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snackhobi · 4 years ago

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pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant.

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail.

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him.

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage.

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you.

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline.

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then:

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus.

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing.

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano.

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck.

It's too much.

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you.

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him.

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you?

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before.

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach.

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing.

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—"

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you.

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot.

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car.

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth.

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice.

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of.

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair.

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight.

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts smut #suga x reader #joy.masterlist

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felix-the-creature · 3 years ago

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Diner California, a killjoy au

Chapter 1

The morning sun shines through the diner windows, a warm gold glow that brings promise of a hot day. The world is still, peaceful.

Then the kitchen door swings open and a gangly teenage boy in skinny jeans and black hair saunters out to kill the peace and bury the remains. He stretches and leans against a table. He yawns, blinks in the bright sunlight. He turns around and yells back in the direction of the kitchen.

"Aaalright who forgot to pull the shades last night, it's gonna be roasting in here! You blame me for running off all day and then turn this place into a furnace!"

There are a few answering groans from the kitchen. "C'mooon guys it's like"--our resident hooligan looks up to the sky and shades his face--"its like ten AM! Unless y'all had some booze last night I didn't know about, you have no reason to sleep in!"

The plaintive voice of Party Poison wavers up from the kitchen.

"Ghouull, shudduuppp" he yawns.

Ghoul kicks open the door, spilling the sweet golden light of the sun onto the sleepers, who take it about as kindly as wet cats.

Eventually everyone is awake, and after a breakfast of scrambled eggs with cactus, they wander out into the desert to conquer and destroy. This particular day they are looking for horny toads.

You see, the twelve year old Kobra Kid has always been obsessed with animals. For years he's been hunting down wild hares, and snakes, and slimy things which he hides in his companions' clothing. The agreement today was "either you help me find a horny toad or I find something much worse and hide it somewhere you'll find it"

Which put everyone into a sweat.

So here they all are, wandering around and poking into crevices and bushes, crawling around in rock piles and getting dusty and sweaty as the sun beats overhead. Jet star thought to bring his sun hat.

They wander, soon losing sight of the diner. There's some rocky hills a little ways away that Kobra proclaims are peak horny toad grounds, so they make for those.

They're hiking up the hills now, panting a little as the sun grows hotter approaching noon and mirages waft off the rusty colored rocks. Jet is naturally in front, having legs longer than everyone else's. He turns around, hands on hips.

His soft voice is broken up a little from the climb. "Hey, what are you going to do with the horny toad once we find it?"

Kobra shrugs. "Keep it at the diner. They eat ants you know. I'm gonna name him Combo platter"

"....." Jet looks at the younger boy for a second. "...combo platter?"

"I saw it on the menus back at the diner. It looked good, so I thought I'd name my horny toad after it so I wouldn't forget it. You know, in case we go somewhere that has food"

"Aww..." Jet ruffles the smaller Killjoy's hair.

They have lunch beneath a scraggly tree. It consists of canned beans for everyone exept Kobra, who has a boiled egg. He throws bits of the shell at the others. Party gets hit in the mouth, but instead of spitting they look Kobra straight in the eye while crunching down the eggshell. Kobra doesn't throw shell after that.

After lunch the search continues. Ghoul and Jet set off together up to the top of the hill, talking as they go. Party goes poking around some bushes, whistling to himself. He's been working out an original tune, and is at that annoying point where you technically have the whole thing down but aren't good enough at it yet to show other people.

Something had caught cobra's eye while they were all eating lunch. There is a rift between two hills, where a landslide of rocks has accumulated over the years. The thing that has caught his eye is a spot of white sticking out of the rubble, some ways down the pile. He makes his way down, slipping and sliding and creating a new small landslide in the process. As he gets closer, the white thing turns out to be the tip of some sort of fabric poking out of the rocks. He reaches it, crouches. He gives it a tug. The fabric pulls out of the pile, and to his horror there's an arm attached to it, an arm with a white sleeve. He yelps, then looks down and yelps louder when he sees the grotesque mask the arm was covering. The next second Kobra is racing back up the pile, heart beating like a rabbit's and yelling "a drac! I found a drac and I think it's dead but there's a drac in the rocks!!"

Everyone comes running, and Party reaches down to pull him the last few feet to the top of the landslide again.

"What? Where? Where do I shoot??" Ghoul runs over panting, high strung and a little wild. Jet is close behind.

"I-I think it's dead" Kobra pants, pointing back down to where the white clothed body can be seen plainly now, lying at the bottom of the slope. Ghoul squints, then huffs.

"Yep. Looks pretty dead. Don't think it's gonna kill anyone soon" he looks at Kobra, who's still shaking. "Hey, it's okay! Look at me, it's not gonna hurt anyone, okay?" He puts a hand on Kobra's shoulder.

"Man, that kid has trauma" Ghoul muses to Party, who's standing at the edge of the landslide and shading their eyes to get a better look at the body.

"Yeah, we all do" they mutter back. "I wonder where that came from.. it doesn't look old, or Kobra would've smelled it long before touching the thing. Hey, you guys haven't heard of any activity lately, right?" He's met with shrugs.

Kobra shuffles his feet. "Hey let's.. let's get back home.. I don't wanna be out here any more"

"Aww really? Hey it's just a dead guy, nothing to worry about" Ghoul reassures, but looks up to find the others nodding assent to Kobra.

"Yeah, this killed my vibe" Jet mumbles.

They walk back down the hills, promising Kobra that they'll find a horny toad some other time. The rest of the day is spent playing made up board games in the diner, and the shutters on the windows are closed.

#mcr #my chemical romance #danger days #gerard way #killjoys #party poison #fun ghoul #jet star #kobra kid #mcrmy

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prof-peach · 5 years ago

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Cyndaquil

Fire/poison type

The smog from its back is quite poisonous due to their diet based on scavenging and consuming anything and everything. They possess very strong stomachs that can tolerate even rotten foods, producing more potent poisons when consuming such awful meals. Their sense of smell is by far their best feature at this stage, able to find spoiled goods from miles away, even with their limited eyesight. With the development of small claws, they are more agile and adaptable over rough terrain, and are capable of burrowing excellently. When startled this Pokémon will expel a large gas cloud from its back, and run into it, using it to either give cover to attack, or flee for safety.

Though they are classed as a fire type, it is mostly because they have a core flame, like the pilot light in a boiler within them. As a cyndaquil, they can produce not much more than small flames and hot embers, of course enough to cause a fire, but not a great deal of use in battle.  

Quilava

Fire/poison type.

Agile and intelligent, it’s at this point that the gasses on and around quilava become more adaptable. The back vents on the rump of the quilava are poisonous, the glands on the forehead are producing a flammable gas, this seems to be the case so far on all poison variants we’ve found of this species. Attacks such as flame wheel act differently, the Pokémon will no longer engulf itself in flames and roll to attack, but instead create a jet of flammable gas from its head, and set it alight internally, using their small pilot light core. At this stage they can produce sustained flames, but not for extended periods. Short sharp bursts. To train, these Pokémon seem to flourish when given time to observe. Let them watch battles as well as partake in them, they have a lovely behaviour of mimicking other members of their “family” or your team, even wild Pokémon. The more they watch the more they learn, the better equip for anything they become. These are incredibly smart Pokémon, just...in a very dumb way. Trial by fire so to speak, they will have an idea, do it, and find out if the idea works then and there on the spot. If it does not, which is more often than not, they repeat and adjust behaviour, to try to improve, as opposed to some species who are just hell bent on using one move endlessly on repeat until it does something. Wooloo comes to mind, they are sweet and kind but very slow sometimes, there’s always ones who are more intelligent of course, but on average they require a lot of hands on training. Quilava are best left to test stuff out, try new moves, adjust their styles, and overcome bigger and badder foe. You have to be an adaptive trainer to handle their unusual methods of doing things. 

Typhlosion fire/poison type. at its peak, a variant typhlosion of this kind can melt solid steel beams with either crushing poison claw moves, or blasting them with solid, long lasting torrents of fire. Their core finally kicks in, and in this final evolution, they can ignite the gas straight from their body, delivering heavy fire damage too. they are more social than average, tending to keep to packs of two alphas of either genders, and their litter, along with a few subordinates who guard the group and help hunt, usually made up of offspring from previous litters, or wanderers they take in. They do work in small packs, so if you see one, expect a few more hidden around you. Their habitat tends to be more rocky, mountainous areas, they are adept at digging and scaling cliffs, and will chew through pretty much anything that you put in their way. The drawback is, they can be a bit devious, known to raid bins, knock over cars, and generally scavenge for their meals, causing a lot of disturbance in the area. Should they choose to fight, instead of run, you best hope you’re not dealing with the adult female, as they are usually more hot headed and territorial than the males, thinking only if their saftey and their young. Fiercely loyal, and devoted to trainers who can handle their almost over the top levels of curiosity and dumb-assy-ness ...that’s a technical Professor term, I promise. They will defend with their life should it need to be done, this can be both a blessing and a curse.

All three enjoy spoiled food items, sometimes have been spotted purposefully drinking quite toxic water from landfills, and all of them have stomachs that can cope with that. The more bad stuff they consume, the more potent their toxins become, a good way to judge this, is your pokemons colour. If their fur is dull and grey in nature, it has low potency, if it is a very saturated tone, bold and bright, it’s pretty poisonous. This is key to them choosing mates of course, as worthy males will fight and prove they would make good partners to powerful alpha females who watch and decide. Colour seems to be a key factor when choosing a mate, duller colours will usually fall short when it comes to finding love.

A note, they have a sweet tooth, often ravaging Combee and beedrill hives for honey, they also absorb the poisonous stings and use that as fuel for their body, ie. they get more potent poison attacks for a while. Fun fact, during matings season the males will actively do this to have an edge in battle. 

As a variant the noticeable difference is they have become more quadrupedal, burrowing well through all of their evolutions. Claws are very much one of the main defining features of the variant, and as they grow they harden to become capable of crushing their way through rock, digging out long tunnels for dens, and to forage for bug type snacks, or tuberous roots of plants and plant Pokémon. In battle this makes for an effective escape method or way to dodge.  

Typhlosion of this category are often seen ramming into their targets with their bulky front end, the more low down posture is crucial to their well-being, their spines can’t comfortably carry their new weight distribution upright, so you’ll find they only really travel on all fours when cruising comfortably.  

Ability: Poison Trail Their attacks often mix in the use of their toxic gasses, so if they get in close to use quick attack for example, they will leave behind a trail of poison in the air. This has roughly a 30% chance to poison your opponent.

Ability: Quick Learner

When hit by a fire attack their special Attack stat is raised. When hit with a poison type attacks, their attack stat is raised. There’s a 5% chance that an attack landed on your Pokémon from the fire or poison categories will be instantly used by your Pokémon, back at your opponent.

EDIT!!! Someone in comments asked if they would be able to hug this Pokémon, their gasses can be halted, and are not poisonous to you should they trust you. They can turn it on and off most of the time, but the Cyndaquil will obviously have a little less control.

They usually love a good scratch.

10/10 would pet.

________

Man I have to note, cyndaquil is the only fire starter Pokémon I really bonded with, so this was a delight to do, and I love poison types so of course I got hype when @kitsunaluna commissioned me to do this!

#pokemon #art #pokemon variations #cyndaquil #quilava #typhlosion #prof.peach

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 101

Apologies for the delays....I scheduled this 3 weeks ago to post today, but apparently technical difficulties have occurred. So. Shout out to @baelpenrose and @zommbiebro who blew up my PMs when the chapter did not go up at the regularly scheduled time. Y’all saved me, I swear.

As always, after an arc, we get... FLUFF! Please enjoy!

“Are you sure you want to do vegetarian hot pot?” Zach wheedled. It was a week after Jokul’s meeting with the Council, and while there was still some work to be done with some straggling members of the accidental cult, things had largely calmed down. As such, I was taking Huynh’s suggestion and eating in one of the mess areas closer to my office.

“I may do one veg and one non-veg.” I bit my lip as I thought about it. We were discussing an upcoming ‘family dinner’, where I had decided to branch out into unfamiliar territory. No date for it was set in stone, but I wanted to make sure to get all the details ironed out ahead of time. “Vegetarian just feels safer, if that makes sense? I feel a bit weird about including raw meat - I mean, what if the broth isn’t hot enough and someone gets food poisoning.”

Zach gaped at me, but Hannah cut him off by reaching gently for my hand. “Sophia. You know as well as I do that everything from the food consoles is synthetic, including the meat. So, technically, it’s all vegetarian and there’s no risk of foodborne illness.” Her tone was pleasant and even, and I was in no way oblivious to the fact that she was using her professional nurturer skills on me.

That did not change the fact that she had a point. “Fine,” I heaved a sigh in concession. “I still want them kept strictly separate, to avoid violating any religious taboos. I can still do that,” I insisted.

Hannah patted my hand in reassurance just as Zach’s head snapped around toward the entrance. “What in the world?” he asked, no longer paying attention.

As Hannah and I turned where he was focused, I noticed a few other people looking that direction with the same curious expression Zach had. I glanced at Hannah, who shook her head - she didn’t hear anything either, at first. After another minute, I could faintly hear shouting, and it got louder as it headed our direction.

By this point, more and more people in the cafeteria were staring toward the shouts, which were soon accompanied by the white noise of a crowd speaking. Whatever was happening had been going on for quite some time, and was going to pass directly past us. I swear on all that is unholy, I thought to myself, If this is another crisis, I will walk out an airlock willingly. No sooner had the thought finished than I saw a vaguely familiar face coming around the curve of the corridor. Standing and abandoning my lunch, I moved closer to confirm my suspicions.

Sure enough, a familiar smile bracketed in a thick, coarse beard beamed at me. Ivan Thorson was slightly shorter than I was, but at least as broad as he was tall and also cheerful carrying what appeared to be a stack of dark gray cloth. Horror dawned as he approached.

That stack of cloth was squirming. And kicking. And shouting. Even worse, I recognized that voice. Part of me wished I had just ignored everything and finished my lunch.

“Hey, Ivan,” I ventured carefully. “I would love to know - “

“Put me down! This is entirely undignified. How DARE you!”

“ - why you are abducting Mr. Bjornson here?” I finished.

“Hey, Sophia!” Ivan replied, completely ignoring the squirm of the much taller man he was currently carrying over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “I was just - “

“Councillor Reid! Thank the gods…” The squirming intensified.

Ivan just calmly repositioned his - passenger? Victim? - before continuing. “Down at BioLab 2, talking to Nixe - “

“UNHAND ME!”

“ - when I saw the most interesting ball of tension I had ever met. So, being me, I decided I had to meet this man.”

“Sophia. Please. Help me!”

“Oh, hey Ivan,” Zach greeted, completely unperturbed by the insanity of the situation. Hannah smiled brightly and waved.

“Hey guys. So, as I was saying, I introduced myself, we started talking, one thing led to another - “

“How did ANY of that lead to - to THIS!?”

Finally, Ivan seemed to hear Jokul. Frowning, he turned toward the hip currently slung over his shoulder. “So, you didn’t mean it when you said I was aesthetically pleasing?”

“Well, I did, but - “

“Or was it the part about finding me charming?”

“No, I meant that, that’s not what I’m saying - “

“Then it was the part about wanting to get to know me better?”

I had to clench my jaw to keep from dropping it, mostly because I wasn’t sure if I would laugh or scream at Jokul’s response. He was downright soft. “Ivan, I did mean that. I do mean it. I just… I meant coffee. Or - or dinner. Not - “ A hand gestured blindly. “Whatever this is.”

“You said your feet were hurting,” Ivan pointed out before turning to me, Zach, and Hannah. “He decided to walk all the way from the Archives to BioLab 2.” Reaching around in a way that actually looked uncomfortable, he patted Jokul on the back, carefully avoiding anything further down. “Good thing he’s so pretty.”

“I…” Jokul started before trailing off, at a loss for words when confronted with the strange but undeniable logic of a man a full foot shorter than him but who was also carrying him like he weighed about the same as Mac.

I, however, was not equally speechless. “Why not take him to his own quarters, then?”

Ivan looked at me like I was being silly. “BioLab 2 is on Level Two. Jokul’s quarters are on Level Forty. Mine are on Level Twenty One. Much closer.”

“You could have gotten a transport, Ivan.”

Despite carrying well over two hundred pounds of former cult leader over his shoulder, he still managed to shrug. “It was a gym day, anyway. This does double duty.”

“Ivan - “ I started before being interrupted.

To my astonishment, Jokul stood up, brushed his hair out of his face, and faced me squarely with his hands on his hips. “If you don’t mind, blood is rushing to my head and making me dizzy. Can we please get on with this? I was promised French-pressed coffee, ginger cookies, and a foot rub.”

With quiet laughter, Ivan grabbed Jokul and tossed the taller man back over his shoulder. All I could do was sputter with the knowledge that I had drastically misread the situation.

Realizing he won the argument, Ivan threw a wink at me before patting Jokul’s leg. “Just a bit further. You all have a lovely lunch, I have someone to make coffee for.” With a cheeky wave, he marched on.

Just as he passed, I could see a very confused former warlord and accidental cult leader, arms crossed and indignant, but nonetheless quietly enduring his journey. Leaning toward Zach, I murmured. “Is Jokul… safe?”

“Yeah, safe as he can be on the Ark,” he shrugged in reply.

“You’re sure?”

He snorted at that. “If you’re worried about Bjornson’s virtue, it’s as safe as he wants it to be, I promise. Ivan takes pride in the fact that he is very charming, and you would not believe the number of dates he gets because he takes anything less than a direct invitation as ‘no’.” He rolled his eyes.

Where I had originally been worried that the indomitably-pleasant Ivan was taking… something… out on Jokul, the other man’s scolding assured me that his squawks and shouts were only for show.

“Clearly, he could have stood up whenever he wanted. Or even accidentally,” Hannah pointed out.

“So why didn’t he?” I was so confused. Admittedly, my mind kept going back to Jokul’s cries for help, even knowing they were for show.

Zach started coughing and turned bright red. Hannah patted his back and smiled at me. “I think you should probably ask Charly that question.”

“Why - oh. Oh……” Now, I was turning bright red. With a cough, I turned and strode back toward the table where our lunches were cooling. “So, hot pot,” I most certainly did not squeak. “What meat goes in hot pot? We decided one veg and one non-veg, right?”

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #aliens #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #hfy #earth is space australia #found family #apocalypse #science fiction #sci fi #original writing #original sci fi #my writing

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missmeltycat · 4 years ago

Note

i see u have an oc for the real ghostbusters!!! i dunno if u already paired them or anything but can u do some pairing headcanons for each guy and janine maybe too??

Ohhh wow. OK. This is definitely an interesting challenge. Amusingly, waaaaay back when (We are talking a long time ago) she was paired with Egon, but I have made a number of changes since then and she’s not now.

OK, let’s do this! *Cracks knuckles*

Egon Spengler

Probably takes a LOT of time to actually get anywhere because... Well... It’s Egon!

Either happens as a moment of experimentation seeing if there’s anything between them worth pursuing or not, or part of an adrenaline rush moment.

GUILT. REGRET. “OH GOD WHAT HAVE I DONE! I’M NORMALLY SO LOGICAL!”

Sex? What’s that? Oh, that thing that only happens once in a blue moon?

Nights spent reading together. Egon tries to teach her things since she’s not a scientist like he is.

Kisses are quick and fleeting. Pecks and nips, rarely deeper unless adrenaline or hormones play a part.

Equipment experimentation made purely for Rae’s build and work method.

Love language of reminding the other to eat/drink/sleep. Cleaning of glasses. Maintaining fitness equipment.

Night’s out at the opera/theatre.

Dates at the museum. Egon explaining in great depth about everything.

Rae dragging him to the gym. He doesn’t enjoy it until she gets him to think about it from a scientific and biological standpoint. (He wears a sweatband.)

Yes. Problems with Janine. Oh boy.

Arguments are quick, never long-lasting. Usually a sudden explosion of irrational anger, followed by parting ways in different rooms and coming together with apologies laced with tremendous guilt.

Rae’s family are pretty pleased with Rae’s choice.

Pros:

Sweet and considerate pairing

Comfortable silences and just existing in each other’s spaces

Mutual respect

Maturity

Dependability

Cons:

Janine conflict

Occasional fights due to differences in interests and intellect

Late nights make for cranky people

Egon is all logic, Rae is all muscle - Technically opposites

Egon’s attitude could rub Rae the wrong way, as it can come off as slightly big-headed

Rae can be a bit rough. Egon not so much - Ouch!

Peter Venkman

Probably happens after a fight. Sudden!

Lots of angry, make up sex

Huge amount of flirting

Dates to fast food joints, pizza parlours and ice-cream shops. Possibly music venues

Fights over expenses. Let’s face it. If Peter can get out of paying, he will

Playful punch-u-punch-me matches that usually end up with Peter with bruised arms

“Goals? How many places we can do it in. The storage locker is next!”

Bets. Lots of bets. “Ten bucks says Ray can’t X.” “Ten bucks says Egon messes up.” “Ten bucks says Slimer eats X.” Occasionally “Ten bucks and I’ll eat X” and “Ten bucks says you can’t lift X, Rae!”

Gaming. Competitive gaming. Peter will sulk if he loses.

Evenings spent sleeping happily

Table hockey with utensils and condiments

Kisses are passionate, dirty, messy, lots of tongue

Love language? You mean making out lots? Yeah, that...

No shame in PDA, but not sentimental in nature. More like copping feels

No pressure. More like friends with benefits.

Arguments are usually about Peter’s flirting, or immaturity. They last a while and always end as if they never happened.

Rae is active, Peter prefers slobbing when he can. Rae tries to get him active, he tries to get her to chill more.

Creativity in the form of music. When people say they’ll make sweet music together? They were wrong in this case. Terrible music is more like it. But it’s all good fun.

Rae’s family are charmed by Peter. Wary, but charmed nonetheless.

Pros:

Fun and humour

Amazing physical encounters

No pressure or expectations

Passion

Creativity

Cons:

Immaturity

Overly flirtatious with others (Peter)

Lazy and active don’t mix all that well

Hot tempers

Trust issues

Ray Stantz

Known as ‘The Rays’

Lots of shy glances (Ray)

Self-confidence issues and inadequacy worries (Ray) because Rae works out and he’s... Ray

Anxious confessions

Sweetness, consideration, caring words and actions

Absolutely 100% serious. No room for messing about when it starts

Love language of soft touches, fingers over the hair, face cupping and cheek stroking... Oh and FOOD!

Nights spent on the sofa in blankets and PJs with popcorn

Sex? “Oh boy, are you sure? I mean, are you a hundred percent sure you wanna? I’m not hurting you am I? Am I squishing you too much? Sorry, was that right?”

Cook together a lot. Ray isn’t quite as good, so Rae (Who is knowledgeable on nutrition since she works out etc) often finishes off the dishes and lets him take credit

Dates could be anything. It doesn’t need to be fancy, as long as they’re together.

Kisses are sweet, tender, passionate without being over the top and usually combine with fingers in hair

Mutual respect and love/fascination of the paranormal, ghosts and creatures

Alternating big spoon, little spoon and always very comfortable

Fights? Not very often, but usually doesn’t last long and ends in flowers, chocolates and lots of snuggles

Soft neck kisses, breathless terms of endearment, wandering hands, confidence boosting body worship

Rae lifting Ray with one arm for training, resulting in gushing

Fawning, doodling, love-sick teen type behaviour

Comfortably discuss the future together without awkwardness

Rae’s family are surprised by Rae’s choice, but are absolutely happy with him

Pros:

Sweet and caring

Dependable and loyal

Kind to animals, ghosts and other such creatures

Willingness to always be better

Cons:

Self-confidence issues

Sometimes naive

Occasional know-it-all behaviour

Curiosity that almost kills the cat

Can’t cook so well and has questionable ingredient choices that border on imminent food poisoning danger (Ray)

Winston Zeddemore

Happens smoothly, gradually over time as the pair gain the bond naturally through companionship

Chill as fuck, but absolutely committed and serious

Love language of gifts and showing off in public

Dates at ball games and other sporting events, sometimes at sports bars showing various games

Clubs and music venues until extremely late

Workout buddies

Love to tease Peter together

Will chill out to horror movies together on the couch

Sex is passionate, but considerate, full of respect but occasionally borders on kinky. Sometimes in the shower. Did that door get locked? Oops!

Will discuss relationship stuff anywhere, no shame

Kisses are deep, long-lasting, skin-tinglingly good

Sports in the park on afternoons off

Will gladly spot Rae when she lifts weights

Games of catch with equipment and contests with how far or how high things can be thrown

Rae cooks his favourite meal every month just because

He will give her full body massage after her workouts

Arguments are strong, as they are both strong willed people. They last a little longer than they probably should, with lots of huffing and passing messages through other people. Making up, though, always the best part

Mutual enjoyment of harder music genres

Rae tries to encourage him to be more active in the group, as he’s sometimes overshadowed by the others

Always help each other out and share chores equally

Nudes exchanged. Absolutely

Rae’s family take to him quite quickly and are absolutely pleased

Pros:

Active

Mutual respect

Openly proud and shows off the other

Responsible

Loving and passionate

Open to new ideas

Cons:

Strong personalities, so sometimes clash

Sometimes shies away from challenges

Some PTSD issues (From the canonical military experience)

His passion for things sometimes trump other things, such as date nights or other promises

Janine Melnitz

This one was a random one and happened as a result of harmless flirting at the reception desk, probably as an assurance that Rae wasn’t after Egon, but it ended in something surprising for both

Bitching to each other about the guys a lot, a little club of two

Janine drags Rae shopping a lot, mostly to spend time together, but also because Rae can actually carry the shopping with no problem with her muscles

Dates at fancy restaurants and wine bars where Janine gets dressed up and Rae feels uncomfortable in a dress

Janine will offer to give her make overs, which always amuses the guys

Love language of comforting hugs, washing each others hair, giving each other shoulder massages, doing small things such as put incense on when the other is feeling stressed out and little notes left around for each other to find

Mail order flowers

Both of their apartments become used equally as bases and it’s never known which they will be at at any given point

Arguments are loud and sometimes vicious in nature, which prompts the guys to demand they make up. Usually ends with crying and hugging and huge apologies

Nights binging series or movies with pizza, ice-cream and soda

Will both kick Peter’s ass if he’s not careful

Intimacy is usually sweet and loving, but with a spark of passion. And, yes, absolutely open to others to join... By others Janine means Egon

Kisses are sudden and big smooches, or quick pecks on the fly

Janine will phone to make sure Rae is OK when out on assignment, sometimes becoming a nuisance. She will also threaten everyone to look after her, or she’ll kick the crap out of them

Rae’s family are a little shocked over her choice, but completely pleased with Janine.

Pros:

Playful banter

Reliable, responsible and loyal

Conscious of feelings

Pretty badass, let’s face it

Cons:

Cranky and overly emotional

Jealous

Sometimes clumsy to the point of endangerment

#Ghostbusters #The Real Ghostbusters #Egon Spengler #Ray Stantz #Peter Venkman #Winston Zeddemore #Janine Melnitz #Rae Taylor #OC #Original Character #Prompt #Headcanon #Headcanons #Anon

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lupizora · 5 years ago

Text

No One Left Behind

This was my super late gift fic to WhatIsMagic over on the Boku no Ship Academia discord server for their Secret Santa 2019. Admittedly, lots of RL issues popped up to make the process more difficult than it already was. But procrastination is a bitch too... ^^” I’m happy with the end result though! It was my first time writing from Kirishima’s POV and the sunshine OT3, which turned out to be more fun than I expected~ Hope you enjoy!! ^w^

Genre: Fantasy/Adventure/Romance

Pairing: Kirikacchako

Rating: T

Word Count: 5,235

Summary: Kirishima's life was simple. Along with Bakugou, his partner-in-crime, they roamed the land in search of a place to call home. They even had a solid plan in his opinion. But life doesn't get any easier because you're a fire-breathing dragon. Especially not after meeting a charming yet tougher-than-she-looks witch that's asking for a fight.

Fight us? She’s so tiny! Kirishima had thought upon landing his gaze on Uraraka for the first time.

From barely reaching the knee of his dragon foot to the deteriorating state of her clothes, the Mage hadn’t appeared to be a threat. Not until she managed to knock down Kirishima with a single attack.

This infuriated his partner-in-crime and the land’s most dangerous bandit, Bakugou Katsuki. No amount of foes had been able to do that before, neither this fast. So he attacked Uraraka without holding back while Kirishima tried to stand again, pain traveling on his long skull like ripples on a lake.

Their fight seemed endless. Through his dragon vision, Kirishima could follow it easily despite the dust cloud they raised while dueling. It had been forever since he had last seen Bakugou being equally matched by anyone. Yet, this girl made him struggle with her wind magic, forcing him at some point to use his explosive fire magic. It resulted in leveling the first line of trees surrounding the glade Uraraka had found them.

As the aftershocks of that clash resided, Kirishima decided this had run long enough. Someone from the nearby village would come to chase them out; bringing more trouble than this dispute was worth. He could admit the Mage had guts though. Holding her ground against Bakugou with ferocity akin to a mother bear was an admirable feat. But they had to stop. Kirishima sprained his mind, trying to figure out how to resolve this fight without hurting their pride. All he came up with was sitting in between them during a pause for breath. This effectively blocked their path of attack, redirecting their general frustration at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bakugou shouted, striking his blades against the dragon’s scales.

Kirishima couldn’t feel anything so he left him to rage and addressed the Mage. ”We aren’t going to hurt anyone. We’re simply passing by on our way to the Elderworm Forest.”

She stared at him with wide eyes as if it was her first time seeing a dragon talk. The attention felt different though. Sure, she stared but it wasn’t the unsettling glare most peasants gave Kirishima like they pondered whether he would eat them or not. Her smell was flowery sweet like awe and wonder, instead of the sharp tang of fear. Flames danced in his stomach like fleeting butterflies.

“I see,” said the Mage. “If that’s the case, uh… Mr. Dragon.”

“Kirishima,” he said with a snicker. “Just call me Kirishima.”

“Alright…You seem kind, Kirishima, so I believe you.” She grabbed her staff tighter and tried to glance over at Bakugou. “But he—”

“I’m what, Round Face?” Bakugou sneered. “Not worth your time?”

“I’d say rude and tactless but you know that already,” she mumbled loud enough for everyone to hear.

“You got some nerve! Third-class Mages like you should know their place.”

“Oh? I wonder what your bandit brothers will say when they find I swiped the floor with you!”

Kirishima placed a paw on Bakugou’s head to prevent him from attacking her again. “How about we all calm down and eat something? It’s getting late and dinner tastes better with a company, don’t you think?”

Both adversaries huffed in annoyance. Their growling stomachs betrayed them though and they reluctantly agreed to the idea with blushing faces. Leaving them at opposite sides of the clearing, Kirishima set up camp. He had plenty of fallen tree trunks at his disposal to create a small pure in the middle. After lighting it up with his dragon breath, he forced Bakugou to quit his sulking and unpack their things from Kirishima’s back. They were running low on vegetables and other spices the bandit used in their meals but had enough meat to last them until the next big town. So Kirishima wasn’t too worried. After all, Bakugou could make everything taste good even with the bare minimum of materials. It was one of the reasons the dragon enjoyed traveling together. Things used to taste very bland before.

Soon, the smell of a freshly cooked meal spread in the clearing. Kirishima’s mouth watered, saliva dripping on the ground and sizzling whenever it hit the burning embers of the fire.

“Watch it,” Bakugou scolded him. “You’d get drool all over the food!”

He whined in return and dropped his head between his front legs, wagging his tail like a puppy dog. Of course, this motion raised quite the racket coming from an overgrown lizard. Annoyed from this distraction, his friend eventually threw him a half-cooked rib. Kirishima gobbled it whole in one go.

As he was licking his snout in delight, his gaze fell on the Mage. She was sitting on a log at the furthest point the fire could reach. They had introduced each other properly while setting camp earlier. Her name was Uraraka Ochako, a wandering Mage currently in her thesis quest. She had to complete the quest to graduate from her Master Wizard school. It sounded like a lot of trouble for a seal of approval to Kirishima, but humans always had to make things more complicated than they should.

Picking another freshly cooked piece of meat from Bakugou’s makeshift pan, Kirishima approached Uraraka and placed it on a smooth rock in front of her.

“Is that for me?” Uraraka asked, surprised.

“Yup!” He took a seat next to her. “And it’s not poisoned if that’s worrying you.”

She cooed and picked it up bare-handed. “That’s so sweet of you. I’ve been starving actually!” Ignoring the look of hatred Bakugou directed at her from the other side of the fire, she inhaled the food in a matter of moments.

No lie. She must have been really hungry, Kirishima thought.

He hadn’t seen a human woman eat so carelessly and messy before. It was different in a good way; like everything about her seemed to be.

They spent the better of the night talking about this and that until both Mages fell asleep. Kirishima stayed awake a little longer, self-conscious of Uraraka’s back leaning against his side. Her body heat was nothing compared to the raging inferno in his gut. But it made his thoughts travel far and wide.

Maybe those exact thoughts were the reason when—come morning—he asked Uraraka to join along in their journey to the Elderworm Woods—much to Bakugou’s loud and very vocal objections.

“No.”

“We’re all headed in the same direction.”

“I refuse!”

Kirishima dropped his shoulders with a sigh. “Technically, I’m the one carrying the bags so it’s my shot to make.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Bakugou said. “I’m the one in charge.”

“Please don’t make me say things I’ll regret, man.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

“That you just don’t want me along because I kicked your butt,” Uraraka said. She had perched on a tree branch, observing the scene at a safe distance from Bakugou’s fire-like powers.

He turned around, pointing his finger at her. “You stay out of it! This is between me and my partner.”

Seeing this was going to turn into another fight, Kirishima donned his human form and stood in between them again. “She’s coming or we’re walking there and that’s final.” He said to Bakugou.

He appeared firm and serious, but his insides were coiling with anxiety. It was rare for the dragon to directly challenge Bakugou’s ‘authority’ like this. More often than not, Kirishima let Bakugou take the initiative because their goals aligned, not out of fear. Kirishima could withstand most magic attacks with ease after all. Except when it came to Uraraka’s magic. He couldn’t understand what had come over him regarding the Mage. It worried him not that she beat him. There was a first time for everything and Kirishima wasn’t the strongest dragon in the land at the end of the day. He told himself that her coming along wasn’t just to keep a close watch on her. He wanted Uraraka to come, simple as that.

Bakugou crossed his arms, still scowling. “Fine. But she’s cooking her meals.”

Kirishima grinned. “Aye, sir!” He turned around but his words were cut short.

Once she got a glimpse of his face, Uraraka fell from the branch into the bushes underneath the tree.

“Gods!” Kirishima rushed to her and parted the vegetation. “Are you alright?”

Uraraka straightened her hooded hat. “Yes! I...lost my balance is all!” she said with a cheerful high-pitched squeak, taking his offered hand. After standing up, Uraraka continued holding onto it. Her fingers trailed the larger scales along his forearm before stopping on the underside of his human arm. She seemed mesmerized from the smaller pebble-like scales he had there instead of smooth skin.

Bakugou’s curt cough snapped her out of whatever trance she had entered.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, Kirishima!” Uraraka said, blushing and waving her hands in front of her. “That was rude of me. I should have asked you if it was okay. I’m very sorry!”

The dragon returned his gaze on his arm. Warmth, unlike any he’d felt before, spread from the spots she had touched him. “You don’t have to apologize,” Kirishima stammered, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t remember the last time anyone grabbed my hand so carelessly.”

“I see.” Her rosy cheeks turned, if possible, redder. “If that’s settled then...I should get my things ready! Bye!” She bolted in the direction of the camp.

Her reaction puzzled Kirishima but he didn’t press the matter any further. They had an entire trip ahead to figure out things if they had to.

Bakugou remained uncharacteristically silent for the rest of that day.

***

Uraraka turned out to be a pleasant company indeed. With a spring in her step, she filled the following weeks with joy and excitement. Everything amazed her. From flowers growing on top of ancient columns, to the way Kirishima’s scales glistened when the sun hit them just right. It was contagious.

Even Bakugou started warming up to her. Especially after discovering how terrible were her actual cooking skills.

“No one can burn boiling water,” he said while throwing away the remains of Uraraka’s shoddy kettle, “or turn perfectly solid meat into slime. How you made it this far is beyond me!”

The Mage joined her hands together with an awkward smile. “People’s generosity?”

Bakugou shot his meanest stinky eye and begrudgingly accepted to involve her in their meal plans. He didn’t change his overall attitude towards Uraraka though; always keeping his distance as if uncertain of what to think of her. In Kirishima’s eyes, it was a tentative first step forward at least.

They eventually fell into a peaceful routine in their traveling. Guards stopped chasing Kirishima and Bakugou the moment they spotted them in town, allowing them a couple of hours to browse for supplies before sounding the alarm. As the group traveled mostly through the air, they had already covered a great distance by the time kingdom forces were alerted.

Kirishima had been worried Uraraka might come to the wrong conclusions. The duo weren’t criminals. Bakugou had simply ridiculed the current ruler once, and the King hadn’t taken it lightly. But Uraraka laughed her heart out when the dragon tried to explain the situation, calling it silly and dropping the subject. Relief washed over Kirishima. He let her ride on his head for the rest of that flight, smiling all the way. His partner, surprisingly, didn’t complain about the sitting arrangement for once.

This serenity was a fragile and fleeting state to remain for long though.

***

Things started going downhill when they reached the Great Mountains. Those massive blocks of earth, rising white and blue from the mist, were the last barrier before the Elderworm Woods. Plenty had attempted to cross them in the past; most giving up from the harsh cold and lack of proper passages. However, Kirishima had been confident about making it across when he had first suggested it to Bakugou. He could keep the Barbarian warm even if his winter garments and furs failed him. But the dragon hadn’t planned for a third person in their group, more so how it would distract him from his duties. The Gods had their way to jog his memory though.

On the third day of their crossing, while they were scaling a steep slope, Bakugou slipped. Kirishima could only stare in shock as his partner fell, his cape billowing behind him. Something passed next to Kirishima in a blur. It was Uraraka free-falling. The action startled him enough to snap out of his trance. Kirishima jumped after them, his wings unfolding from behind his back as he regained his dragon form. Passing through the clouds that had settled around the cliff, he found them suspended in midair. A pink aura was covering both their bodies like a shimmering cloak, but it flickered around Uraraka. She continued chanting; hands shaking around her magic staff. Her levitation spell wouldn’t last long.

With Bakugou too dumbfounded to reason, Kirishima just hovered below him and called for Uraraka to drop him. She did with a relieved sigh. Feeling Bakugou’s weight settle on his saddle, Kirishima flew upwards and picked the Mage midair. They reached the top and landed smoothly on the plateau there.

As Uraraka stroke Kirishima’s snout, Bakugou approached them with heavy steps and turned her around to face him.

“What did you do?” He yelled.

Uraraka stared back, the sharp scent of fear emanating from her body. “I saved… you.”

“Get one thing straight, Round Face. I didn’t need your help! Not now, not ever.”

“But you’d have died!” She released her arm from his grip. “I couldn’t just stand there and let you perish!”

“Spare me this shit,” he snapped back. “I have a motherfucking dragon on my side. Kirishima would have caught me before I hit the ground.”

“I wouldn’t.”

Both turned their questionable gaze at him.

Kirishima stared at his feet, his two hearts beating erratically. “I froze for a moment back there. Yeah, I might have had reached you but I can’t say that for sure. If Uraraka hadn’t intervened…”

Bakugou huffed and withdrew to the furthest corner of the plateau.

The Mage and the dragon set camp by themselves, occupying their thoughts with small talk and jokes.

Later on, when night had spread her silky midnight veil over the horizon and Uraraka had fallen asleep against Kirishima’s side, he heard the shuffling of clothes and steps approaching. The faint aroma of caramel Bakugou gave off was the only reason Kirishima wasn’t alarmed and continued to pretend to be asleep. The steps seized when they reached the dragon’s right side.

“You didn’t have to side with her,” Bakugou said.

Kirishima finally opened one eye to look at him. “I was being honest.”

“Bullshit.”

“It was the truth and you know it. You’d have been injured or worse, dead.”

“I’m not afraid of death,” Bakugou said. “It comes for everyone in the end.” Stepping on Kirishima’s snout, he scaled the dragon’s head to sit between his horns. “Your tongue has been getting ahead of itself lately.”

“Is that a problem?” Kirishima didn’t need to study his partner’s face to understand this was troubling him.

“It’s a bother, that’s what it is.” Bakugou flopped backward. “Where is this audacity coming from?”

“I’m not saying anything different than I did before.” Kirishima snorted. “You react to it more now.”

“I do not!”

“If you say so, man.”

Bakugou huffed. “She was being reckless,” he said, returning to their previous argument. “The idiot could have killed us both with that risky plan.”

“I thought it was brave,” Kirishima said wistfully. “And Uraraka did save your life, dude. You gotta thank her!”

“Whatever.” His cape slipped over the dragon’s right ear as Bakugou laid on his side. “Just go to sleep.”

Typical, Kirishima thought with a fond eye-roll.

His partner would prefer to set himself on fire before he acknowledged anyone’s help, even if that assistance had saved him from plummeting to his certain death. But if there was one thing bothering Kirishima was his own reaction back then. He prided himself in his quick reflexes. And yet, Uraraka’s smile had distracted him.

Could this be dangerous? he wondered while drifting asleep.

***

After the fiasco with the cliff, Bakugou decided he had his fill with scaling the mountains. If they could fly to reach them, they could fly across them too. No one objected to this plan at first, but it quickly turned into an extremely awkward ride. Bakugou hadn’t exchanged a single word with Uraraka since the incident and neither did she. Having to sit close, due to the harsh cold, didn’t prompt them to mend their differences either.

This negativity tired Kirishima. He was doing all the hard work. Couldn’t these two clear the tension between them? If only until they reached their destination at least.

The Gods granted his wish in the form of a snowstorm. Strong winds were bending his wings in the wrong directions. His second eyelid protected his eyes from the snow, but Kirishima couldn’t see clearly from the fogginess it accumulated.

“Hold on!” He shouted as dark shapes sprouted in front of him. The last thing he heard before colliding with something solid where his party’s screams.

When Kirishima opened his eyes again, everything was white. Ice and snow slid from his belly as he turned around to stand on all fours. His ears were ringing and his front was sore from his fall. Still, he craned his neck to find his saddle empty.

Panic flared in his chest as Kirishima scanned the horizon.

Oh, no… How long has it been?

There was nothing but plan hills made of snow as far as his eyes could reach.

No. I didn’t ask for this.

He dashed ahead, the ground parting beneath him in waves.

No! That’s not what I wanted.

Sure, things would be better if they got along. Bakugou was his friend, his partner, the closest thing he had to family anymore. The world could be against him and his personality had seen better days, but Kirishima had sworn to be there for him, in thick and thin. Compared to that, his relationship with Uraraka was still fresh; an uncharted, delicate bond Kirishima was only starting to make sense off. But if anything happened to her, none of his hearts wouldn’t take it.

Something shimmered on his left. The air was different around that terrain as if there was a boiling pot buried underneath. Kirishima bolted in that direction, not paying any attention at how the snow got deep enough to reach his shoulder. It was getting warmer.

After a long final jump, he landed on something soft and squishy. Releasing his fire, Kirishima melted the ice around it to reveal a pink force-field. Two forms were huddled together in its center, under Bakugou’s fur-lined cape.

“Guys!” Kirishima shouted.

Uraraka’s eyes fluttered open and she offered him a weak smile. The field started dissipating, allowing him to enter. Kirishima didn’t waste time and curled around them, offering his body’s heat. Relief washed over him, filling his eyes with water. Just as Kirishima settled his head on his tail, his gaze crossed with Bakugou’s red.

“Why are you crying, idiot?” The Barbarian murmured, exhausted.

He sniffed. “I almost lost you again.”

Bakugou scoffed and rapped his knuckles against the dragon’s scales. “You’re here now and that’s what fucking matters.”

***

When they resumed their traveling, the tension was gone. Uraraka even settled in Bakugou’s lap and he had to hug her to hold the reins. At first, Kirishima didn't pay much attention to it. They had been in mortal peril before, almost freezing to death. Of course, they would cuddle for warmth. Kirishima went as far as to congratulate Uraraka for convincing his stubborn partner to go with the original plan. Her flustered reaction tipped him off that something was amiss though. Ignoring the sour taste it left in his mouth, Kirishima focused on getting them away from these cursed mountains instead.

The rest of the trip was uneventful and after a particular steep peak, the Elderworm Woods unfolded before their eyes; a vast green sea, full of creatures with every size and color under the sun. Giant trees—taller than the High Castle itself—spread over the terrain. Magic rode on the wind like sparkly ribbons made of stars. Kirishima could sense it, filtering through his wings and bouncing on his scales.

It felt like home.

His excitement carried over to the others. Uraraka was tracing her fingers through the air with glee. A small smile spread across Bakugou’s face as he tried to see everything at once.

They were happy and it should have been enough. Kirishima didn’t want to think about the consequences of reaching their destination. But as they settled for the night, he was unable to sleep. Scenario upon scenario bounced around his head like excited fox-squirrels. What all of them had in common was Uraraka or Bakugou or, Gods forbid, both leaving him behind. He could stay in this forest forever but could they?.

The blooming romance between the two only increased Kirishima’s worry. Bakugou wasn’t the type of guy to sit in a field of flowers with anyone before; more so with someone, he had been on the fence for a while. Whenever Kirishima asked him about it, the Barbarian claimed he was helping Uraraka with her thesis. The sooner she finished, the better for everyone. Uraraka would return to her Academy, he and Kirishima would return on their adventuring. Yet, by observing them, it seemed more like Bakugou stalled on purpose. Chasing Uraraka around while she was gathering herbs. Climbing with her on trees to stargaze or exploring the forest together.

Kirishima couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He didn’t want to get in the way of their happiness either.

So one day, while Uraraka went on her regular herb-hunting, Kirishima grabbed Bakugou and flew to the nearest hill. Despite his protests, the Barbarian remained quiet after their landing. Transforming into his human form, Kirishima took a seat on a boulder. He had gone over his words several times. Still, he didn’t know where to begin.

“If you have something to say, just get this over with.” Bakugou crossed his arms. “She’s gonna get worried and whine about it.”

Kirishima took the crumb, like a drowning man looking for a lifeline. “That’s what I wanna talk about.”

“Uraraka’s whining?”

“No! Uraraka in general.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And she’s kind-hearted enough to worry about us. You should give her more credit about that.”

“Fine. What about her?”

“I’ve noticed she acts differently around you lately. I mean you still have your arguments and rivalry going on, but it’s more mellow than before. Almost like teasing,” Kirishima said, pulling at some weeds. “I don’t think you notice it but you have this look on your face whenever Uraraka is around like spring has come early.” Saying his observations aloud wasn’t supposed to hurt. But Kirishima’s insides were twisting; as if the fire in his lungs had escaped to the rest of his body. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s pretty obvious that you like her and she does too. So I—“

“Huh?!” Birds flew away from the foliage nearby, Bakugou’s yell scaring them off. His eyes were so wide, they might as well had popped up from their sockets at any moment. “You serious?” He said, calmer but still in a tone of disbelief. “Are you blind? She likes you!”

“What?” It was Kirishima’s turn to stare as if madness had contaminated his partner.

Bakugou started passing. His cape swiped the ground, raising dust behind him. “She never shuts up about you. Always has a nice word and a smile for you. Haven’t you learned anything about human courtship all these years?” He turned around to point dramatically at him. “You obviously like her back too. Giving her the best part of the meat. Offering rides. Looking at her as if you worship the ground she walks on. So don’t joke around!”

“I’m not! I’m not human, man. I may look like the part from time to time. Deep down though, I’m too different to completely understand her,” he said. Clenching his scale-covered fists, Kirishima stood up to reason with his partner. “I’m a monster. That’s why she’s better off with you anyway.”

“Bullshit!” Bakugou bonked him on the head. “You’re soft-hearted to a fault! People see someone big that breathes fire and they think he’s dangerous. We both know that you’d be better off at some secluded cave in the mountains than go around burning villages,” he said with a wave. “So what if I am human? They are scared of me! Who, in their right mind, would want to be around someone who half the kingdom is asking for his head?”

“You’re not that scary, man,” Kirishima said. “I’ve stayed by your side for so long, didn’t I?”

“You don’t classify as ‘someone in his right mind’ for exactly that reason.” Bakugou took a deep breath. “Never. Not once, I got that reaction from you. As if you aren’t fazed by anything and everything in the world is your friend. So don’t give me this crap of being a monster. If there is one, that’s me. And Uraraka is better off with someone that can treat her right.”

“But she’s so head-over-heels for you, dude!” Kirishima shook him by the shoulders. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Bakugou grabbed him by the horns and pressed their foreheads together. “You are the one in denial and projecting your feelings on me.”

“Just admit it!”

“You admit it!”

“Don’t I have a say in all this?” Uraraka’s voice, albeit sweet with a tinge of a hidden laugh in her tone, dropped like lighting right then and there.

The boys untangled themselves and stared back at her. Uraraka held her wand on one hand and a patch of herbs under the other. Her hair and clothes were a mess. She probably flew to this hill too since their camp was at least a mile away. Her body language wasn’t showing any angry signs. But Kirishima could smell the anxiety oozing from her in waves.

“I thought something happened,” Uraraka said with a sigh. “And here you are, arguing over something so stupid!”

It stunk. Was there a possibility she wasn’t romantically interested in either of them and they had made a fool of themselves, treating her as an object and not a person with her own will?

“What do you mean?” Bakugou demanded to know.

“I have two hands!” Uraraka exclaimed frustrated.

Kirishima didn’t understand the statement and by Bakugou’s blank expression, neither did he.

“Of course you have two hands,” the dragon offered. “You’re a human. That’s normal.”

Uraraka huffed. Leaving her staff and the herbs on the ground, she approached them with a confident stance. Both boys took an involuntary step back, not sure what to expect of her. When Uraraka finally stood in front of them, she took ahold of one hand from each.

“See?” she asked with a blinding smile. “We can all stay together this way.”

Bakugou figured it out first. His whole face turned the same shade of red as Kirishima’s scales. Heat emanated from his body, small wisps of smoke trailing from his free fist.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Barbarian muttered, not looking any of them in the eye.

Kirishima scratched his cheek, still staring at their joint hands as if it was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “I don’t get it,” he said.

"It means I like you both, silly!" Uraraka said as if it was the simplest concept in the world.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Bakugou grabbed Kirishima by his jacket. "That's all you have to say?"

The dragon allowed his body to be rocked sideways. "Why are you angry, man? This great! I haven't heard of a three people's mating but it could work, right?"

Bakugou's face turned, if possible, redder than before. "Like hell it is!" He turned to Uraraka. "And you. I don't know what possessed you, Round Face. This idiot here isn't some pet you keep in your backyard and throw away when it's too big to fit there. He is someone with feelings you can hurt with statements like that. Last week, he cried because he thought he destroyed a badgers nest!"

"I know! That's why I like him!" Uraraka said. "For his heart is his biggest strength and his smile is...” She blushed. “Adorable.”

“Really?” Kirishima pointed at his razor-sharp teeth. “Don’t you think it’s scary?”

“Says who?” Bakugou scoffed. “It’s badass, that’s all.”

Uraraka cooed—to the Barbarian’s embarrassment—before her grin turned into a frown. “I still can’t believe both of you like me. I thought I was getting between you two.”

“What?!” The boys cried.

“Hear me out!” she said. “You called each other ‘partner’ all the time.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou said. “Because we are comrades-in-arms.”

“I was watching you two from the day I met you. It always looked like something more.”

At that moment, a particularly challenging battle flashed before Kirishima’s eyes. Bakugou and he had been separated. Soldiers were surrounding the dragon to stop him. Kirishima did feel a bit sorry for them when he resumed his human form and broke through their blockade. It hadn’t lasted for long though, as the mindset of battle overcame him. With half a mind, he continued searching for his partner. Deep down, Kirishima knew it was unnecessary. Bakugou was a powerful wizard and a merciless warrior; he didn’t need assistance. But he was also human and not having him in his sight, made Kirishima worry.

During a lull in the battle, he finally spotted ash-blond spiky hair in the distance. The Barbarian had lost his cape, fighting bare-chested with his trusty curved blades on both hands. Bloodstains littered his body but they weren’t from his wounds. Kirishima dropped the soldier he had just defeated, watching mesmerized while Bakugou fought simultaneously against three enemies with a wicked grin on his face. It was a memory the dragon held dear in his two hearts because it was what real freedom looked like to him.

“I guess that’s true,” Kirishima said with a shy smile.

Pulling his hand away, Bakugou turned around with arms crossed. His scent was resembling more of burnt caramel and smoke escaped his clenched fists in bulk.

“Said something wrong?” Uraraka asked.

Although his expression wasn’t visible, Kirishima knew they didn’t have to worry. If anything, the Barbarian’s ears still had a touch of red to them.

“No,” Bakugou grumbled. “You’re just disgustingly corny.”

The dragon and the Mage exchanged a knowing look before both tackled him from behind.

“Get off me!”

“We love you, too!” Uraraka chimed.

Kirishima’s hearts were hammering so loud in his chest. Joy, unlike any he felt before, filled him to the brim like a magic boost. Without Kirishima realizing, his wings unfolded and he shot to the sky above them with an excited roar. He didn’t have to choose between them nor would he be left behind. They could stay together for as long as they lived.

“Put us down, you idiot!” Bakugou shouted over the wind. “You can be happy on the ground too!”

#kirikacchako #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #dragon!kirishima #barbarian!bakugou #witch!uraraka #bnha fantasy au #fantasy rpg au #fantasy au #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #secret santa #bnsa secret santa 2019 #wolfswriting

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cheshiresense · 5 years ago

Note

For the 5+ headcanons post, I was interested in seeing if you had anything for UraIchi. I didn't have a specific au in mind although I really enjoyed "Hope Springs Eternal" and would be interested in any epilogue thoughts, or something Seireitei University perhaps.

Utter crack, thy name is Seireitei University ^_^||| I’ll give you something from HSE instead lol~

1. They never do get around to having a awkward dancing around each other/pining/dramatic confession moment. They have an apocalypse to reverse and no time for lovesickness, but also Ichigo’s spent too long on his own to realize those are things a lot of people go through, especially at his age. They already spend most of their time together, Ichigo knows more about Kisuke than he does any of the others, and they practically sleep in the same bed, with how close their futons have gotten (because sometimes they stay up at night lobbing new ideas about the Hogyoku back and forth and planning for the past-future or just talking about nothing until they fall asleep). Kisuke’s always been a category of his own in Ichigo’s mind, and if he starts thinking he wouldn’t mind waking up more often with his head pillowed on Kisuke’s thigh while Kisuke scribbles new theories in his notebook, it’s not as if it’s anything that different from what they’ve already been doing anyway. On Kisuke’s part, he probably notices before Ichigo, and he thinks for a hot second that he should probably feel guilty– but a fierce sort of possessiveness overshadows it more and more with every time Ichigo turns to look at him first, with every smile shared over tea at midnight, with every lethally beautiful dance together in the training grounds, and Kisuke can’t bring himself to object in the end. He figures he’ll go at Ichigo’s pace, and that will have to be good enough.

2. The world is very different once they’re back in the past. Aizen is handily taken care of with a bit of custom-made poison and an assassin of Yoruichi’s caliber, staged as an accident and all his research quietly destroyed. The problems come after that. Half of them don’t even remember what it’s like anymore, to live in a world where stepping outside doesn’t mean potential instant death, where they don’t have to hoard food and carry weapons and mark every hiding place and exit in any given vicinity. Even for the adults and Shinigami amongst them, it’s difficult not to flinch under the natural sunlight or go their separate ways and put down roots in buildings no longer half as warded as the warehouse they’ve lived in for the past decade and a half.

Some adjust more quickly. Ichigo does not. He stares at the crowds and unbroken streets and bustling shops like they’re completely foreign. He jumps at music blasting from a loudspeaker and is constantly tamping down the reiatsu that sparks at his fingertips every time a group of people walks by chattering freely. He walks into restaurants like he half-thinks they’re one of Aizen’s illusions. Kisuke… hopes he helps. They go on walks and he shows Ichigo more open, quieter areas like the parks and the riverbank and the hiking trails. He shows him hand-drawn maps of Karakura, points out all the entrances and exits of everything from the mall to the high school to the hospital. They take it slow, and whenever Ichigo starts looking overwhelmed, a couple Kidou spells from Kisuke is enough to redirect the crowds somewhere else.

3. Another perk of travelling back to the past is that it fixes Ichigo’s body. His power levels stay the same, his control and strength and speed all remain, and they even made it so that he keeps his eighteen years instead of being stuffed back into his ten-year-old body (there’s a moment where they have to scramble for paperwork and possibly amnesia-fy an entire town), but for the longest time after they return, Ichigo takes to staring into the bathroom mirror with something as desperate as it is disbelieving. He never does break the habit of wearing clothes that cover up most of his skin, but he also bares himself for Kisuke more easily, and Kisuke loves the way he shudders when they’re in bed and he’s running slow reverent hands over miles of tanned flesh, taking just as much comfort in the smooth warmth of a body unmarred by his mistakes.

4. Isshin is a Problem for all of two minutes when he catches Ichigo pinning Kisuke to a wall in the Shouten, kissing the breath out of him, thoroughly enough that it takes several dazed seconds for Kisuke to pull his brain cells back together when Isshin shrieks something unintelligible from the doorway. Technically, Isshin knows about the Other Future, but he has no memory of it, not like the rest of them do, and they certainly didn’t tell him about Ichigo and Kisuke - Ichigo because he couldn’t be bothered with someone who might as well be a stranger, Kisuke because he’s never been in the business of airing his personal laundry. So Isshin shouts and accuses Kisuke of being a pervert and preying on his innocent son and demanding he keep away from Ichigo from now on, and Kisuke only has time to feel Benihime seethe at the back of his mind before Masaki appears, casually kicks Isshin back out into the courtyard, waves at them with a cheerful reminder to “practice safe sex!”, and then she’s gone, dragging Isshin away with her. The next time they see Isshin, he still glares daggers at Kisuke but he keeps his opinions to himself, especially since every time he opens his mouth, Masaki’s smile would brighten like demonic sunshine, and Isshin would snap his mouth shut again with a wince, face bleaching white as he adopts a mien more suitable for a funeral. Ichigo’s mother is terrifying, and Kisuke prays he never gets on the wrong side of her.

5. Ichigo’s favourite thing about being back in the past is how much more freedom he has. He doesn’t know any other way to put it– it isn’t as if he was locked up in that Other Future, and it’s been years since anything could really pose a danger to him - Aizen aside - so it wasn’t like he hadn’t been able to wander wherever he pleased even back then. But here, where people don’t scuttle around like they’re constantly expecting death, where there’s no bodies littering the ground, and the air doesn’t smell like blood and rot, Ichigo in turn has no reason to constantly keep his guard up, to patrol and scavenge for supplies and be ready for battle at any moment. Sure, it’s a little boring with only a few Hollows to kill every other month, but it also means his family is a lot safer, and he’s free to do things like tangle his fingers with Kisuke’s when they take a peaceful walk in the evening, or go out for dinner and come back late without anyone panicking about something happening to either of them, or just stay in bed all day with Kisuke, knowing the cupboards and fridge are full and they don’t have to get up to tend to the farm or hunt for more essentials or search for another way to end Aizen once and for all. It admittedly takes some getting used to, but this world is definitely preferable to the apocalyptic one, and Ichigo doesn’t plan on wasting a single day of it.

#headcanon meme: answered #bleach #uraichi #hope springs eternal #hiruma-musouka #urahara kisuke #kurosaki ichigo #headcanon

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kimjongdaely · 5 years ago

Text

The Masquerade [Chapter 3]

All members; EXO

Genre: Mystery, horror, choose your own adventure

Warnings: Violence, blood, language, character death

Summary: What started as a fun Halloween masquerade turns out to be much darker than you thought. With all these masks, how do you know who is friend and who is foe?

Invitation│Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8│Chapter 9│Chapter 10│Chapter 11

You have decided to suspect Junmyeon.

You carefully approach Junmyeon, noting how he doesn’t react at all, still in a daze.

“Junmyeon?” You call for him gently, not wanting to scare him any more than he already is. He flinches, blinking at you as if noticing you for the first time. His eyes are wide and filled with fear. “Are you okay?”

“No.” He whispers, trembling slightly. “Not the slightest. I-I don’t want to die.”

“Hey,” you squeeze his shoulder, “You’re not gonna die. We’re all gonna get out, okay?”

He swallows hard, nodding. His eyes glosses over behind his mask.

If he’s so scared of dying, would he hurt any of us to get out? You wonder, feeling your suspicion of him grow. You’re certainly going to keep an eye on him.

“Do you think she left us with any food?” Baekhyun asks, wandering around. “I’m pretty hungry.”

“Let’s go check the dining room.” Junmyeon says seemingly recomposing himself. He takes in a deep breath as he heads towards the door leading to the dining room, pushing it open.

There are, in fact, food prepared.

A long table filled with all kinds of cuisine fills your vision. The smell is amazing, making your stomach rumble and mouth water. You’re skeptical to eat though, eyeing the food cautiously.

“Should we, uh, eat?” Sehun asks, taking a step forward, placing a hand on the dark wood of the table. Your stomach rumbles again, and they all look hungry, unable to tear their eyes away. No one moves though.

Baekhyun steps forward, gulping. “Well, I said it first. I volunteer as tribute.” He picks up a simple bread, glistening under the light of the chandelier. You gulp, watching him slowly bring it to his mouth, taking a tentative bite.

You watch him swallow, his eyes squeezing tight behind his mask as if waiting for poison to kick in.

One minute.

Two.

Three.

Nothing happens.

He breathes out in utter relief, a shaky smile breaking out. “It’s safe! Let’s eat.”

Everyone hurriedly takes a seat at the table, grabbing food like you’ve been starved for weeks. Somehow it does feel like that. You’re unsure how long you’ve been out, or even what happened to all the other guests.

The thought makes you suddenly less hungry, your heart growing heavy.

You hope they’re safe. You hope you will be safe.

You glance at your companions, trying to look past their masks. It’s hard to tell exactly what facial expressions they have on, making them feel much more distant than normal. Even though you know their names, they still feel anonymous. It’s hard to put trust in them, but you have no one else to rely on other than yourself.

You’re not sure how far relying on yourself will take you.

“Hey, Sehun” You hear Baekhyun say softly, a tight smile on his lips as he hands a pretty transparent pull-string bag of candies towards Sehun. “Try one! They’re really good.”

Sehun grabs the bag, pouring a few candies onto his palm before popping them into his mouth. You glance away, keeping your eye on Junmyeon, watching for any sudden or unusual movements. He seems overall normal though, eating quietly and keeping to himself.

When you notice, it’s too late.

Sehun is coughing violently, froth bubbling out of his mouth. He chokes, eyes rolling back as he claws at his throat. He falls out of his chair, wriggling on the floor.

“Oh, no, no, no.” You mutter as you hurry to his side, the others also jumping out of their seats to gather around him. Baekhyun has his face buried in his hands, shaking, whispering apologies frantically.

“Help me prop him up!” You yell, Minseok moving to hold him upright as he begins to lose consciousness.

You grab a jar of water, gripping his jaw to open his mouth before pouring water down his throat forcefully.

“Come on, come on.” You chant, trying to wash out the poison or make him cough it back out. “Stay with us.”

“Is he going to die?” Chanyeol asks, biting his knuckles as he paces nervously. “Oh god.”

“Please.” The jar is almost empty now, and Sehun still isn’t reacting. You feel tears sting your eyes. “Please.”

He rasps out, no longer breathing. He looks at you with wide, terrified eyes before...

He stops moving.

Baekhyun collapses onto his knees, eyes red with tears. “I-I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t know—I—”

You feel sick, your thoughts running a mile a minute but terrifyingly blank at the same time. You drop the jar, stepping away from the body. “Was that your mission?” You ask Baekhyun, sounding much calmer than you feel.

Baekhyun nods slowly, sniffing. “I-It just gave me the bag and said to feed Sehun the candies...I didn’t...”

“So, that means...” Yixing breathes out, cutting through Baekhyun’s hysteria. “The missions...either we kill someone or...” He can’t bring himself to continue.

“Or we get killed. It’s kill or be killed.” Kyungsoo states, voice hard.

Silence hangs heavily in the air, no one moving, everyone lost in their own thoughts. You can’t believe it. You just saw a man die. You could’ve saved him. If only you paid more attention to their interaction! If only you caught on earlier. You shouldn’t have suspected Junmyeon. You feel so stupid, so helpless.

You feel yourself go limp, sinking onto the floor.

When you return to your room that night, you feel so cold. The weight, the reality of the situation has finally caught up to you. You can’t possibly continue to pretend that nothing’s wrong, that you will all be safe.

You have nightmares that night.

The next morning, the nine of you are considerably more grim and solemn. They all have shadows under their eyes, even their mask can’t hide it. It seems that no one was able to get a good night’s sleep.

Everyone is silent, looking down at the ground, lost in their thoughts. You’re one day into this so-called ‘game’ and you’ve already lost someone. Baekhyun looks permanently pale, face ashen with guilt and regret.

You wish you could comfort him in some way, but you’re not sure how. He technically killed someone. You don’t think the trauma would leave anytime soon.

A newfound fear and panic takes root in your heart. Will you have to kill someone? Or be killed? How many of you will actually make it out?

“So,” Jongdae is first to break the thick silence. “Who has the mission today?”

No one speaks, eyes glancing towards each other. Jongdae lets out a hollow laugh. “Right, we can’t tell.”

Chanyeol moves towards the dining room, hesitating at the doorway, but continues to push it open. You expected to see the body, since no one was brave enough to move it, but to your utter surprise, it’s gone.

The others are also surprised by this, immediately entering the dining room to search for the body.

The speakers crackle to life again, the overly peppy female voice filling the room. “Congratulations on surviving your first day!”

“You sick bitch!” Jongin yells at the ceiling, voice cracking slightly.

“Where’s Sehun?” Yixing asks, an edge of hurt in his tone.

“I moved him away.” She answers pleasantly. “Wouldn’t want to hinder the game with a rotting corpse.”

“Rotting...” You feel sick.

“Why would you do this?” Minseok demands.

She doesn’t answer, merely exclaiming, “Good luck!” The speakers turn off again.

You couldn’t save Sehun. Who do you think has the second mission? Send in your votes!

Chapter 2 Vote Results:

Junmyeon - 9

Kyungsoo - 2

Yixing - 2

Chanyeol - 1

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter

The Masquerade Mini Masterlist

A/N: I’m sorry Sehun. I agonized over who to kill...I hope you all take the voting more seriously now :) You are in charge of who dies and who doesn’t. Have fun~

Tagged: @always-wishing-for-rain @fairyyeols @yehettomyheart @foreverloey @trishmarieco @writingstuffandmore @thalasoophilia @ilovexiu @twentyfifththought @guardians-of-exo @hour127 @chensuggababy @wylke @dear-fake-diary @meryljill-111192 @pastel-kpop

Tell me if you want to be tagged!

©kimjongdaely

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themadlostgirl · 6 years ago

Text

A Request

*I completely forgot I had this in my requests. Better late than never.*

Prompt: Peter blackmails Reader. (It was vague so I took liberties)

Requested by: Anon

Warnings: language

“That is the last time I arm wrestle Felix,” I groaned as I rolled my shoulder. I beat a few of the other Lost Boys and then Felix came in and popped my shoulder out of place! Asshole.

I crawled into my tent and reached under my cot for my diary. Being on this island and dealing with all these boys took a lot of emotional energy. I wasn’t particularly close to any of the boys either so I did all my venting in this journal. It also helped with figuring out how I felt about the others. Especially Pan.

It is fair to say that half of this journal was me trying to put into words the weird amalgamation of irritation, respect, fear and attraction I had for Peter Pan. He’s a bag of dicks most of the time but also fun and funny and willing to work with you if you too are willing to take criticism. As the only girl on the island (outside of Tink) I did not want to go around talking to anyone about a crush I may have had on the leader. I certainly didn’t want anyone to know about the couple sordid dreams I may have had of said person. The torment I am sure would cause me to die of embarrassment or even worse Pan would kick me off the island because he’s disgusted by my feelings.

I reached under my cot and my body broke out in a cold sweat. Where is it? Where’s my diary? I flipped the entire cot over but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere in my tent! Oh god...this isn’t happening! I did another sweep of my tent and the surrounding area but it was gone.

Trying to search the camp discreetly was not an easy task. I need to keep calm. It’s not like my name is in it...but it is my handwriting and I lament about being the only girl and I am completely and utterly screwed, aren’t I?

“Looking for something, Lost Girl?” A voice behind me made me freeze.

“No, not at all,” I turned around to face Pan.

“Really? Certainly looks like you’re trying to recover something you lost.” he held up my diary.

“Damn.”

“It’s a real page turner.” he flipped through a couple of the pages. I reached for it but he held it out of reach. “I’ve seen you doodling in this a thousand times and I have to say my curiosity got the better of me.”

“It’s all nonsense. I don’t know why you’d think--”

“I am much more interested in what you think, dear Y/N.” he tapped my forehead with the journal. “The fact that you think I have flecks of gold in my grassy green eyes. That’s nonsense?”

“Obviously.”

“Or how about how you wished you could have concluded a rather saucy dream you had been having--”

“Stop!” I wrestled the diary away from him. My face was burning. “I hate you.”

I stormed off trying to pull together some remaining shred of dignity.

“Hate me or not,” he teleported in front of me using my moment of shock to pluck the journal out of my hands. “I think we are in a most interesting situation.”

“What do you want?”

“If you do not want the contents of this diary released to the rest of the camp then you’ll do as I say.”

“Pan…” My stomach started to twist. “If you think you can blackmail me into doing--doing--”

“Nothing like that. I’m ‘an arrogant codfish’” he quoted with a smirk, “But I’m not inhumane.”

“So what do you want?” I breathed easier but by no means was I relaxed.

“Be my personal servant for a week.”

“What?”

“Follow me around, do whatever I say, wait on me hand and foot. That sort of deal.”

“I think you’re taking this King of Neverland thing a bit too far.”

“Only when I get a crown will it have been too far.” He held out my diary for me.

“And you promise that if I do this you won’t tell the others?”

“You have my word.”

I took the diary back and held it close to my chest. “Fine. I want you to know that I think you’re an asshole though. Taking the diary in the first place was one thing but blackmailing me isn’t helping my opinion of you.”

“I know what your opinion of me is, Lost Girl. Theft and blackmail isn’t going to hurt it too bad I wager.” He winked and stalked off.

I swear to god I am going to end that boy.

“Hey, servant!” Pan shouted across the camp, “Shouldn’t you be following your master?”

And so my own hell begins.

~~~

A week of being Pan’s servant was horrific. I had to do dumb mundane things that I know he could accomplish himself with just a flick of his wrist. One day he had me stand in for target practice. Nothing hit me but I tensed up everytime an arrow flew at my head. I made a comment about how dumb this servant thing was and he made me scatter flower petals in front of him wherever he walked. Then because I would run out I had to go back and collect all the stepped on petals I had just dropped.

What was strange was that about halfway through the requests became different. No more target practice and mundane tasks like filling up his canteen. Like the one evening he complained that he was cold and instead of doing something rational like get me to start a fire or fetch a cloak he made me lay down with him on the hammock. It was awkward and the looks from the boys that passed were terrible blows to my dignity.

It wasn’t entirely horrible though. Aside from the sniggering Lost Boys it had been a pretty nice time on the hammock. Then another day he asked me to taste tests some food he had stolen from the pirates for poison. It didn’t occur to me until after that there was no way the pirates could have had freshly baked cake or perfectly roasted pheasant on the ship. Peter must have conjured it. But why make me eat it with him then?

By the last day he wasn’t even requesting anything from me outside of following him around and occasionally grabbing something for him.

“Well, Peter,” I skipped next to him, “Tonight marks the last day you have your servant.”

“I’m aware.” he sighed, “It’s been fun.”

“For you.”

“You haven’t had fun?”

“You used me for target practice!”

“I used the apple for target practice. You were merely the stool it sat upon.”

“I’m just glad this whole ordeal will finally be over.” I went on ahead of him.

Later that night I sat by the fire at peace that the blackmailing could finally come to an end. Peter sat down next to me. I could tell something was on his mind but for whatever reason he wasn’t saying anything.

“Got another request?” I joked, “I know that technically I stopped being your servant an hour ago but you’ve kept your promise so far so I’ll grant you one more request with no argument.”

“One more request, huh?” he stared at me for a long time before that dumb smirk creased his face. He stood up and held out hand to me. “Dance with me.”

“What?”

“You said no arguments.” he reminded me, “Come on. I promise I won’t step on your toes.”

“If that’s what you want to waste it on then by all means. Let’s have a dance.” I rolled my eyes but inside my heart was doing somersaults. Why out of all he could have made me do, was he asking me for a dance? There had to be some kind of motive. Some embarrassing play to be had.

He pulled me off the ground and he lead me around the bonfire. Slowly at first but the pace of the dance quickened with the song. I let myself stop worrying about what may happen and let myself enjoy the experience. There was a reason for my feelings for Peter. In a moment like this it only reminded me of why I needed the diary in the first place. What I felt was too strong to keep to myself. I needed to express it someway.

My eyes were locked with Peter’s as we twirled around and around. It took me a moment to realize that my feet were no longer skipping across the dirt. We had ascended into the air. Far above the camp and the trees so we were surrounded by starshine and moonlight.

“Peter?” I clung onto him more firmly as I started to wobble.

“Don’t worry. I got you.” He smiled at me. “I just thought it would be better up here.”

The buzz of magic around us made it hard to think straight or maybe it was his eyes staring at me in that soft manner. We were pressed so close that I could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Better for what?” I heard myself asking.

“A final request.”

“You used your last request.”

“I know. I don’t ask it expecting you to obey because I can blackmail you. I want your honest response.”

“To what?”

His eyes darted to my lips before meeting my eyes again. I would almost say the apprehension could be described as coy in this instance. He leaned in close so that his nose brushed against mine. “Kiss me?” he whispered.

I had to bite my lip to keep from breaking into a huge guilty smile. “I think I can do that.”

#request #ouat peter pan #peter pan ouat #ouat #neverland #peter pan imagine #peter pan x reader

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thefuriousstarlightstudent · 6 years ago

Text

Batfam Christmas Stocking

So here’s my fic for the Batfam Christmas Stocking Exchange! It was written for @ghostjasontodd. Hopefully they like it! I used their platonic soulmate prompt, and while it’s not as Christmas-themed as I’d have liked to make it, I think it’s okay.

To preface this, Jason hadn’t expected to meet one of his soulmates tonight. He’d expected to lift a few tires, maybe get a wallet or two from tourists, then hit the sack. Of course, all his plans hit a wall when he saw the Batmobile parked in an alley. The Batmobile.

At first, his plans had been completely innocent. What kid didn’t like Batman? He was still a kid, so he liked Batman. It wasn’t like him looking at the car and maybe hanging around to catch a glimpse of the Dark Knight would hurt anyone. But then as he drew closer he saw the tires.

If tires could be beautiful, these would be the ones. The rubber looked brand new and there wasn’t a pebble to be found lodged in any of the grooves. Any fool - even someone like Bruce Wayne - would be able to tell these were nice tires. Real nice tires. And hey, Jason needed to eat.

So he knelt down and got to work, ignoring the stinging of the gravel on his knees. Shorts didn’t exactly offer much protection. Especially the cheap ones he had.

The tires took a lot longer than the estimated fifteen minutes. In fact, it took him about thirty minutes, and that was only for three! He rolled the third one away to join the others behind a dumpster. It wouldn’t do to have someone come and lift the tires he’d lifted first.

Once he was sure no one would spot them, he moved towards the Batmobile again and started on the fourth tire. About half the springs holding the hubcap in place had been removed when he heard a slight whooshing noise behind him.

Jason tensed minutely. Maybe whoever it was hadn’t seen him? And even if they had, better to act casual. It was more likely no one would bug him that way. After a moment, once Jason was sure he wasn’t about to be arrested or beaten, he continued. Then he felt someone grab the collar of his hoodie from behind and was lifted into the air.

“You do realize that’s the Batmobile, right?” a gravelly voice asked. A voice that was far too familiar for Jason’s liking. Also, he didn’t exactly like the words either.

You do realize that’s the Batmobile, right?

He’d had those words tattooed on the back of his neck for as long as he could remember. His soulmark, his mom had told him, whispering it when his dad wasn’t around. He already had one on his shoulder that said: ‘Jason, my baby boy’. That was from his mom. In turn, his mom had few words of baby babble displayed on her forearm. The second one had come in just a few weeks after he was born, apparently.

The ink was red. The same shade as the one he shared with his mom. It meant it was a platonic soulmate he’d have. Like a best friend. Maybe a father figure. Jason didn’t think his mom meant for him to hear that one though. He had a few other red ones appear over the years, but so far only his mom had ever said his words.

Willis Todd had always hated anything to do with soulmarks, probably because he didn’t have one. Jason had made the mistake of asking his dad why he didn’t have one once. As a little kid, he’d been confused. After all, if he and his mom had marks for each other, why wasn’t it the same way for him and his dad?

His mom had been cleaning up his bloody nose when she revealed that Willis wasn’t her soulmate. Romantic or otherwise. That had… confused Jason. He hadn’t understood why she stayed then. And so he’d asked why she didn’t go and find her romantic soulmate.

She hadn’t told him.

The point was, Jason’s mom had told him about soulmates. How the first words they ever said to you were the words tattooed on your skin. How your words burned when you heard your soulmate say them.

And Jason’s neck certainly burned. This was worse than he might have ever expected. Ever. Seriously. Batman couldn’t be his soulmate. Jason’s wasn’t exactly a good guy. He wasn’t a bad guy either, but still. And what was it supposed to mean? He and Batman would be BFFs?

“Let me go, you big boob!” Jason shouted while kicking out. It was the first thing that came to mind and it took him a second after saying it to realize that Batman’s words were bound to be ‘Let me go, you big boob!’. Jason couldn’t exactly bring himself to regret it.

Batman did nearly drop him, but Jason got the feeling it was because of his words more than his kick. Jason continued to squirm while Batman was in shock, but it was no use. Batman just frowned and set Jason down.

“Don’t try running,” he advised. Jason, wisely, listened. “Where are my tires?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. I just happened to be walking by when I saw that three of ‘em were missing.”

“Uh-huh,” Batman hummed. “Where did you put them.”

Jason probably wouldn’t have answered the same way as before, except the look that Batman was giving him could kill, of that he had no doubt.

“Behind the dumpster,” Jason said sullenly, pointing. If he had any luck, Batman would go grab them and give Jason the chance to escape.

So of course, he had no luck.

“Go get them and put them back on.”

Jason glared at Batman. “Why do I have to?”

“You took them off.”

Well, that was true. Still, it ruined Jason’s escape plan.

“Fine.” Jason rolled them back over one by one and left them in a pile at Batman’s feet. “Can I go now?”

Batman looked pointedly from the tires to the Batmobile. “Put them on.”

Jason grimaced, and again, considered making a run for it. In the end, he deemed it too much of a risk. Batman was definitely faster than him. There was no doubt he’d catch Jason if he tried to run away.

“Fine,” Jason grumbled. “If you insist.”

He quickly got to work. Fortunately, putting the tires on was much faster than getting them off and it only took fifteen minutes. While Batman moved closer to inspect the wheels one by one, Jason slid towards the mouth of the alley. Just before he made a run for it, Batman looked over at him.

“What’s your name?”

Jason froze. “What?”

“Your name,” Batman repeated. “What is it?”

“Like I’m about to tell some guy in a mask and tights,” Jason scoffed.

Batman gave him a look. “I’ll figure it out either way.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Fine, kid,” Batman said. And then he jumped into the Batmobile and drove away.

Jason couldn’t believe it. He’d encountered the Batman and survived without a trip to juvie or foster care. Now that the ‘danger’ was over, he felt giddy. Then it all came crashing down.

Batman was one of his platonic soulmates. And he was Batman. The World’s Greatest Detective. There was no way he wouldn’t find out who Jason was. Then who knew what would happen?

Jason shuddered and pulled the hood of his hoodie up. It was time to make himself scarce for a bit and use the rainy day money until he was safe to show his face again. Preferably after Batman forgot about him.

Mind made up, Jason scurried off.

***

Two Weeks Later

Two weeks, Jason had thought, would be enough to keep him safe. He’d thought that there was no way Batman would still care about him, no matter how cool - objectively - he was. Jason would very much like to tell past Jason, who figured that, to go jump in a lake.

Although, technically past Jason was right. Batman hadn’t cared about him, or if he did, he hadn’t been the one to catch him.

It had been one wallet. One stinking wallet from one rich guy. Bruce Wayne of all people. Jason figured that guy probably had twenty Benjamin's in his wallet. Well, either that two-week break had messed with Jason’s reflexes and sneakiness or Wayne wasn’t as much of an idiot as Jason had assumed.

Jason was going to go with the second one, judging by the look Wayne was giving him.

“What exactly were you doing, young man?” Wayne asked, plucking his wallet back from Jason’s hand and releasing Jason’s wrist a second later. One eyebrow was raised in the perfect rich-person stare.

Jason stepped back, eyes darting around.

“Nothing,” he said decisively. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Wayne’s eyes softened. “Want some food?”

Jason blinked.

“What?” he asked flatly.

“Do you want some food?” Wayne asked again. “I think there’s a McDonald’s nearby. Do you like burgers?”

“Yeah? I guess. I gotta say though, stranger danger,” Jason said.

Wayne smiled. “We’re in the middle of a crowd and the McDonald’s is just across the street. You can always scream if you think anything is going to happen.”

Jason regarded Wayne. The man didn’t look like he was going to do anything to Jason. Still, better to be wary.

“I’ll scream loud enough to bring Batman down on your head if you try anything,” Jason warned.

Wayne chuckled. “You’ll be safe. Promise.”

They walked across the street together. Jason hung back in case he needed to make a run for it, but it seemed like that wouldn’t be an issue. For now.

At the McDonald’s, Wayne told Jason to find a seat while he ordered some food. Jason chose the table closest to the front door and in view of the front end. He also chose the seat closest to the door. If anything went down, he had plenty of options to escape.

A few moments later, Wayn arrived with two burgers. He handed Jason one and got to unwrapping the other before taking a big bite of it. Jason gaped at him.

“What?” Wayne asked, looking amused. “Do you think I’m above McDonald’s?”

Jason shrugged, which was pretty much admitting that yeah, he kinda had. Not that he was sorry. Rich people always thought they were too good for anything a regular person or even a street kid could afford. That included food. Wayne was the exception to the rule, obviously.

“You can eat, you know,” Wayne said. “It’s not poisoned or anything.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, not poisoned,” he repeated, keeping it to himself that he doubted Bruce Wayne was smart enough to find poison without the help from a secretary or something.

The meal was mostly silent, other than the odd question from Wayne that Jason avoided. After his burger was done, Jason stood up.

“Listen, thanks for the food, Mr. Wayne,” Jason began. “I’ve gotta get going.”

“Okay,” Wayne said. “And Jason, take this, you look like you need it.”

Wayne pressed a few crisp bills into Jason’s hand. Jason took them and got out of there fast, question swirling through his mind. Questions like how had Wayne known his name? Jason certainly hadn’t given it to him. And he knew he’d never met Wayne in his life.

He pushed it out of his head and ran. The twenties Wayne had given him would give Jason another few weeks he could lay low. That was always good, especially with Batman possibly on his tail.

***

Three Weeks Later

“Shit,” Jason swore. Just his luck that the first job he worked on after the failure with picking Bruce Wayne’s pocket would get him caught again. And this time not by some nice billionaire. Which - as much as it sucked - was better than being caught by a member of Bane’s gang. Wayne had given him money; this member of Bane’s gang seemed to be trying to take Jason’s teeth.

“Listen, man,” Jason tried. “I didn’t even take anything, so how about I give you my wallet too and we call it even.”

The gang member smiled viciously. “I don’t think so, buddy.”

Jason gulped. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to go then.”

He spun around to make a run for it only to find two people behind him, sharing the same evil smirk as the first guy.

“Sorry, not today. You still haven’t paid up for trying to… borrow my wallet.”

“I offered mine!” Jason cried. If he could just keep him talking and keep them from beating him up, then maybe he could find a way out of this.

“Your wallet isn’t gonna do it, kid. Maybe a few teeth would work.” So Jason was spot on with that guess. Good to know. “Maybe break a few bones.”

Jason swore again. Just as he was ready for the first punch to hit he closed his eyes tight. The loud smack of someone’s fist hitting skin shocked him, only because it wasn’t on him though.

Jason didn’t dare to open his eyes until the noises of fighting had ended. When he did it wasn’t exactly shocking that he saw the thugs who’d tried to beat him up on the ground. Nor was it shocking that Batman was standing before him.

“Get into the car,” Batman said gruffly.

Jason shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

There wasn’t really a point to arguing. Jason doubted he’d be able to find a way out of this anyway. He turned around and got into the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

Batman joined him a moment later. Jason watched as they took off. As much as he tried not to, he was excited. This was the Batmobile he was riding it. It was so much cooler inside than outside. There were so many buttons.

It what seemed like no time at all the Batmobile went into a tunnel. It was dark for a long time. Like, a super long time. And then it wasn’t and they were in the Batcave.

And of course, the first thing to come out of his stupid mouth was: “I thought it’d be cooler.”

The thing was, it was probably the coolest thing Jason had ever seen in his short life. Like ever. There was a dinosaur! Granted, it was a replica dinosaur, but it was better than any he’d ever seen in Gotham’s one museum. And there was a penny bigger than most houses. Not to even begin to mention the giant super-computer.

Batman grunted. Jason wasn’t sure whether that was him being insulted or him acknowledging Jason’s obvious lack of qualification to be here and making observations about the freaking Batcave!

“Ah, Master Bruce, I see you’re back early tonight,” a refined, very British voice said. Did he mention it was a very British voice?

Batman opened his door while Jason’s head was still spinning and exited the Batmobile. He walked around and pulled Jason’s door open. Jason also exited the Batmobile. Batman shut the door behind him with a foreboding thump.

“Ah, I see we have company,” the British voice said again. It came from a rather severe looking man with gray hair and a moustache. He was also wearing a suit, but that was neither here nor there.

“Alfred, this is Jason, the boy who tried to take my tires,” Batman said. Jason did a double take. Batman’s voice wasn’t all growly anymore. In fact, it was rather familiar. Too familiar…

Oh god.

“Bruce Wayne is Batman?!” Jason screeched.

“Well, it seems that Master Jason has figured you out,” the man, Alfred, said dryly. “I do hope you expected that.”

“Of course I did,” Batman said, sounding affronted.

Jason was going to die here, wasn’t he? It didn’t matter that Batman was supposed to be this important person in his life. He would probably kill Jason to protect his secret. Or more likely have Alfred do the deed, since everyone knew Batman didn’t kill.

He quickly scanned the cave, looking for an escape route anywhere. Except for some stairs father back, there was no where he could run. Nowhere to hide that Batman wouldn’t find him.

“Jason, calm down,” Batman said.

Belatedly, Jason realized he’d been hyperventilating. But really, who could blame him? He was going to die. Everyone was freaked out when they were about to die.

“Could you just do it quick?” Jason asked. “Please.”

“Master Bruce, step away,” Alfred commanded. “Now.” His tone of voice left no room for argument, but that didn’t comfort Jason. He was probably about to do the deed.

“Please,” Jason begged, not even sure what he was saying it for. To live or die quickly.

“Master Jason, breath for me,” Alfred said firmly, but not unkindly. “One deep breath in and hold it for five seconds.” Jason tried to comply, to make his lungs obey, and though it took a few tries, he finally managed it, burning pain on his forearm be damned. “Good, now breathe out. And repeat.” Jason did until he was breathing normally and feeling quite a bit less lightheaded. “Better?” Alfred asked.

Jason nodded slightly, still watching Batman - who’d taken off his cowl - warily. It was disconcerting to see Bruce Wayne dressed as Batman, even though the logical part of his brain told him that they were one and the same.

“Now, whatever were you talking about us doing quickly?”

“Killing me, right?” Jason said slowly. “You can’t have anyone knowing who you are. That wouldn’t be good. So you’ve gotta kill me.”

“Jason,” Batman… Bruce Wayne, said. “I didn’t take you here to kill you.”

“We have platonic soulmarks, right?” Jason asked dully. “They match our first words to each other. That means if anyone knew they could use me against you. And now I know who you are, so the obvious thing to do is kill me. That keeps everything and everyone safe… except me. But no one’ll miss me.”

“I came to ask if you wanted to live here. With me and Alfred. Bruce Wayne could adopt you. Or foster you if you’d prefer,” Batm- Bruc- Wayne said earnestly.

Jason froze. That had not been what he expected. At all. He was just plain old Jason Todd, street kid extraordinaire with a deadbeat dad and a dead mom. He wasn’t anyone special. Anyone who should be, deserved to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

“Why me?” Jason asked in a small voice.

“Because, Jason, everyone deserves a chance. Because you don’t deserve to suffer for you father’s mistakes. For your mother’s death. You didn’t deserve any of it and maybe I can help make it right. There’s a reason I met you, that we have platonic soulmarks inked on our skin.”

As far as inspiring speeches went, it was one of the best Jason had heard in a long time. Maybe it was the best. Who knew? Certainly not Jason.

“Besides, it has been much to long since we had a child to brighten up this home,” Alfred said, placing a gentle hand on Jason’s shoulder. “No matter what though, it is your choice.”

“I guess if you’re offering and you think I should…”

“I’ll call Lucius in the morning,” Wayne said. “Have him get papers together. Alfred can show you where you’ll stay tonight, until we can get a better room together for you.”

Jason nodded. He was still unsure, still scared. But honestly, he also felt safe. Safer than he had in a really long time. So long he’d almost forgotten what safe felt like.

***

One Week Later

Living in the Manor was an… adjustment. Jason had been in charge of himself for long enough that he chafed at having things done for him. Things like cooking and laundry. Things no child his age should be forced to do alone and without family.

They did have a huge library though. It was in that library that Jason first actually thought about the platonic soulmark on his forearm. The same one that had burned when Alfred had been comforting him. It was there he realized he’d found another friend for life.

News had broken of Bruce Wayne finding a new kid to adopt too. All sorts of things about him being a replacement for Dick Grayson, the previous Wayne ward. Jason didn’t take too much stock in those stories. Though it did make him want to meet Dick Grayson.

***

Four Days Later

“When does Dick Grayson come back?”

Alfred and Bruce shared a look.

“Well?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce said. “Him and I are having a… spat.”

Alfred snorted.

“Wait, was he Robin?” Jason asked. “He was, wasn’t he? Oh my god! Can I be Robin?”

“No,” Bruce said.

“Ah, come one, please? I’ll train super hard.”

“No,” Bruce repeated.

“I’ll wear you down.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Bruce’s mouth. “You won’t wear me down.”

***

One Month Later

He wore him down.

Jason was training to be the next Robin. And it was hard. Granted, it was worth it, but it was still hard.

Jason knew Robin kicked butt and stopped bad guys, but he’d thought kicking butt would involve more kicking butt and less reading old case files. Not that he was complaining. If reading old case files was what helped him become Robin, Jason wasn’t going to complain.

Besides, not that he’d ever say it or else be labeled an egghead, but Jason liked the learning part of this more than what little learning to kick butt he did. Reading was fun and interesting. It was cool to know that the words he was reading were either accounts of something that had happened or all sorts of information about a person. Not even to begin to talk about the reading and logic puzzles he was assigned everyday.

It was a lot, especially with having started school and the heavy workload from Gotham Academy. He loved it though. He loved being able to read books and learning things and actually go to school. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d missed it after dropping out and living on the streets.

***

Two Months Later

As the colder months fast approached, Jason, for all his patience, grew more and more antsy about going out as Robin for the first time. It didn’t take a genius to realize that he wouldn’t be going out until spring, but that didn’t stop him from being impatient.

It was December. By now Jason had settled in. School was on break. He had no more homework, school homework, that was, and what little Robin-related homework he had was significantly decreased. Jason was pretty sure it was because of the holidays but anytime he mentioned this, Bruce denied it vehemently.

Jason had taken to spending most of his winter break in the Library when he wasn’t in the Batcave or his room. He was busy reading Pride and Prejudice in said Library when the doorbell rang on Christmas Eve. Jason leapt up from the chair, arriving just in time to hear the tail end of Alfred’s greeting to someone.

“-to see you again, Master Dick. I certainly didn’t expect to see you after last year’s attempt to spend the holidays together.” Alfred sounds dry and reprimanding. It’s funny to hear when it’s not directed at him, Jason thinks.

“You too, Alfred. Now, is what I hear about Bruce taking in a new kid? Did he really?” Dick Grayson sounded equal parts amused and surprised. He also avoided acknowledging Alfred’s jabs at him.

“He did. Master Jason is quite the surprising child. Now, why did you come? I was under the impression you didn’t want to see Master Bruce again.”

“I realized a few things after a break from him,” Dick Grayson said sheepishly. “Besides, I kinda needed to come meet my new little brother, didn’t I?”

At that, Jason emerged and skidded to a stop next to Alfred, looking expectantly at Dick Grayson

“Well, we finally meet, kid,” Dick Grayson said wryly. “I’m Dick.”

Jason froze at the sudden burn behind his ear and Dick’s words. That was where another of his many platonic soulmarks were located. And it belonged to Dick Grayson. His new… brother? And the only thing he could think to say was: “Of all the nicknames you could have, you chose Dick?”

Dick, rather than looking offended, laughed heartily. “I know, right? But at this point I like it too much to get rid of it.”

“Well it’s stupid,” Jason shot back, but he was grinning and he was pretty sure Dick could tell he was kidding around.

“Whatever you think, it looks like you’re stuck with me kid,” the older man joked. “Now, I’ve heard some funny things about how you met Bruce and I want the full story. Want to join me in my room?”

Jason nodded, trying not to appear too eager. This was Robin. Well, not anymore, but still. For all Jason knew, Dick was still a superhero. Actually, Jason would have to ask about that. And maybe Dick could give him some pointers about being Batman’s partner.

“Master Bruce will be home from the office any time now. I will inform him of your stay for the holidays,” Alfred said. “Get along, boys.”

“What do you take me for?” Dick asked, placing a hand over his heart and looking affronted. Jason also fixed Alfred with an angelic stare. Alfred merely snorted.

As he left, Jason would swear he heard him say something along the lines of: “These boys will be the death of me.”

#batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfamchristmasstocking2018 #bcs2018

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kentuckywrites · 5 years ago

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Imperium: Primordia

Expergiscimini me. (I am awake.)

It was a haven for those who could not fight, and at one point it was for those who refused to fight. But they didn’t stay for long. The war caught up to them and forced them in.

He was one of the unlucky ones. He considered himself a pacifist. He thought he could help people who couldn’t fight, bring them food and protect them from the dangers of the plains. But the draft came too quickly. They needed more fodder for the front lines, and who better to pick than those unwilling to fight?

He was being escorted away from the camp. He could hear them, the voices of the lost, crying, calling out to the soldiers to stop, to let him go. He closed his eyes, the darkness a brief release from reality. The voices grew quiet, the air still. He couldn’t feel his feet touching the ground anymore. When he opened his eyes, the darkness remained.

And one voice, an echoing whisper, rang in his ears.

“Run to Noct’ikai-lysium. I will keep them at bay.”

He blinked, the darkness fading. The soldiers still stood around him, but they dared not move. Time - no, the very force controlling time - wouldn’t allow it. But he could feel his fingers pressing into his palms, the thick bead of sweat running down his left temple. He knew the way to the forest continent. He ran, and didn’t look back.

“Mayhaps you would be intrigued in the Contraption of Several Delights! It possesses thirteen buttons, the luckiest human number, and depending on which button is pressed you are blessed or cursed with different findings!”

The shop was busy. L wasn’t surprised, he knew he’d get a fair amount of business since the shop was so innovative, ahead of human expertise. Jejebba had errands to run, and L had expected to be manning the shop alone for the day. But Pongo had stepped in to help. While it was a wonderful sentiment, the shop became increasingly busy, no doubt because a member of Elma’s team was working there - and no doubt because said member of Elma’s team had been in the direct fight to save the Lifehold Core. Pongo was talking to a few BLADEs on the side, making wild hand gestures as he explained the happenings inside the core, how they had to fight the Vita and Lao and several chimera creatures -

“Mister L?”

L snapped out of his thoughts, realizing that the Contraption of Several Delights, a small box shaped object with thirteen buttons on its top side, in his hands. The woman before him was a regular customer, Mia. If he recalled correctly, she was a recent addition to BLADE, and a good friend of Pongo’s.

“Pardon us, fair madame, it seems that our thoughts left our brain!” L apologized.

“No worries! Though I was gonna ask, how much is it?” She gestured to the box, “It sounds a lot like a gacha game, and I love taking chances, no matter how big or small!”

L smiled. “We see you understand its magnificence! This wondrous item is priced at a mere ten thousand credits.”

“Whaaaat? That seems a bit pricey, dontcha think?” Mia’s eyes were blown wide. “I don’t think I have that much…”

In that moment, her gaze drifted and landed on Pongo, who was still conversing with the same group of BLADES. She called out, “Hey Pon!! Can ya lend me some credits real quick?”

He turned, and there they were, the eyes. L could see the stars within the indigo, galaxies that contained dreams and thoughts he could never perceive. It was hard to tell, but his focus shifted to the box in L’s hands, and some of the stars lit up in recognition. Seconds later, the same stars dimmed in disappointment.

“I am not fueling your gacha addiction, Mia.”

Her shoulders slumped as she groaned. “Pleaaaaaaase?”

L could only assume Mia was giving Pongo what humans referred to as “puppy dog eyes”, though he never did understand that comparison. Mia’s eyes looked completely human to him. Regardless, Pongo mumbled something under his breath before politely dismissing the group of BLADEs to stand next to Mia, pulling out his comm device from his back pocket. “How much do you need.”

“It’s only ten thousand credits!” Mia chirped.

Pongo raised an eyebrow. “And how much of that will come out of your pockets?”

“...I have...two?”

“Thousand?”

“...no, just two…”

“Mia, we talked about this,” Pongo’s comm device lowered as his brow furrowed. “You should really be saving your credits. I know you think you need a lot of material things to be happy, but spending credits on things you want but do not need is dangerous. What happens if you find yourself without any credits and you need your Skell repaired for an important mission? Or you break some armor and need to buy a new set? I cannot keep supporting you like this. You have to take responsibility.”

Mia’s arms crossed over her chest, and she started to pout. “I mean, you technically can keep supporting me...you’re filthy rich and hardly spend the money on anything nowadays.”

“You are missing my point.”

Her gaze lowered and she adjusted her feet, finding that the ground below was oddly fascinating. L watched Pongo as he raised his comm device raised yet again, pushing some of its digital buttons. L knew what he was doing.

“Okay Mia, I paid for it all.”

Mia’s head shot back up. “Really? You’re the BEST, Pon, thank you so so much!!”

She embraced him in that moment, and L smiled as Pongo’s arms wrapped around her tiny frame, a soft grin forming on his pale pink lips. Mia jumped back, ending the hug quickly and taking the box in the next second. “I’ll see you for that tyrant mission tomorrow!”

And there she went, skipping down Armory Alley with the box cradled in her arms. Pongo chuckled, a soft noise that was almost drowned out by the commotion of the alley, before turning back to L.

“Sorry about that. The credits were transferred over successfully.”

L’s head tilted in curiosity. “We thank you for your presumed patronage, but what tickles our fancy more was your display of generosity. It would seem that Elma has been rubbing herself all over you.”

Pongo blinked once. “How do you mean?”

“Your speech about material possessions and being wise in the spending of currency is one that is backed by logic and wisdom alike. It was something we would expect Elma to say, but not you.”

At that, Pongo laughed again, more audibly. “I guess I should take that as a compliment! It means her teachings are not going to waste.”

“Precisely! And it means you are growing as an individual,” L said, “Now, as much as we would love to probe your brain for more intellectual teachings, our shop will not be able to manage finances and purchases all by itself!”

“Right! Back to work!” Pongo chirped, stepping back towards the group of BLADEs. L noted how one of them, a dark skinned man, was observing the table in front of him. As he threw himself back into the fray, L did his best to ignore Pongo and the crowd around him, how the stars danced in his eyes as he told his tale again and again. No matter how many people asked, he would give the same enthusiasm, the same energy.

Perhaps it was because of that consistent enthusiasm that L was able to notice how suddenly Pongo’s attitude changed.

It was closer to the end of the day, mere minutes before L was going to close up the shop for the day. There were still some stragglers looking around, some talking to Pongo, some talking to L, some using the augment creator. Though it didn’t escape L’s attention that Pongo was quickly growing fatigued, he figured Pongo would be able to last until it was time to close.

Everything seemed normal until L felt it, the pulse beneath his feet, the faintest of heartbeats. He knew it well, and had experienced it before, though the occurrence was rare. He almost shrugged it off, knowing it was just the planet’s way of fueling miranium through its underground veins.

But L stopped dead in his tracks when he realized that Pongo had collapsed with the planet’s pulse.

He ran over to him, the passersby crying out with concern. L’s charisma kicked in and he quickly told those around him, “He is simply in need of a well evening’s rest!”

That lie was the one people would believe the most. Many people knew of Pongo’s insomnia, how he would go days, weeks without proper sleep. He was prone to collapsing if he overworked himself, and especially if he didn’t get a proper amount of rest. The people around him nodded in understanding, backed away, still casting worried glances towards them every once in a while.

L scooped Pongo up in his arms, unfazed by how much he weighed. The closest place he could go was in his own tent, so L bent down, took him inside the small pillowed space. While comfortable, it wasn’t the quietest place in the world. That was simply because the hideaway was right in the heart of the city’s busiest district. It would have to do for now, and at least L could give Pongo a soft place to rest.

As he laid Pongo down on the pillows, L felt it again, the pulse beneath the earth. It was stronger this time, and it sent a chill up his spine. What was happening to the planet, what was causing this anomaly? He wasn’t sure, but it quickly became the least of his concerns.

Pongo’s chest arched up as his eyes were blown wide open, no longer their eerie indigo hue. They were white, glowing, blinding, and he gasped with the sudden movement. L was able to connect the dipping dots. He kneeled beside Pongo, no longer concerned or afraid.

Now he was angry.

“He is not your weapon. Get out of his body.”

Pongo - no, not Pongo, the entity inside of him - kept gasping for air, kept struggling against an invisible threat. His gaze landing on L was something he almost missed.

“I...created him. He belongs...to me.”

“We do not care. You will not hurt anybody else.”

The entity’s voice was dark, and it didn’t belong to Pongo’s body. But L’s tone was poison, dripping from his thin blue lips. He saw how that poison affected the entity, how the purple began to return to the body’s eyes.

“You...cannot...stop me. I will return, and...bring balance.”

And then Pongo’s body went limp. L knew he was alive, he could tell by the faint rise and fall of his chest. He watched Pongo sleep, a yellow stare in the young night. He knew Pongo would be okay, but the poison remained in his system, brewing.

Mira had returned, and the last time it had claimed a body for its own, two species were massacred.

#xenoblade x #Imperium: Primordia #hey do y'all remember that one series I tried to write years ago #here's attempt two #this time with more edge

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lovelyirony · 6 years ago

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Chalant Isn’t a Word, Is It?

@polar-biscuit had this beautiful art of nat seeing maria in the gym and pausing so i wrote something about it

Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton signed up for additional sparring sessions because a.) They got kicked off field duty for about six weeks due to bringing sandwiches on board and nearly getting spotted by the enemy and b.) Clint wanted to listen to Rocky and it was only justified during sparring sessions because the overseer was a Rocky nut. Natasha didn’t mind the soundtrack, or getting a refresher course on boxing. Her fighting dealt more with the faster and more graceful way of fighting—not using your hands. Hands transferred DNA, and Natasha would much prefer her DNA with her at all times.

It was actually pretty relaxing for the both of them to be able to train and fight without any actual expectations or time limits. They could work on cool fight moves that would never be used in real life situations, such as the Rave Pinwheel of Death, and Holy Shit—Lasers! Natasha was actually laughing by the end of the sessions, and Clint learned a lot more about his friend—some things expected, others not so much.

Maria Hill is known throughout SHIELD for many reasons, the first and foremost being that she’s the youngest Deputy Director they’ve ever had, and she’s the first female one since SHIELD started. But people sneer as they say her name, calling her a bitch or a snob. She keeps to herself, has a neutral expression, and no one actually knows what she does outside of her job. She’s always one of the last to leave, first to arrive. Coulson’s theory is that she’s a robot, but he would never let her hear that or his coffee creamer would no longer be in stock.

But yes, she’s known throughout the agency for many reasons. There is one more, because Natasha has let her guard down, and she pauses for a split-second when she sees Maria Hill wrapping her hands in tape, sports bra and Nike shorts on. Maria is never seen outside of her jumpsuit, and it’s a rare opportunity for Natasha to see Maria past her professional persona. She looks, for as long as she can before Maria’s head starts to turn and Natasha quickens her pace by a second.

“Oh my god,” Clint says. “You like her.”

“Shut up,” Natasha snaps. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw everything besides you actually waving or saying hi. Why not? You could’ve gotten out there, asked her how she was doing.”

“She looked busy.”

“She was stretching. No one’s too busy with stretching to not talk with Black Widow.”

And there’s the crux of the problem. Natasha doesn’t want Maria to talk to the Black Widow. She wants her to talk to Natasha. But it won’t matter, because Maria probably has better things to do with her time. Natasha doesn’t know what she’d do. Watch movies. Cook pasta. Anything else, because Natasha is secretly not Suave At All or Sexy, She Doesn’t Even Know How to Pose Outside of her Job. (Clint keeps mentioning she can T-Pose?)

Clint starts annoying her. “There’s Hill,” he signs, making the hand go in the shape of a hill. Wow, he’s so smart. Natasha can’t believe the CIA rejected him. “Look, its Maria. You should go talk to her.”

“Clint I swear I will make sure your dumb locker decorations go missing.”

“Not my mini shag carpet!” Clint exclaims in mock horror. Maria Hill glances their way. Clint grins and waves. Natasha hopes her face is impassive as she arches an eyebrow. Maria nods. Natasha elbows Clint in the ribs as she walks off to go get changed into gym gear.

The climax of all this is when Clint falls sick—Natasha told him that the shady pizza place that opened across his street was a money laundering front and definitely not a “sign from God, that beautiful lady finally loves me,” like he thought it was.

Natasha goes to the punching bags and treadmill. She’s not going to skip out on the gym, even if she could technically drop by a coffee shop and get her favorite drink with two shots of espresso and vanilla.

Usually, she gets into the gym at ten in the morning. It is early enough that she doesn’t feel like she’s been wasting her life until that point, but late enough that Clint doesn’t complain about wanting to die every five seconds. Maria gets to the gym at two in the afternoon. But Maria Hill is at the gym at ten o’clock, hair tied back in a bun, tape wrapped around her arms and hands, and a towel around her neck. Natasha kind of hates the fact that she’s going to have to work out and also be in the presence of her crush. Life is supremely unfair.

“Good morning Romanoff,” Hill says curtly. “Where’s Hawkeye?”

See, that’s the thing that Natasha likes. Maria Hill never calls her Black Widow. She calls her Romanoff. Nat likes that. “Barton’s home with food poisoning as company,” Natasha answers. “Shady pizza places will be his resting place.” Maria spares a smile as she surveys the gym.

“Wanna spar?”

“Sure,” Natasha says, nonchalantly. But she’s so chalant about it. So fucking chalant. Is that even a word? It’s not, but it should be.

They stare at each other across the mats. Natasha is assessing weaknesses, strengths, everything. Maria’s eyes are like an eagle’s watching everything. They launch towards each other, and Natasha is surprised when Maria pulls a sharp left, causing Natasha to rebalance herself when landing. She finds that she likes the fact that Maria is now already so unpredictable.

They fight well together. There are a few hiccups—there have to be—but Maria and Nat understand each other. They even get a couple jokes and compliments in between water breaks. “You just never lose a night of sleep over your capabilities, do you?” Maria asks, breathing hard. “Jesus, your feet are like tiny little stabbing tools…”

“Size six,” Natasha says. “I can show you how to make them feel like knives later.”

“I’d like that,” Maria responds, a rare smile curving her face. Natasha thinks that is when she looks the best. Sometimes, Maria smiles and things are good. Natasha nearly smiles back.

“You can show me how you do that bitch stare at Sitwell,” Natasha says. “He hates it.”

“That’s why I do it, that prick,” Maria says. “Jasper’s such a dick.”

“God, I know. He keeps trying to get me to his team of all-men-who-can-talk-about-grills-for-three-hours-straight,” Natasha comments. Maria snorts.

“They really can.”

Maria joins the sparring sessions. She laughs more. Natasha and Maria joke.

And then IT happens.

The six weeks are up, and Natasha is kind of panicking because she liked hanging out with Maria, and now she’s going to be doing missions and not seeing Maria. So sure, Natasha might be panicking about not being friends with Maria anymore or being close, like maybe they’ll drift apart and Natasha was so close to asking her to hang out and maybe eat noodles or something—

It shouldn’t matter. It does, but it shouldn’t. So Natasha steels herself for sharing quick glances across the hallway with Maria Hill—Deputy Director Hill—and leaves it be. Clint knows not to talk to her for a couple hours. She needs her space. “I’m getting Chinese tonight, text me if you want any,” he had said before going down to the weaponry to break in a new long-range crossbow they had ordered special.

Maria finds her. Natasha is leaving—fifteen minutes earlier than she usually does. And Maria, the last one to leave, finds her. “Wait up Romanoff,” Maria says. She’s actually hurrying, doing that awkward fast-walk thing so she doesn’t have to flat out run. Natasha’s heart speeds up, and she doesn’t try to calm down in the slightest.

“What am I waiting for?” Natasha asks. (The irony of her asking that question kills her.) Maria smiles, although grimaces at the last second.

“I, um, wanted to talk to you. About something.” Natasha has faced down killers. Men who want nothing more than power and little else. Women who would laugh and drink wine as the world ended. Maria’s simple phrasing shouldn’t terrify her. (But it does, oh fucking hell, it does.)

“Shoot,” Natasha says, trying to act as casual about it. “Talk about the something.” Natasha doesn’t know when she’ll stop sounding awkward, but here she is. Still sounding like she’s an awkward twelve year old.

They’re to the side of everyone, out of earshot and peering cameras. (Leave it to Maria to know where cameras don’t record.) She looks nervous and tense. Natasha really hopes this isn’t some emotional outpouring that’s negative or something similar.

“So um,” Maria starts. “Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking talk,” she mutters. “Look, I’m going to be real with you. I liked hanging out with you a lot. I’ve never really done anything like that. Fighting while talking. They usually just think I’m a bitch and don’t talk.”

“You’re funny,” Natasha says. “You have a terrible sense of humor, but it’s funny.” Maria smiles at that. “So, what else is up? Surely you didn’t just come to tell me that you liked hanging out.”

Maria nods, taking a breath in. Not letting it back out. She’s more nervous than Nat thought. “I liked hanging out, and I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee. On Thursday. Because we both have a couple hours to kill because Coulson has to terrify some of the new agents into complying with his pamphlet about office safety.”

Natasha lets out a smile that has Maria let out an even wider smile, and she says “sure, why not? There’s this coffee shop a couple blocks up that I’ve been dying to try.” Maria smiles, nods quickly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Romanoff.”

“Looking forward to it.”

And if Natasha grins like a maniac and has a little bit more energy in her steps, only Barton really knows.

#lovelyirony writes #blackhill #natmaria #natasha romanoff #maria hill #BOYS THEY ARE GAY IN EVERY WAY #harold they're lesbians #maria has feelings and hates talking about them lmao #same #nat: the most gay she's ever felt

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aliceslantern · 6 years ago

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Beyond this Existence, a Kingdom Hearts fanfiction (Demyx/Ienzo), chapter 1

Summary: After Xehanort's death, Demyx finds himself unexpectedly human in Radiant Garden. With nothing but fragments of his past and a cryptic statement from Xemnas, he's left to figure out who he is. When Ienzo asks for his help with a project, the two find common ground, but the trauma and secrets in both of their pasts could tear their tenuous connection apart.

Read it on Fanfiction.net/ Archive of our Own

He kept having these dreams.

Demyx didn’t have a whole lot to do. Vexen’s words were lie low , which was an order he had no problems following. He kept moving, spending a handful of hours here, a handful of hours there. Often, he slept to pass the time, and seemed to wake up more tired than before. He dreamt too much to get rest from sleep. Dreams about… color, mostly, bright purples and teals and pinks and white buildings. Heartless and monsters and more than that, Keyblades.

It hadn’t been the first time he’d had subconscious fireworks like these. They’d been there for a long time, but he hadn’t attributed much meaning to them. There were always Heartless, always colorful worlds. But now?

You four will reveal your greatest secret of all; the ancient Keyblade legacy that slumbers inside you.

Xemnas’s words nagged him endlessly. He tried not to dwell on them, but the more he dreamt, the more he was convinced that these weren’t dreams at all, but memories.

It didn’t make sense. All these years of being the weak one, the coward, the benched spare, and now this? How much of it was just another set of lies? And why had he let himself be swept back into the Organization in the first place?

He laid low. Kept moving. Kept waiting.

The thing about traveling from world to world meant time got screwy. It could have been weeks, or months, or days. Nobody came after him, called him to be unbenched. He was beyond under the radar. The sense of freedom was both exhilarating and terrifying. If they found out what he’d done, he and Vexen would be dead for sure.

But would it matter? He’d just be un-Nobodied again. He didn’t remember the second transformation, not really. It had been quick. Painless. Xigbar had insisted it was his choice, though why he would have chosen this was anybody’s guess. Was he really so gullible?

Probably.

More hours of negative time. He wondered if Roxas were back yet, if Ienzo had figured it out. Roxas’d really had it rough. And maybe this crazy plan was right, and he really could help. The more Demyx thought about it, the more he believed Xehanort was wrong. Why do all that work, anyway? The dude really needed some hobbies.

After what felt like a long time, something changed.

A vicious storm kicked up on the world he was on, battering him with wind and rain. Cold and miserable, he hid in a cave and tried his best to siphon water out of his clothes. The dampness felt bone-deep.

That was about when the pain started.

It felt like indigestion at first, which was all-too-probable considering the questionable things he’d been eating lately. He lay down and the pressure sharpened, catching under his breastbone and making his heart race. He hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid like accidentally poison himself, which would figure.

Again, it was hard to tell how much time was passing, but with each breath the pain seemed to worsen, like something inside him was dying, and it clicked.

The bit of Xehanort’s heart. Was this what it meant to be “unbenched?”

The agony immobilized him. Why had he done this? Why had he gone back to them? He didn’t want this, he didn’t know what he wanted, anything but this--

He must’ve blacked out.

The wind still howled outside. Demyx sat up slowly. He was shaky and cold and sticky with sweat, but the pain was gone. He felt at his ears--smooth, unpointed. Every muscle trembled with weakness.

He had to find Vexen. Vexen would know what had happened. He could help him. This was all his fault, somehow. After far too long he stood and nearly fainted, his vision threatening blackness. He pulled for a dark corridor but it didn’t want to come. It took three more tries but even then the stabbing pain in his chest choked off any breath.

Just a bit farther.

He fell onto his knees in Radiant Garden. Looking up the long slope of stairs into the castle, he about cried. The air here was bitterly freezing. He hugged himself tightly and tried to find the strength to get up, or even to cast Cure. His vision blurred.

“Demyx? What on earth are you doing here?”

He could’ve shouted with relief at the familiar voice. As it was, he could barely turn his head towards Dilan, everything swimming.

The man approached him warily, but then his eyes widened.

“Vexen,” was all Demyx could manage before passing out again.

It was warm here.

He woke up slowly. Everything hurt, like he’d had the worst workout of his life. Especially the muscles in his chest. He felt like he’d been stabbed.

At least this bed was warm.

It took awhile for things to sharpen and become clear and for his thoughts to feel more coherent. Where was he? Had he found Vexen? What the hell had happened?

He sat up, expecting from some vaporous part of his mind to see the piercing whiteness of the Castle, but this room was a pale green with an old, crumbling dresser and a small table with a washbasin. His coat was neatly folded on a chair, but thankfully he hadn’t been undressed farther than that.

He got up. Strange pinpricks of feeling washed over him in little waves, twisting his empty stomach into an anxious knot. This didn’t feel like whispers of Nobody emotion, but he’d been so sick it was hard to tell. Demyx slid on the coat. It smelled like it had been freshly washed. He splashed some water on his face and caught his reflection in the small mirror above the basin.

His eyes had gone back to teal.

“How--” he asked out loud, but before he could so much as complete the thought, he heard the wooden door creak open. He froze.

“...I thought I heard something,” Ienzo said. “I think it’s time we had that chat.” He smiled.

Demyx found himself seated in a cramped kitchen, nursing sweet tea as Ienzo cooked oatmeal.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Ienzo said. Demyx couldn’t get over how odd he looked without his Organization cloak. “Even was worried, but I knew you’d come around.”

He clutched his mug tightly, as though for support. “What happened ?” he asked finally. “Why are my--” He touched the skin under his eyes. It seemed difficult to talk.

“I admit we were confused about that at first, but it’s really quite simple. When Xehanort was killed, the piece of his heart that had been put inside you must have been purged. Even went through the same thing. So the good news is that you’re a vessel no longer.”

“I’m… not?”

“It seems like you were one of the lucky ones,” Ienzo said. He ladled out two bowls and placed one in front of Demyx. “If you had been a true vessel, you probably would have perished.”

He looked down at the food. Thoughts pinged off the inside of his skull too quickly to keep track of.

“It’ll take time for your heart to grow back and for you to adjust. Thankfully, time is something we have a lot of now.” He smiled. “Roxas and Naminé send their thanks. It’s partially because of you, after all, that they became their own people again.”

Demyx couldn’t speak. His throat felt tight and painful; it took far too long to register the fact that he was feeling something for the first time in years.

“You must be overwhelmed,” Ienzo continued. “I assume this reticence will pass. You should eat. Get your strength back.”

It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. Ienzo had sweetened the oatmeal with sugar and honey, and for some reason this worsened the pain. Demyx realized in an odd moment of clarity that he wasn’t used to people being nice to him. All the while Ienzo sat across from him with a patient look in his eye. Finally, after way too long, he asked, “Where are they?”

“Roxas and Naminé? I’m not quite sure. I believe they’re in Destiny Islands at the moment, with nearly everyone else.”

Tears clouded his vision. He blinked hard, trying to keep it together, but they ran anyway. He drew a shaky breath. Ienzo handed him a cloth napkin.

“Your heart might not take that long after all,” Ienzo said lightly.

“Did you just crack a joke?” Demyx asked between sobs.

“I do have a sense of humor,” he said. “Why don’t you come get some rest?”

He slept most of the first day, and part of the second. Dreamless.

The third day it rained. In the stale cluttered mess that was once the castle’s lab, Even checked Demyx’s vitals, taking notes and muttering to himself.

“You seem physically healthy,” he said. He sounded bored. “Now, tell me, what was the process like for you? I’m still trying to understand it.” The familiar inquisitive glint was back in his acidic green eyes. “We were the last two Nobodies whose reformation didn’t necessitate some sort of murder-suicide. It goes against almost everything we’ve learned so far.”

Demyx hesitated. “...Painful,” he said.

Even waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn’t, he scowled. “I seem to recall a time when I could not get you to shut up. Now, when there’s actually matters of interest, suddenly you become as taciturn as Aeleus.”

Demyx looked down at his lap. Even clicked his tongue in frustration.

“I’m trying to understand so that I can help you,” Even said slowly, as if he were talking to a child.

Demyx struggled to find the words. “It just started hurting at one point,” he said.

“Your heart?”

“Yes. Well, I guess not technically. And then the pain just got worse, and I felt like I was dying, and then I tried to open a corridor to find you, but it took a few tries. I passed out and then when I woke up it was gone.” He hoped that was enough to sate Even’s curiosity. He didn’t feel much like talking. Mostly he was just tired, and achy, and slightly numb in a scary way.

Even scribbled rapidly. “Yes. Yes, my experience was similar. Did you experience weakness, feverishness, and delirium as well?”

“Well I did have dreams--but they’ve stopped.”

“What kind of dreams?” Even asked. He stared Demyx down.

“I… I don’t know. This place I don’t quite remember. Something about Keyblades.”

“...Fascinating,” Even mumbled. “I wonder if you were seeing some of Xehanort’s memories.”

“...Maybe,” Demyx said. He didn’t like the thought of that at all.

“But if that fragment had bound to you so tightly, I’m surprised it let go as easily as it did. Perhaps Xehanort willed it when he passed.”

Demyx shrugged.

Even peered deeply into his eyes, as though searching for some fleck of gold left behind. “I have a favor to ask of you,” he said. He fished around in a drawer and pulled out a plain notebook. “Keep track of your dreams to see if anything like that happens again. I will as well. Maybe we can divine some meaning from them.”

Demyx sighed. “Homework?”

“This is for the advancement of important scientific research!” Even snapped. “Don’t you see what we can learn?” He shut his eyes tightly. “Why did it have to be you,” he muttered, under his breath but not softly enough.

“Good question,” Demyx said. He took the notebook. “I’m gonna go now.”

In a haze, he set off down the hallway. This castle was basically a labyrinth; he kept getting turned around. He didn’t even have a direct destination and yet still it pissed him off. What if he had to get somewhere?

It was also unnerving just how uninhabited this place was. There were maybe six of them here, and yet the place was huge. Maybe if it weren’t in a highly populated world it would seem less out of place, but the ambient creaking of pipes and whooshing of air in vents just made him feel… weird.

One of these days Demyx had to get to town. Get some fresh air. Figure out what the hell he was going to do now.

He stumbled upon a library. The ambient smell of dust was overwhelming, and he sneezed. Little motes glittered in the rays of sunlight from the long, high windows. The carpet, though dirty, was thick, and absorbed all sound.

He hadn’t really, truly played sitar in days. He guessed this place probably had decent acoustics. He climbed up the wide staircase to the first landing and sat down in the sunlight. He reached to summon his sitar.

And felt nothing.

Normally the connection was instantaneous. Maybe, somehow, he was still weak from recompletion, or whatever. He tried again, pulled hard. Nothing. Another try. Just dryness. His breaths were coming faster now, less controlled. No, no. He just had to relax. He was psyching himself out. He shook himself out, cracked his neck, took a few deep breaths to try and lower his heart rate.

He tried to summon one last time, and was left with handfuls of dead air.

Demyx stood and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could, so clumsily that he tripped on the last two and fell painfully on his left knee. He got up and kept running, tightness constricting his throat and chest. He needed to find someone who could fix this--Ienzo or Even--

Up ahead Aeleus was strolling down the hallway, carrying an armload of boxes. He turned, a befuddled look on his face. Demyx had to stop to avoid colliding right into him. His knee was smarting terrifically.

“...Demyx?” he asked.

He couldn’t breathe, but it had nothing to do with his mad dash. Something was unraveling. “Tell me,” he all but yelled. “Your tomahawk--do you still have it?”

Aeleus blinked, taking in his disheveled and panicked appearance. Slowly, he shook his head.

“What about Dilan’s lances? Or Even’s shield? Or Ienzo’s lexicon? Do any of us still have our weapons?”

“We have no need for such things anymore.”

“But can we .”

Aeleus shut his eyes.

Demyx leaned against the wall, thick panic overtaking him. No, I don’t want this either. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong--

“Are you alright?” Aeleus asked.

Demyx tried to push past him, but Aeleus grabbed his shoulder. Powers or not, his grip was like iron, and Demyx could not get free.

“You must stop panicking,” Aeleus said. “We will figure this out.”

Demyx seized Aeleus’s wrist with both hands, but still couldn’t get it to budge.

“Take a deep breath.”

He did as he was told. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. The second breath was easier, the following easier still. He felt so weak that he found he was relying on Aeleus’s grip to stay standing, holding tightly to his hand instead of fighting it.

“We should go see Even,” Aeleus said.

“Your stuff,” Demyx said.

“It’s not urgent.”

So again he found himself back in the dank basement lab. Aeleus disappeared, leaving Demyx wanting the small modicum of comfort that his presence had given. He sat on his hands.

“...Our powers are gone?” he asked dully.

“In all probability--yes. It’s unusual for humans to have abilities as specific and powerful as we did.” Even’s eyes were stony.

“Can I get it back?”

“I never thought you cared about fighting.”

“This isn’t about fighting,” he said. “Without my sitar, I--”

Even’s lip curled. “Oh. That. I’m not certain what I could do for you, Demyx.”

A few beats of silence. He felt numb, disembodied.

“You could have a look in the marketplace. You might find something there that might help you make noise.” He said this with an exasperated toss of his hair. “Now if that is all you’re concerned about, I have work I need to tend to.”

A cutting remark caught under the lump in his throat. For the second time that day, Demyx stormed off.

It was still raining.

The steady patter of the storm against the window was something to hold onto. He felt like he were being suspended over a pit, about to fall.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. He exhaled.

Ienzo poked his head in. He carried a small bundle of fabric. “Sorry to intrude. Ansem suggested you might like something else to wear, other than… that.” He gestured to the cloak. “Doubtful you’ll need its protection any time soon.”

Demyx said nothing.

Ienzo put the clothes on the dresser. He crossed his arms tightly for a moment, then let go. “I realize this process has not been easy for you--” He tripped over his words, clearly uncomfortable.

An understatement.

“I failed to make the connection. I didn’t realize that gaining your humanity would result in another type of loss. But of course your connection to your power must have run deeply.”

“It’s just always been there,” he said. “I feel like part of me has died.”

A long moment of silence. “Yes. I imagine it would.”

“Don’t you feel the same way?” Demyx asked, turning fully towards him for the first time. “I mean, in a sick way, becoming Nobodies kind of brought out the best parts of us.”

Ienzo’s gaze dropped to the floor, his hair almost entirely obscuring his face. Quite quietly, he said, “I disagree.”

Demyx felt his face flush. He’d been there for the emotional reunion between Ansem the Wise--in a way he had made it happen--but of course at the time he hadn’t put any significance in it, because it hadn’t affected him. Of course Ienzo would feel that way. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. A hot feeling washed over him. How could he take it back? It was true, after all, for him.

“I’ll let you rest,” Ienzo said, and left.

He took a bath, his first in far too long. Washing up in streams and with powers could only do so much good. Despite the knots of tension and gross, sticky emotion welling up inside of him, the warm water was soothing. He hadn’t meant to linger longer than necessary, but the quiet and warmth made it easier to think. Each revelation was bigger and messier than the last.

He was human.

No more Xehanort, no more vessel. For the first time in years he was his own person again. Not Demyx the Nobody, not Demyx the benched. Just… whoever this person left behind was. How much of his personality was just a lie based on memory?

He was powerless.

He’d miss it, but he could deal without power over water. It was dead practical and it could be gorgeous at times, too. For the longest time his sitar was the only constant in his life, in a time without friends or even alliances. He’d always told himself he didn’t need any of that. Not if he had music. And to a degree Even was right; Arpeggio wasn’t the only instrument that existed. It just that that sitar knew him so well; it was laced not so much with feeling, but with memory. It had seen what he’d seen, done most of what he’d done. It was basically the only part of him worth salvaging, and now it was gone.

He was stuck here.

No power meant no dark corridors. For the foreseeable future, he was stuck here in Radiant Garden. And he’d just snapped at the one person who had shown him any least bit of kindness.

So, really, he was fucked.

#demyx #ienzo #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #fanfiction #post-kh3 canon compliant #beyond this existence #i'm back on my bullshit!#demyx is a disaster bisexual and ienzo is a disaster gay and you can pry that from my cold dead hands

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