way to go, but it's still sad, I know.

“Hm.”

“Anyway, I'm trying to find the right card, and nothing seems right. Sarah doesn't know either, and the whole “sorry your mom died” thing kind of sent her to a bad emotional place too. Totally understandable, you know? She's distracting herself right now. I'd normally ask Alison, but obviously that doesn't work here. Scott's socially inept in these areas, even worse than me, and my mom's off the grid until June, so I can't ask her either.”

“I see.” Traffic rushed by on Delphine's end, and she said, “hang on,” a couple of times before the traffic noise ceased. “I'm not sure how much I can help, actually. I'm not exactly an expert in comforting phrases or what to say after someone dies. In English or in French, actually.”

Cosima sighed. “Well, you've gotta be better at this than I am. Like, what kind of card would you want if your mom died?”

Delphine laughed again. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“How she died, if she'd decided to talk to me before she passed, if she has a will...”

“Let's say there's no will, you were on speaking terms, and she died of a stroke.” Cosima had no idea about the will part, but assumed it didn't matter here. “In fact, you know what, scratch that. You'd probably want a card saying something like Guess what? She's dead.”

“In my case, yes, that would be fine. But this is not my case.”

“What kind would you want if I died?”

Delphine inhaled sharply, and Cosima kicked herself again. Delphine already had those nightmares. “I'd rather not think about that.”

“Yeah, fair. Ditto.”

“Cosima. What kind of card do you think you should get? What would the right one say in this situation?”

“I just want one that says, This sucks, and we all know it sucks, and we're here for you. None of this greater purpose, heaven and God shit. I mean, I know the Hendrixes go to church and all that, but... I don't know. It seems off base to me, and it'll be super obvious I don't mean it.”

“Don't they have any blank cards? You can write in your own message if you want.”

“I am not sure that would be better, actually.” She sighed again and held a hand to her forehead. Chances were, this would be their only conversation that day – it was dinner time in Bursa, and Cosima would be spending the next few hours with the Hendrixes. She should get the most out of her daily Delphine Time. Walking away from the cards towards the big store-front window, she asked, “How'd your day go, then? How was the treatment?”

“Fine. She's asymptomatic, as we suspected.”

Cosima smiled. “Nice of you to use the plural there. If I remember correctly, you're the one who convinced me not to drop clone fest to inoculate her back in March.”

“You weren't terribly opposed, though.”

“Mostly because I knew Alison would kick my ass.” Cosima giggled. “If only we'd known how Clone Fest would actually go! Alison might've been happy for us to miss it.”

“I thought you two smoothed all that over?”

“Eh. I guess. Forgiven but not forgotten, for my part.”

“Doesn't sound like you've completely forgiven, either.”

“I've forgiven enough to not bring it up again with her. How's that? I'm letting it slide.”

“As long as you're both okay.”

“I am fine. Alison's husband is the one I should be worried about right now. And you. I'm always worried about you.”

“Don't worry too much. Bursa is very nice. Rainy, but nice.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's nice. And it's not really Bursa I'm worried about, either.”

Delphine made a noncommittal noise. Cosima picked up a little animatronic Easter bunny from the store's clearance bin and pushed the button on its ear. While it danced around to its tinny robotic song, Cosima tried to think of something else to say – something other than “you know there have been chemical attacks in Syria recently” and “you know our security team can't really protect you from everything.”

“How's everyone else?” Delphine asked.

“Fine. Charlotte's still being Charlotte. Sarah's worried she's gonna fail her math class, so we're all trying to help her out with that.”

“Wait. Sarah's worried that Charlotte will fail? I thought she was strong in math.”

“No no no. Sarah's worried that Sarah might fail math.”

“Ah!”

“Too many shes, I know.”

“Hm.”

Cosima looked around to make sure Sarah wasn't in hearing distance. “I'm trying to kind of gently coax her into, like, an advisor's office or something. Maybe an academic counselor.”

“Sarah, you mean?”

“Yes, still Sarah. Like, it's weird.” Cosima looked around again. Sarah had moved on to the “Over the Hill” birthday aisle, where she was laughing at some tombstone shaped decorations. “She's obviously smart,” Cosima whispered to Delphine, “and she's doing everything she's supposed to do. She's working her ass off for these classes, and she just can't get it. Me and Scott are still tutoring her like once a week or so, but I dunno. I think she needs something that we're not able to give her, but I don't know what. She just keeps saying she's too stupid to get it, but I don't think that's the case.”

“No, I don't think so either.”

“She was joking the other day that someone must've dropped her on her head as a baby.”

Delphine was silent on the other end, but in the silence Cosima heard her thinking. The gentle tap of a pen or pencil gave it away. Before either of them to continue the conversation, Sarah came over and waved a “old man survival kit” at Cosima.

“Art's birthday's all set, then,” Sarah said. When Cosima just stared, she clarified. “He's turning 40 in a couple weeks.”

“Oh,” Cosima said. “Cool. Um. Send us the date, yeah?”

“Sure. He doesn't want anyone to know, but whatever.” She waved at the phone in Cosima's hand and raised her voice. “Hi Delphine!”

Delphine chuckled softly and said, “Hello Sarah” in a voice soft enough for Sarah to miss it.

“I should get going,” Cosima said into the phone. “I probably can't talk much later, but text me if you want, yeah?”

Delphine agreed to, they both said “I love you,” and Cosima hung up. Then she turned to Sarah. “How'd you know I was talking to Delphine?”

“Your face, mostly. Anyway, you ready yet? Where's the card? I wanna get outta here before I buy too much shit I don't need.”

* * * * * *

On Thursday, as Delphine travelled to Izmir, Cosima sat in their apartment and scrolled through job listings. The exercise was futile – she wouldn't apply to any of them and anyway, she didn't have her PhD yet. Her advisor sent back a list of dissertation edits yesterday, but Cosima had only made two of the smallest ones. More and more, every time she sat at the computer, her mind drifted. Some of it was the same old shit: anxiety over the state of the world and the nagging feeling that nothing she did amounted to much. And worry about Delphine. She always worried about Delphine. The job search began as a combination of those – worry that she'd never get a job good enough to give Delphine the kind of life she deserved.

Her family made sure to get her away from the Rabbit Hole for at least an hour every day now, and Cosima was not allowed to protest. If she did, they pretended to move in with her, loudly, until she left the apartment in frustration. That only happened once, though. Tuesday's outing was to the store and the Hendrixes, where Clone Club gathered to support Donnie in his grief. Yesterday, Cosima was back at Bailey Downs, to “help Helena with the boys” while the Hendrixes attended the funeral in Hamilton. “Helping with the boys” made no sense, of course, since Cosima didn't know what the fuck to do with one-year-olds except make silly faces once in a while, and Helena resented the obvious supervision. Cosima spent half of that visit riding Alison's bicycle aimlessly through the subdivision by herself.

Thoughts of the twins and the suburban expanse of Scarborough set Cosima's mind spinning again.

She remembered the sprawling, packed metropolises of Mexico City, Istanbul, and São Paulo. Those weren't even the biggest cities in the world, and still their size and scope took her breath away. She remembered the bustling streets of Lima and Cairo, and she'd never stopped being amazed at how many distinct individuals existed in the world. Little Arthur and Little Donnie were unique, just like every single one of those people. Just like Delphine. Just like Cosima and each of her sisters.

She shook her head and tapped her own cheeks. Another cup of tea was in order, but before she got up her phone emitted a weak little chirp – another news alert from Syria.

“Fuck it,” Cosima told her laptop. Grabbing her coat and purse, she went outside, leaving the job search and dissertation edits behind.

The Syrian news alerts never made Cosima feel better. Even the occasional cease fires failed to get her hopes up, because most of them devolved into violence again, or yet another armed group entered the scene to fuck shit up again.

At least Cosima now checked those alerts only from outside of the Rabbit Hole, with a view of sky and trees rather than drab walls and a moldy ceiling she lacked motivation to clean herself. Ignoring the chirps from inside the apartment didn't change the situation, but it helped Cosima keep her head screwed on, and it kept her from telling Delphine to just stay far the fuck away and send someone else to cure the Syrian Leda.

Not that she hadn't thought about it. The trouble was that no one else would do it – not the way it needed to be done, or with the appropriate discretion.

Cosima ordered a chai latte at the cafe around the corner, sat near the window, and gave in to her brain's desire to dwell on bad news for the day.

Fighting in Aleppo schools bombed in Hama clinics shot up in Ghouta ISIS kidnapping people in Deir ez-Zor

Hundreds of thousands of people were trying to flee with the clothes on their backs, and the only people trying to get in were ISIS recruits, aid workers, and foreign military “advisors.” By the time this whole shit show ended, Cosima doubted there would be anything left of the beautiful country she'd wanted to visit as a teenager – encouraged by her tenth grade math teacher who just happened to be Syrian and also super fucking hot. But that was now beside the point. The point now was that a different super fucking hot object of Cosima's affections would be in Syria within the next couple of weeks. Their purchase earlier that year of “kidnap and ransom” insurance only made Cosima feel worse.

Skimming over the most recent alert from Damascus, a pair of chimes interrupted her. The first was from Qamar, their remaining Arabic translator, requesting a phone call in a few minutes. She did that often, preferring to relay messages longer than five words verbally rather than in writing. Cosima sighed and agreed.

The other was the semi-daily update from Nabil back in Djibouti. Like most of the children's texts, it was short and random – a picture of a filthy street cat in the shadow of a trash can that he'd captioned “friienb.” Cosima replied as she usually did, with a picture of her own – her chai latte, framed by a glass sugar shaker and a napkin holder. She added a short and simple message of her own. “Lunch.”

She kept thinking of talking with Qamar about Nooran's nieces and nephews. Djibouti was certainly safer than Yemen, and now that Nooran was cured their life could improve somewhat, but Cosima couldn't let go of Nooran's request – to take the children to Canada with them. She also couldn't forget the role they'd inadvertently played in Cosima's current situation by sending a picture of themselves with the flag of the Muslim Brotherhood in the background. It wasn't their fault, and she would never – could never – ask them about it.

Her phone rang and she answered before even checking the caller. “Hello, this is Cosima,” she said.

“Hi, Cosima,” her mother said, a certain heaviness in her voice.

The dissonance between her expectation of Qamar's chipper accent and the sound of her mother's voice made Cosima reel. “Oh. Hey, Mom. I thought you were out to sea right now?”

“Well, we were.”

“Okay. That doesn't sound good. What happened? You said the boat was having some issues, but – ”

“No, honey, the boat's fine. We got that fixed last month.”

“Okay...”

A garbled, wonky announcement sounded through the phone, like the announcements at airports or train stations, but filtered under water. Sally sighed and waited for it to finish before speaking again. “We're at the hospital right now.”

Cosima froze. “Oh shit. Is it your foot?” She'd been worried about that, about her mother going out to sea so soon after bunion surgery, but Sally said no.

“No, honey, my foot's doing fine. It's Gene.”

“Oh. Is he...”

“It's not his heart this time. He's very keen on everyone knowing that. He did not have another heart attack, and he's been taking his statins regularly.”

“Okay, well that still doesn't really tell me what's wrong with him.”

Sally sighed again. “Well, a couple of days ago, he started noticing blood in his urine. Of course, being Gene, he didn't say anything about it until yesterday, when he couldn't urinate at all.”

Imagining that made Cosima squirm and cross her legs in sympathy. “That sounds awful.”

Beeping in Cosima's ear told her Qamar was trying to get through. Whatever. Qamar could wait. Qamar probably didn't have a urinary blockage.

Sally went on. “Yes, well, after several hours of that, he agreed we should turn around and head for shore. Fortunately we were only about six hours out from Eureka, so here we are.”

“So, what, Dad went like eight hours without peeing? Holy shit.”

“Closer to twelve or fourteen, I think. He's on a catheter now and they're running some tests.”

“Jesus Christ, poor guy.”

“Yes, well.” Sally gave a few of her deep sighs – the kind that came from somewhere beneath her diaphragm and that Cosima was all too familiar with.

“Go ahead and say it, Mom.”

She sighed again. “Well, it's just – I know this has been going on longer than he says it has. The doctors were worried about his prostate last year, and sometimes Gene gets this pinched look on his face, you know? This pinched pained look and then he acts like it didn't happen and he's not in any pain, like I'm some kind of an idiot.”

“That... sounds familiar.”

“Oh, so you noticed while we were in Toronto a few months ago? You noticed it too?”

“Uh, no, actually, I didn't. I was thinking of something else.” She was thinking of Delphine, wincing over the phone and over Skype and swearing that nothing was wrong, all the while having a cracked knee cap. “I think you and I have similar tastes in partners,” she told Sally.

Sally laughed. “Don't say that! Delphine's a nice girl.”

“Yeah, nice and stubborn as hell. Anyway. What's next? What's going to happen?”

“We're staying on land for a while. I knew Gene was really hurting when I told him we'd have to, and he didn't even argue.”

Cosima whistled. “Back to Berkeley then?”

“We'll see. I'll keep you posted. Love you.”

Cosima returned the sentiment and hung up. She needed to call Qamar and see what she'd turned up, but that could wait another few minutes. Pulling up her on-going text string with Delphine, Cosima typed, Would you tell me if you couldn't pee for twelve hours? After hitting send, she kicked herself. Over text, she wouldn't see Delphine's face when she read the question, and in regular messenger it was impossible to delete texts.

The phone call with Qamar lasted four minutes. Samira, the one Leda remaining in Syria, still resided in Douma, but had no cell phone or internet access. All the information Qamar had was word-of-mouth, from the cousin of a friend of Samira's husband.

“I tell him, you see her next month,” Qamar said

“It'll be a lot closer than that,” Cosima said. “Delphine's scheduled to meet the security team there on May 9.”

“May 9? Okay, I tell them tomorrow. I talk them tomorrow.”

“I mean,” Cosima cautioned, “there's also always the chance the date could change. Just like the others.”

“Yes yes. I know.” Qamar had been with them since they got the Leda List, or close to it. She knew the deal, even if she never quite understood it.

Off the phone again, Cosima let out a long, slow breath. Different news would have been welcome – that Samira had fled along with her Syrian Leda sisters and Delphine didn't need to go there at all, ever. Or maybe that Samira was in some unique position to hop over the border into Lebanon for a day or two and get treated there.

Not likely.

Finishing her drink, Cosima debated a trip to the aquarium or to see Scott at the university, where he was working on nanotechnology. She'd just settled on visiting Scott when Delphine's reply arrived. Yes, I will tell you if I can't pee for 12 hours but only on one condition.

That was unexpected. What's that?

You have to tell me why the fuck you tried putting a robot worm in your face a few years ago.

#continuing travels of cophine #my fanfiction #cophine fanfiction

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fr3aklike-me · 3 years ago

Note

You're so adorable I just want to give you the cutest names! While I'm doing normal classes, I'm also writing a dissertation so lots of research and prof edits so it's quite exhausting. And I'm horrible at treating myself unfortunately, been clocking in 3h of sleep for the past 11 days straight and it's just been work non stop, though I'm taking a day off to have some good Turkish food this weekend! Presentation was alright I suppose, I made people laugh during it but a few people didn't contribute their part so my friend and I did 5 people's work since its graded as a whole 😡 Exam was tricky but alas! And my dental emergency was just a silly massive ulcer on my gum, thank goodness it wasn't something worse. How about you honey? How's uni?

Oh so naughty! You wanna taste us both? Come on love, leave my fingers wet and dripping with your spit hmm? I'll fuck that into me. Let you hear what you've done to me, how wet and leaky you've made me. I'm sure there will be a wet spot on the bed from your both our cum and your spit. I bet you taste like starlight baby, make a mess out of my face hmm? Would you like it if I curled an arm around your cute little butt, control how you ride my face? Perhaps I'll hold you up for a while, just to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, worship your beautiful body and heart with my mouth, then hold you down to my face, make you cum. But I'll keep going, eating you like I'm ravenous until you've cum 3 times, thighs shaking with sensitivity. Then perhaps I'll stop, look up with gentle eyes and with my face all wet and tell your how you're my darling star, my beautiful sweet girl, before I finger fuck myself 💕 - 😈

sjsjajsa you're so, so sweet. oooh, okay, that sounds super tiring, but also really interesting - what is the dissertation on? if you're comfortable telling me, of course! <3 my cousin was telling me about how she's doing something similar, and it sounds like quite the process. shit, eleven days? I understand getting caught up in work and losing out on sleep and other things to take care of yourself. but, when you get the time, for sure catch up on rest and spoiling yourself <3 omg omg Turkish food! what meals did you eat? see, this is why group projects are so frustrating, there will always be someone or some people who don't contribute, and you're left making up for it, with the grade being for the group. I'm sorry to hear that, but I hope the grade for the presentation is good! you made people laugh, that's amazing, you did so well! and did the dentist appointment go well? and uni is going okay, I had a test on Friday, and a paper this week, so hoping it goes well! also, "honey" made me smile

I am naughty for you, please, my mouth is practically panting and hanging open to have you slip your fingers in for me to bob my head and suck all over. I would shake and whimper at the wet noises of you fucking yourself, knowing you got that wet from teasing me. I'd smile so much, knowing how wet you are for me, the sight of you touching yourself so beautiful and making me throb with desire. I'd put on such a show for you, dressed in my prettiest bra or lingerie, showing you how I strip out of it, tugging my breasts out and having them totally exposed for you. I'd massage and squeeze them, dropping them so you see how they bounce. your fingers digging into my ass would make me want to go faster, but I love the idea of you controlling the pace. how soft and tender you are, right before making me come so hard, is getting me so needy, baby. my entire body would be exhausted and trembling for you, pussy so sore and puffy and sensitive from how good you were to me? fuck, your praise... it is so sweet, but also makes me so needy. I'd lean down and softly lick every bit of wetness off your face, lapping it all up. you did so well for me, baby, made me feel so fucking good and come so hard all over. thank you so much. baby, do you want me to watch you fingerfuck yourself, or would you like me to help you a bit? 💕

#answered asks #😈 anon

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goldenalec · 7 years ago

Text

A Malec Proposal

a fluffy piece of crap bc it’s been four weeks into this hiatus and i needed some gd fluff

or, the one where someone tries to propose and it doesn’t *quite* go as planned

If there was one thing Magnus Bane never expected to happen, it was Alec Lightwood going head to head with him on who deserved Rachel Lindsay’s final rose on The Bachelorette.

Magnus can hear his boyfriend clearing up at the dining table, plates clinking as he listens to Magnus rattling off his well thought-out, well-developed reasons why Peter should win. Alec had stopped arguing a few minutes ago, choosing instead to listen to Magnus simultaneously sip wine from the glass in his hand, wipe down the kitchen counters and apparently write a dissertation on why Bryan deserved to get his ass booted from the show right this second.

Alec’s light laughter warms up the kitchen as he enters, and Magnus hears the clink of the plates on the counter behind him as he places them there. Magnus can picture him leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest.

“Peter’s so sweet, and so sincere and finally, Bryan can’t kiss for shit, babe, you have to agree with me on that one.” Magnus finishes with a dramatic flourish of his free hand as he drops the cloth on the counter in front of him.

“Magnus.” Alec’s voice is strange, soft, “Turn around for me, will you?”

Magnus turns around, and this must be what it feels like to have your heart leap out of your chest because Alec is there, and he’s not leaning against the kitchen counter. No, he’s there, looking up at Magnus with eyes that shine like stars, a small, beautiful smile on his face, on one knee, holding a blue, velvet box that seems to pull Magnus’ gaze like a magnet.

The wine glass in his hand shatters against the ground, and before Magnus can even react, he feels the broken glass press into the skin of his foot. He swears loudly, dropping to the ground, wrenching his foot away from the glass, watching as blood begins seeping steadily from the wounds. Alec just watches, dumbstruck, for a few seconds before he reacts, lurching forward, the jewellery box long forgotten on the floor.

“Shit, are you okay?” Alec asks, voice frantic, fingers reaching out to Magnus’ injured foot.

Magnus waves his hands in front of his face. His heart is thrumming violently against his ribs. He will not let this moment be interrupted, not now, not when everything he’s ever wanted in his life is happening, not when all the pieces are finally falling into place. “I’m fine!” he exclaims, not even caring that his voice has gone at least one octave higher. He levels Alec with a fierce stare, stopping his movements immediately, “Finish what you were about to say. What were you about to ask me?” He can’t breathe. His voice is constricted.

Alec opens his mouth and closes it again, shock written all over his beautiful face and fuck Magnus just wants to leap into his arms, broken glass and blood be damned.

“Magnus you’re bleeding-”

“Alexander! Just shut up and ask me what you were about to ask me.” Magnus is begging him, begging him to go on, because he’s losing his mind with every passing second. He needs to hear the words, he needs to have some proof, he needs to watch Alec’s lips form the words that will mean the whole damn world to him. His eyes prickle, but he forces the tears down, trying to calm the raging chaos brewing in every cell of his body.

Alec shuts his mouth, before shaking his head slightly, a shaky laugh falling from his mouth. He drops his gaze to where his hands are resting on Magnus’ knees. Magnus raises shaking hands to place them on either side of the other man’s face, and makes him look him in the eyes.

“Ask me.” He whispers, and if Alec can hear the desperation behind the words, he doesn’t let on.

The small smile that spreads across Alec’s face is somehow just as beautiful as his full one, warming every inch of Magnus’ body, brighter than the damn sun, his eyes shining with all the promises of tomorrow.

“This is why.” He says softly, reaching behind him to pick up the velvet box. Magnus’ breath hitches. Alec laughs lightly. “I had a whole damn speech prepared, but you wouldn’t be the love of my life if you didn’t make every moment of my life ten times more eventful than it needs to be. This is why I fell in love with you.”

Magnus’ hands drop to Alec’s shoulders. He can’t move. It’s like everything else in his vision blurs, blackening until the only thing he can see with full clarity is him, Alec, the man who holds every particle of him.

“I-I never thought I’d have this. All of this, everything you and I have made for ourselves. I never thought someone would look at me the way you do, never thought someone could take my breath away the way you do. And now that I have this, everything I’ve ever wanted, I don’t ever want to let it go. I want this now, and tomorrow, and for forever after that. I want you. I choose you, every day, every moment. I will always choose you.”

He opens the box to reveal a shining silver band, so simple yet so beautiful, engraved with tiny intricate lines, glinting up at Magnus under the soft light of their kitchen. When Magnus looks up, Alec is looking at him like he’s all that matters, like he can’t believe that this is his reality.

“Will you-”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” The word flies out of Magnus’ mouth before he realises it. It’s like there’s a direct connection between his heart and his mouth. He clamps a hand over it. Alec’s brows furrow together adorably, before a fond laugh escapes his lips. “Shit, sorry.”

“Will you ever let me finish what I’m going to say?”

“Sorry. Sorry! Okay go on.” Magnus takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the way his heart is stuttering away in his chest.

“Magnus Bane.” Alec says softly, and dignity be damned as more tears find their way down Magnus’ face, “Will you marry me?”

Magnus doesn’t know what happens first. He doesn’t know if he chokes out the word “yes” first, or if he lunges forward to kiss Alec first, but within seconds everything else disappears. It’s just this moment, Alec’s hands wrapped tightly around his waist, the taste of salt from both their tears, his trembling fingers that still as they intertwine themselves in Alec’s hair. He holds onto the man who stole his heart like he’s a lifeline, like he’s the only thing keeping him afloat. All the sounds of the world seem to dull, and soon, he’s the only real thing in the world, Alexander Lightwood, with his heart beating rapidly alongside Magnus’, the feeling of his smile against Magnus’ lips, the words of his promise still floating in the air around them.

They break apart, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. They let out giddy laughs, and Alec reaches for Magnus’ hand, and Magnus watches in breathless wonder as he slides the ring onto his finger. Magnus looks up at him, and his vision blurs with tears again, because he’s looking at his world. He’s looking at his future, at everything that matters to him, and Alec’s looking right back at him the same way, eyes wide, shining.

“I love you.” Magnus whispers, the words coming as easily as they always have.

Alec kisses the tip of his nose. “And I love you.”

The glass in Magnus’ foot chooses this moment to make itself known, jolting him sharply out of the haze of his dreams coming true, and Magnus winces, muttering out an “ow.” Alec rolls his eyes, but he pulls Magnus closer, careful to avoid his injured foot as their legs intertwine.

“Way to ruin the romance of it all, Bane.”

Magnus’ cheeks hurt from smiling, but he’ll gladly take it. He presses his lips to Alec’s, heart soaring as Alec sighs against his mouth. They stay there on the kitchen floor, wrapped up in each other, trading kisses and laughing, the metal of the ring electrifying both of them as it presses against their skin. Magnus pulls back, gazing into eyes that hold his tomorrow.

“Nothing, I repeat, nothing, can ruin the romance of this.”

And a few hours later, in the ER, when Alec introduces himself as his fiancé, Magnus finds it impossibly hard to wipe the goddamn smile off his face, as he’s sure he will for the rest of his life.

#malec #malec fanfiction #malec fanfic #malec fic #malec proposal #malec fluff #all the fluff #so much fluff #Magnus Bane #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #au #my writing

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yaz-the-spaz · 7 years ago

Text

WIP MEME

was tagged by the lovely @beautifulkingzayn -- can’t wait to read all the things you’re working on! (that stripper!zayn fic and the blue is warmest color au sound especially interesting!)

the rules are thus: list all the things you’re currently working on in as much or little detail as you’d like, then tag some friends to see what they’re working on. This can be writing, art, vids, gifsets, whatever.

oh god.

so. i have a shit ton of things i’m working on simultaneously...

(it’s a tiny part of the reason, among many others, that i take such long breaks from the twelve fic cause half the time i get caught up working on other shit and then i’m like wait no gotta get back to twelve it’s been way too long lol smh)

but anyway the main thing at the moment, as many of you all know and as i’ll probably ramble on about for way too long is the twelve fic, which is sort of a winter soldier au, or at least that’s what it was inspired by anyway but it’s kind of deviated so much from that and taken on such a life of its own at this point that idk if it can even really still be considered an au of that verse anymore but it features zayn as a brainwashed assassin who goes by the name twelve after being kidnapped and having all of his memories wiped when he was a kid. it’s super triggery and basically involves every bad or horrible thing you could imagine happening to a person happening to zayn at some point until (by chance) he encounters liam, his childhood best friend, who he doesn’t remember in the middle of a bank heist and then later gets assigned to monitor liam b/c the person behind the whole brainwashing child assassin program, aka the director, is a sick fuck. cue liam freaking out and trying to do everything he can to help zayn but having no clue what he’s doing and the other boys finding out and pitching in to help too, along with some interesting side characters both original and non-original. okay i’ve gone on about this fic long enough, onward to the mountain of other ficlets i’m working on smdh…

a sex pollen fic set in 2015 (shortly after zayn left the band) wherein liam gets drugged (sort of) by a fan while out and about in LA with zayn and thinks he’s just coming down with something/getting sick till they get back to zayn’s house and liam ends up begging zayn to fuck him while zayn tries to be the good guy and resist and not take advantage of a naked, drugged out liam

a peter pan ziam/ot5 au featuring zayn as peter, liam as wendy, harry, louis & niall as the lost boys, little mix as fairies, simon as captain hook, and dan wooton (ugh sorry i fucking hate his name so much) as smee (also a name i hate so it works lol), still debating on the mermaids…might make one of them t-swift and maybe throw kendall and gigi in too (and possibly throw in cheryl as part of hook/simon’s pirate crew idk?)…and i also haven’t settled on anyone for tiger lily yet either but i’m open to suggestions for that too if anyone wants to throw someone’s name in the hat. anyway it should be a wild ride if i ever finish it, but got writer’s block shortly after writing the first few scenes and tried to come back to it twice but just couldn’t figure out where to go from where i left off so we shall see…

what else? um…a super angsty bottom liam bdsm ziam fic set during the wwa tour

a drabble wherein liam has a secret voice kink and gets off to zayn’s m.o.m album when he’s home alone

a weird ass fairly oddparents inspired au where liam is basically timmy and zayn keeps coming home to find new stuff in their house and vague explanations as to where they came from (should be posted soon i think)

part three of my outlaws series, which is a ziam prohibition era au series with lots of friendly ot5 feels and some struggles with period-typical homophobia and racism, featuring zayn as a bad boy bootlegger, liam as a good church-going small town boy (at first anyway), louis as a pimp, and niall and harry as his rent boys; in the part i’m currently working, part three, zayn and liam end up going back to liam’s hometown and liam has to grapple with the demons he left behind, including facing his parents (mainly just his mom) who he hasn’t seen in over two years and some of the shitty townsfolk he used to be friends with

there’s also a half-finished ziam five times plus one drabble that got shortened to a four times plus one (and honestly may end up getting shortened to three plus one just so I can get off my ass and finish it because it’s been half done for going on like eight months now and it’s honestly ridiculous smh) but anyway it was originally supposed be the five/four times zayn and liam woke up in bed together and it didn’t mean anything/was just friendly (supposedly) and the one time it meant more

and then there’s the main one that’s taking up my time lately (besides the twelve fic) and that i’m hoping to be ready to start posting soon as well, a slave!liam ot5 fic where the other four come home to their shared flat to find a box with a live boy inside (liam) sent to them by way of a secret organization that calls themselves modest and deals in underground human trafficking, training people to be servants and then shipping them off to groups of people/families whose needs they feel the slave’s skills would match best…it shares a lot of similarities with my twelve fic (in terms of the whole forced servitude thing, brainwashing, and a secret underground org that deals in kidnapping and human trafficking and monitoring people and all that) which was completely unintentional because i actually started writing it around like three years ago now and had completely forgotten about it up until a few months ago when i found it again at the bottom of one of my folders while in the middle of working on twelve and was like holy shit why do i keep writing things like this lmao but then decided to continue it anyway and i’ve been working on it piecemeal ever since and not sure when it’ll be ready to post cause the beginning still needs a lot of work, but hopefully it won’t be too much longer cause I’m really curious and excited to see what people think of it and am kind of anxious/antsy to post it lol

oh and i also have an original fic i’ve been working on kind of piecemeal too, a super angsty fic about an incubus who hates being an incubus and basically tortures himself with sleep deprivation to keep himself from using his powers while also trying to deal with the trials of high school, his abusive father, his asshole of a step-brother (who’s also a siren) and being gay, but ends up falling in love and being forced to kind of come to terms with himself…also kind of delves into what makes someone a monster and how we perceive and define ourselves, and the whole monsters vs. humans debate and which ones are the “real” monsters, etc.

so yeah that’s pretty much it for the most part but i do also have a whole doc full of plot bunnies for like a million other fics (mostly ziam and ot5, but also a few original ones) that may at some point in the future get fleshed out and posted…if i ever get around to finishing the ones i listed here first…le sigh i am a problem child...so sorry this dragged on as long as it did but hopefully out there finds these at least mildly interesting and isn’t completely put off by the fucking dissertation i just wrote about my stupid wip’s

anyway, thanks again @beautifulkingzayn for the tag! tagging @doveziam, @zipplekink, @wlwharrie, and @ohthathurt and i know there’s probably a bunch of other people i could tag but my brain is farting at the moment and i can’t think of anyone else, if anyone sees this though (if anyone even bothers to read it lol) and feels up to joining in even if you weren’t tagged, feel free to participate! i’d love to see what everyone else is working on! (and apologies if you’ve already been tagged or just don’t feel up to doing this)

#tag game #wip tag game #wip meme #ziam fics #my fics #wip's #i am a problem child

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purplepints · 4 years ago

Note

As a WoT fan let me also state that Robert Jordan actually, literally, in the true sense of the word, DIED before completing the Wheel Of Time series. Before passing, he completed outlines and dictated specifics to his editor (who was also his wife) Harriet McDougal, who was the one that chose Brandon Sanderson to complete the series off said notes.

Jordan had previously repeatedly stated that if he died before WoT was complete, that was it: no more books would be written, the story died with him. He was on his deathbed when he changed his mind. We as fans had zero idea to what the fuck would happen if Jordan died and legal battles or contracts would bar any future continuations of his unfinished epic, and you didn't read all of those books or keep up with the seemingly endless barrage of characters and something jarring shifts in POV, locale and more without being fucking invested. We stuck it out through Winter's Heart, ffs. We wanted resolution! (We also wanted less sniffing, braid-tugging, shawl adjusting and descriptions of sausage fingers but hey at least we got endings so that's a win I guess?) Then we did get it with the Sanderson pickups, but I think to a lot of us those just kinda fell flat and were both rushed and lagging in turns. Be careful what you wish for.

Being a WoT fan while that was all happening gives me a bit less sympathy for ASOIAF fans. Take a breath and calm down a bit, you're not the only readers that have gone through long droughts or concerns about an authors health. Sorry HBO got you all psyched and then fucked the pooch, consider it a bad AU and leave it be.

Us oldtimers aren't getting all riled up and writing whole ass dissertation length posts about the upcoming WoT adaptation for Amazon; it's probably going to be okay in a few spots and fail to deliver in others as per most adaptations so 🤷‍♀️

It's gonna be alright, people. Even if ASOIAF isn't ever complete, the Wheel of Time keeps turning.

I went read asoiaf on ebooks so I had no concept of how long they were. And I’m not a reader in general so when I glanced down and saw one was 5000 pages I was like, hm, I guess that’s long? -can’t visualize 5000 pages-

He’s a thicc boi

#Did I write all that just to use that closer #Maybe #Feel free to try and use a break the wheel joke #I've already anticipated them #Tugs braid #Sniffs #Adjusts shawl #Rattles spears #You gotta be calm to channel all the nonsense #Wheel of Time

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fifteenleads · 8 years ago

Text

well, he has his moments.

@viktorweek day four: family/friends

Viktor Nikiforov can be both endearing and annoying all at once, but it’s exactly these qualities that have captivated people’s hearts in more ways than one.

(Five moments in Viktor’s life, as told by other people.)

AO3 | stories on (and off) ice

Yuri should have known when Viktor shoved the tub of ice cream and kitty treats into his hands.

"Please please please watch Makkachin for me!" the old goof all but pleaded, his hands clasped together like those silly anime girls and his puppy-dog eyes welling up and threatening to spill over any moment. He sure is upfront with his requests, if anything, and Yuri wouldn't be surprised if this sudden favor he's asking has something to do with --

"Yuuri and I are going out on a date tonight! It's the most perfect Valentine's Day ever!"

-- Fucking called it.

It was so obvious at this point, he didn't know why he even bothered.

The large poodle bounding over and tackling him didn't help things, either, and his face is all sticky from the mutt's slobbering saliva, and it's so disgusting as fuck, and Katsudon is now peering in from the doorway, and --

"Fine, already!" Yuri snapped, throwing his hands up in irritation. "I'll keep it until you come back, okay? Just get the hell out of here!"

Katsudon and Viktor couldn't be out the door sooner enough. The teen chased them to the veranda and hollered at them not to be late.

The pair returned at three o'clock in the fucking morning, one very much intoxicated and the other very much covered in - ugh, hickeys.

Really, he didn't know why he even bothered.

ii.

Yakov should have known when Vitya asked for the rink to be closed off the day after tomorrow.

His student is quite the whimsical man, always doing as he pleases and never (for once!) listening to his sensible coach's sound advice -- not when he decided to add four quads into his program, not when he suddenly dropped his whole skating career to coach Yuuri Katsuki, not when he just-as-suddenly made his comeback, insisting on coaching and competing against said Japanese skater at the same time.

And especially not when he plans on proposing to Katsuki over a romantic, candle-lit dinner on the ice.

"Isn't it a great idea, Yakov?!" Vitya enthused, his eyes practically shining with excitement. "We'll dance together after dinner, and then I'll ask him to marry me!"

Frankly, Yakov thought his protégé could have come up with something better. Still, he has no intention of dashing the younger man's hopes with an honest remark.

"Surely, you prepared very well for this?" he asked instead. "It is quite an ambitious plan, if you ask me."

"Oh no, it's not as grand as yours was," Vitya teased (and Yakov winced because it's true), "but I already have everything down, no worries. All that's left is to pop the question."

He then grinned earnestly, a luminescent shade of powder pink coloring his cheeks. There are times the coach doesn't understand how Viktor Nikiforov can be both endearing and annoying all at once, but it's exactly these qualities that have captivated people's hearts in more ways than one, himself included.

That said, today was the proudest Yakov was yet of his silly (but nonetheless star) student.

And he hated to ruin the moment, but --

"I thought you are both already engaged?"

"Then I'll propose to him again! Yuuri deserves nothing but the best."

-- Katsuki should have married this man years ago.

iii.

Christophe should have known when Viktor came in wearing a different brand of lip gloss.

(Or rather, a certain someone's lip balm.)

He never thought he'd see the day Viktor would use a cosmetic product other than the expensive ones he owns (and if all those commercial endorsements are of any indication, they are a lot), but he supposed this is what love does to people, especially to those who are tying the knot in a few hours.

Viktor immediately made a beeline to his side and gave him a tight glomp. Chris returned the hug with one of his own, patting his friend's back encouragingly for good measure. "Love the new lips," he commented, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

"Why, thank you, my friend," Viktor accepted the compliment, smacking his lips playfully. "Mmm, I like strawberry."

"His favorite flavor?"

"I don't think he has a preference," Viktor shrugged absently in thought. "It was actually green mint last time. I'd like to think he likes the Chanel one I usually use the most, though."

"More like he likes the taste of its owner on his lips, if you ask me," Chris suggested with a wink, and caught the small tube Viktor all but chucked at him in embarrassment. He's glad he hasn't lost his Friend Touch.

And because he's such a good friend, he's gonna make sure this hopeless man gets to the altar in one piece. (He doesn't even want to think about how Chulanont is handling poor Yuuri's nerves right now.)

"Your man has good taste," Chris remarked, playing with the long-worn lip balm. It's a cheap brand he sees most women use, probably bought from a downtown supermarket. "Can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out."

Viktor smiled in part-nervousness and part-mischief. "I love to surprise him."

If one weren't listening intently, they might have heard an "I love him" instead. And for all intents and purposes, it might as well have been that.

"Good," Chris nodded approvingly, pocketing the pilfered cosmetic. "Go get dressed. I'll give this back to Chulanont for you." Viktor hummed in thanks and did as he was told.

Halfway out the door, Chris turned back to his friend, who was admiring the plain gold engagement band on his ring finger.

"It will be a lifetime full of surprises," the groom whispered, his voice choking with happiness.

Chris smiled in agreement. "Sounds promising."

And he knew, at that moment, that Viktor will be fine.

(The way Yuuri's eyes widened in recognition as Viktor dipped him into their wedding kiss was absolutely priceless.)

iv.

Phichit should have known when Viktor clung to him like an overgrown child during practice.

"Haha, what's this?" he asked jokingly as he pulled the older man along the curve. The new not-really brother-in-law is so fun to tease. "Trouble in paradise so soon?"

At once, Viktor's forlorn expression was replaced by one of incredulity. "What? No, of course not!" He still didn't let go of Phichit's arm, though, further tightening his grip instead.

And if the way those pale, manicured nails digged into rich, brown skin is of any indication, Phichit now had a second differential in mind.

He never imagined The Viktor Nikiforov, of all people, to join the legions of victims tormented by his ongoing web serial, but he supposed that that, too, was an accomplishment of its own right. At least his minor from college is paying off well -- and handsomely, too, at a hundred dollars per chapter.

"I warned you, it wouldn't end well," Phichit laughed. "I even spoiled half the story for you."

More like Viktor actually lived through half of it, since it was a fictionalized version of his life and all. But Phichit wouldn't tell him that - not yet.

(If anything, he's actually more than surprised that his subject hasn't figured it out for himself yet. Even Yuuri already has, and he's currently getting a lot of hell for it over Skype.)

"I can't believe he wanted to break up all along," Viktor whined at him mournfully while shaking his arm. "Their relationship had so much promise, and he was willing to throw it all away? It's unacceptable."

Phichit simply raised an eyebrow in amusement. Barcelona. Of course. He shot the poor Russian a devious shit-eating grin over his shoulder. "Triggered much?"

He wasn't even being subtle anymore at this point; Not-Brother-in-Law's denseness is losing its novelty pretty fast.

Phichit received an adorable scowl in return, and the pressure on his arm is gone as Viktor left his side to bother Yuuri instead. He laughed as his best friend stumbled over his code-switching again, mixing up English, Japanese and Russian phrases in confusion. The way Viktor's face lit up at once as he glomped his husband on the ice was simply too precious.

He snapped a photo as always, of course. Those two dorks really are the best for each other, and as their friend and one of their best men, he is willing to fight anyone tooth-and-nail for it.

And if posting endless photos of them weren't enough, he'd write whole novels and dissertations for them.

Speaking of which, he has a new side story for his serial now. Spasibo, bratan.

Phichit skated away from the kissing couple, immensely satisfied.

("Viktor says he loves your new update. How do you even come up with ideas for it?"

"Aw, shucks, Yuuri! Thank you so much! Stay in love always, okay? I'll be watching~."

"Phichit, STOP.")

Yuuri should have known when Viten'ka, for lack of a better word, lost it.

And by "it," he meant both the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle and his husband's sanity.

The almost-completed picture of Van Gogh's The Starry Night was left abandoned on the table, in favor of getting down on their hands and knees to look for the missing piece. The puzzle pieces were quite small, and losing only one shouldn't really be too distracting, as long as the right frame is used and the guests kept their distance.

Yuuri had considered talking Viktor into just hanging it up as is to spare them both the time and effort, but the puzzle-shaped blank space smack dab in the middle of swirling blue skies ticked even him off. That, or a year into marriage has made him as nitpicky as his husband about such trivial things, like twin peas in a pod.

Or maybe not, because he also appreciated said husband's well-endowed ass, as it constantly shifted in position while the man was looking under the couch. Admittedly, far-from-innocent thoughts have filled his mind while it was sticking up like that, but no, he would never go that far. He isn't a bit sorry for not helping out at all, however.

As Viktor moved to the CD stand next, Yuuri affirmed the last statement as the truest of them all.

That was one more thing that had changed over time, he supposed. And Viktor, too, knows this all too well, if the generous affection he lavished in bed at night was of any indication. Those times were the most fun.

Even now, Yuuri couldn't believe how much things have changed since they first met. Back then, Viktor had been someone akin to a god -- perfect, immaculate, unattainable. Over time, he came to learn how his god turned out to be as human as he was, with various faults and quirks and random eccentricities of his own. And though he's practically run the whole gamut of emotions for it, he considered himself very lucky that Viktor Nikiforov came into his life the way he did -- like a flashy, exploding supernova that surprised him and set everything on fire.

Viktor, for his part, would never tire of telling their story this way -- how everything in his life had been falling apart like the thin ice beneah his feet, then how it all suddenly fell into place when he met the love of his life, and he felt more than whole again. Phichit certainly cried buckets when Viktor called Yuuri Katsuki the best surprise of his life, and how truly, immensely lucky he was to be married to him. (They completed each other like perfectly-fit jigsaw puzzles, he'd said. Ha.)

They couldn't have found each other in a much better way, Yuuri mused as he spied a small piece of blue cardboard under the television set. As he reached his hand forward to retrieve it, however, another larger hand closed in first and pulled out of the dark space just as quickly. His husband let out a silly grin as he raised the puzzle piece between his fingers, and Yuuri was overcome with a wave of unexplainable feelings as he pinned the other man to the floor.

"What's this?" Viktor asked with amusement. "Are you that happy we finally found it?"

"Maybe," Yuuri answered teasingly, bending down to kiss the other man senseless. Maybe it wasn't only Viktor who lost his sanity this round, after all. (And how, indeed; all this over a single missing puzzle piece.) "I've had a lot of thoughts today, is all," he confessed breathlessly as he pulled away.

"Wow, do share," Viktor commented, his flushed form clearly betraying excitement and arousal. "I'm all ears, since we've already finished the puzzle and all."

"No, thanks," Yuuri declined with a smirk, taking the puzzle piece instead and lifting himself off the ground. He enjoyed the way his husband's face comically fell at the blunt rejection. Viktor whined as he got up and joined him at the table. "Yuu-chan!"

Yuuri looked back over his shoulder. "You have your moments, Viten'ka; let me have mine."

#viktorweek #fanfiction #victor nikiforov #yuri!!! on ice

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